Albino stops halfway down an alleyway at the darkest point, meeting a shadow in the middle. Hushed whispers were exchanged between the two gentlemen - more bad news. Just what he needed today.

When the pair had finished talking, they continued on their paths through the alleyway in their opposing directions - a meeting that never happened. He sighed and shook the thought from his head as he marched through the streets, his ageing eyes darting left, then right, then left. Where the fuck was that little shit?

 ***

There.

Albino caught sight of AlbeeAl sitting alone in a café window just across the street from where he stood. He took a deep breath before straightening his attire and puffing some life into his beard. 'Just behave, Al. Can't let Godfather Transistor down.' A last deep breath, shaking the thought - he was ready. Albino strides across the street and into the establishment before calmly taking a seat opposite fake Al.

He pauses for a moment ensuring he has your attention.

"That's the third issue I've had today involving 'your' name - this time some shit about you and some old granny's purses...?" Albino raises an eyebrow before removing all expression entirely.

"My agents are fucked off dealing with it and I'm fucked off with seeing you around here, so how we gonna make this problem go away, fake Al?"

He rests his arms on the table between them and waits.

Still pouring liquor for my fallen soldiers, getting drunk till I’m falling over.

AlbeeAl ignores the man that approaches him until he’s sitting directly across from him. Knowing this isn’t the time nor place to have this conversation he listens to this man ramble about a fake Al. Unknowingly knowing who this man is he isn’t phased by his humor. Dressed as if he is someone important he decides not to push his words and respect that he’s far from home.

This fake Al that you mentioned must of stolen both of our identities. I’m far from being anything fake so I’m definitely not whom those whispers were spoken about before you entered this establishment.

A couple of AlbeeAl goons started to approach until Al turned them away.

You ever want to go out for a drink and continue this conversation I’m all for it. I would say us Al’s need to stick together, but I have a feeling we wouldn’t have that bond.

AlbeeAl gets up and nods at Albino before walking out the cafe.

Albino remained seated, his long gaze still constant. He sat so still for so long, it was almost as if he were living an entire different reality - his own little world elsewhere, where only he existed... Everything here was just temporary. Did any of it even really matter? What even was there to fear? What was the worst that could happen...?

"Did that motherfucker just get up and leave?" Albino suddenly bursts to life, sucking in a chest full of air before forcing it back out and springing from his seat. "He fucking ran away...?"

He pauses for a moment, thinking back to all of the conversations he'd had with Transistor about his behaviour - or specifically his inability to control it. 'Just don't be a loose cannon.' It was that simple. 'Just use your brain, Albino...' He recited.

Albino storms out of the establishment on fake Al's tracks.

"Oi, I'm fucking talking to you." Albino rushes up behind AlbeeAl, shoving him in the back and knocking him to the floor. "Don't fucking ignore me, little gangster..." He chuckles.

"Get the fuck up, you're making a scene." Albino grabs AlbeeAl by his coat and drags him back to his feet before reaching inside his jacket pocket and helping himself.

"Oooh, is this for me?" He pockets the spoils. 

You PICKPOCKETED! AlbeeAl. You took $15,000.

Albino dusts off the young gangster, catching eye contact with one of his entourage. "Don't you have more weights to lift, tubby? Come back in a few days." He smirks. The security were more fat than strong... What a joke.

However, as the crowd began to form around them, it became increasingly obvious to Albino - there weren't too many familiar faces around... He was indeed far from home. A day in the Detroit slammer? That wasn't for him. This city had been getting a widespread reputation for being a shithole. Just recently, multiple high profile mobsters from Detroit were gunned down - their bodies littered the streets for all to witness. Except for those that hid inside, of course...

Albino clears his throat, "So how are we going to sort this? I'm sick of seeing your face around here now." 

Albino waves over one of his BIG, STRONG, WELL-FED army of goons, who hurries over and hands Albino a briefcase.

"I did have an unreasonably large sum of money here for you, hoping you might come equipped with intelligence enough to make a sound decision, but you don't seem too wise after all..."

The crowd had begun to grow, yet no noise was heard. Every single bystander was completely silent - not a single word nor peep was uttered. Were they in shock..? Are they THIS fearful of being in the streets? Does nobody of status in Detroit have a voice? Was little AlbeeAl to just be left out here? Alone? Dealing with this harsh introduction to mobster life alone?! Where was his leader? His sponsor? Did Albino need to senselessly murder this young kid in the streets of Detroit to prove a point? Where's the fucking leadership?!

Albino tosses the briefcase aside and steps in towards fake Al. The two stood staring at each other, just an inch between their faces. Albino's breathing grew shallow. He hated disrespect. The intrusive thoughts began to creep in, growing louder with each laboured breath. He clenches his fist in an attempt to fight against the adrenal shakes taking control of his body.

His angry stare is abruptly broken by the clattering of coins forming a pile around the feet of AlbeeAl. The growing crowd had started chucking money at the young associate.

Albino grew more confused... and less angry. He begins to laugh.

"They said Detroit was cursed... But I've got to be honest." He starts howling with laughter. "You're all just fucking WEIRD."

He continues cackling for a few moments.

"The mafioso in this city are so obviously spineless, the citizens are throwing money at this little nobody gangster..." Albino and his entourage guffaw amongst themselves. 

"Finally... Someone with a voice and a set of balls!" He mocks. 

"All these poor bastards want is a leader..." He grows calmer and mutters to himself. "Poor bastards..."

"Alright kid... I reckon you get to live for now. Detroit needs a few more like you... Maybe you can show Music how it's done." The laughing subsides and silence took back over.

"Let's make one thing clear though." Albino pauses. "The bar might be low here, but it's not in Philadelphia. You better learn to carry a bit more respect or you're gonna have a really bad time, kid..."

"Capiche?"

Albino walks away, signalling for his entourage to follow. "Someone find me a fucking cigar."

Being pushed to the ground from behind, AlbeeAl realizes that these people are made different. Especially this one individual who is seen talking about nothing amongst different street corners. Getting up and reaching into his coat pocket a faint memory flashed before him.

Seen murders up close and I played a part, Can't swim in these waters if you afraid of sharks
Beam on thе strap like I'm afraid of dark, When I die thеy fuck around and try to frame my heart

He clutches his weapon as this Albino continues to waste his breath. Speaking of the silent crowd, when in all he wont be quiet long enough to let anyone else get a word in.

I got what ever you need, but if you ever put your....

Music is seen walking up, ordering me to stop speaking. Evidently she knew who this headache was which means he could of been someone worth a damn. I controlled my words as respect, understanding i still have a lot of learning to do.