The Evening Street : RADIODUST

3: Willow Trees - Shadow

Italics is to reference the previous part for readers who need a reference.

"Please, call me Alastor, Angel. Louise is my alias," Alastor said.

Angel opened his mouth, ready to say something, but quickly closed it. He smiled, hestitanly.

Alastor watched him.

"Sure, Al," Angel said.

Alastor smiled. Angel bit his lip.

"Alastor- Alastor sorry, You mind if I call you Al? That's okay right? I can call ya Al?" Angel said.

"Al is swell. I'm fine with nicknames, Angel, but of course, nothing insulting," Alastor said.

Angel nodded. Shoulders relaxed.

Hm, well, Alastor supposed Angel too was keeping his name a secret... Being a stripper and a postritute must be a risky, vulgar job. Abusers, from what Alastor knew, tried to always entagle sex workers into their schemes.

Alastor's smile widened. He remembered a fond memory, of a Madam screaming bloody murder as the train ran her over. Her simplified story was well loved within the Rue dans la Vie podcast.

"Hey Al, Do ya' have a water bottle? I kinda forgot one... back home," Angel said. He shifted on his feet, a bead of sweat dripped down his face. His hands moved around to emphasize his point.

Alastor halted. Angel paused and looked over at him curiously. His freckled cheeks were red like medium rare steak.

"So do ya' have one or..." Angel said.

Alastor raised his hand, "Allow me a moment."

Alastor inhaled the air of the park. He tasted something sweet ahead, a smell other than the trees and that gentle lavender.

Angel wiped away some sweat from his forhead. He took out a bland baseball hat from his pastel-pink bag. Angel placed it on, and Alastor could not help notice that it was the most masculine piece of clothing he had on him.

"I don't believe I do! But be a dear, and follow me Angel, I reckon we will find a solution," Alastor said. Angel looked at him confused.

Alastor followed the smell, voilà , there was a local selling ice cream on the side of the trail. The local was a small man in his forties looking miserable and sweaty with stubble all over his chin. His face was hidden underneath a large sun hat.

Alastor's nose wrinkled. The man smelled familiar, like old whiskey and cigar smoke. It was an odd smell to pair with the overly sweet stench of ice cream.

Angel stopped beside Alastor, looking at him and then at the ice cream stand. There was an unspoken question on his lips, Alastor could tell.

"It is fine Angel, I will pay. This meeting was my invitation, I am the host. Now what ice cream do you want?" Alastor said.

The local ice cream man looked up, his brown eyes wide like dishplates. His hair was grayed, and his shirt was wrinkled. His mouth was agape, jaw possibly unhinged! This day was full of coincidences.

"Fucking Hell...Alastor?"

"Ha! Husker, My dear friend, be careful you might swallow flies. What are you doing here?"

"Obligatory family meeting," Husker said," Gotta run the family business now."

Angel stood there frozen. He looked at Alastor and at Husker. Alastor smiled," This is Husker, a friend from a bar back in Louisinana! Ah, and this is my companion, Husker meet Angel."