Date: Fri, 28 Sep 2001 15:34:08 EDT
From: SSch191950@aol.com
Subject: Angel's Trumpets, chapter 5

ANGEL'S TRUMPETS
by Stefan
http://stefan680.tripod.com/stefanstories/

Author's note: Please visit my website, you'll find there more
information about this story and all the places that are real,
along with photos. I would like to give my thanks to David who
has given me the final idea and to Alex, my editor who was
always there for me. Thanks also to Zafer for moral support.
Please write me under ssch191950@aol.com. Each letter is
welcomed.


Chapter Five


Via Appia

Andrea had snatched one of George's newspapers laying on the kitchen
table.  He couldn't believe it.  Sebastian had been under suspicion of
murder and was in custody for almost 48 hours.  Since he was a man of
Rome's interest, the newspaper reported it under the title 'local news'
which Andrea always read first.  The evening paper George had brought
when he came home said that he was released this noon because another
murder happened at Luigi's Bar.  Madonna mia.   He was just thankful
that Roberto hadn't been there.  But he knew that George had been out
last evening and as usual didn't tell him where.  Since George's phone
wasn't working yet - Roman conditions! - he couldn't get in contact with
Roberto.  He hadn't had sex with George for three days, that was a
record, Andrea grinned, and so George perhaps found his relief somewhere
else. Perhaps at Luigi's Bar?

But soon enough he felt George's laboured breath at his neck.  He always
walked silently as a cat, a most irritating behaviour.  And soon his
hands roamed all over Andrea's bare chest.  It had been hot in the day
and the air conditioning was out, for George was prone to colds.  He
pinched his nipples and bit into Andrea's neck, close under his ear.

George didn't wait anymore for the long dong to come.  He just thought
about Andrea and his cock that was there always for him as long as he
paid him even if he recently didn't want to sleep with him.  But he knew
how he could turn him on, and this thing never failed its  effect.  He
pulled him from the chair he was sitting in and went with him to the
spacious bathroom, where he undressed him completely.

Surprised he noticed that Andrea didn't complain nor struggle; perhaps
he was in need of money then?  George grinned slyly, turned on the water
hose, tested the temperature and started to spray Andrea all over with
water, first his shoulders, over his chest, the legs and feet.  Andrea
giggled and George was so happy to hear this sound that he stepped under
the shower with him, fully dressed, and started to move the hose over
his abdomen, the ball sack and finally Andrea's penis.  He knew the
tickling of the water was exquisite and nobody could resist this.  It
was like a thousand tiny tongues licking and tickling  and very quickly
Andrea had a raging hard-on.

George turned off the water, took Andrea by the hand as the bell rang at
the front door.  George froze.  It was ten minutes to 10 p.m., who could
be the visitor now?

   "Stay as you are, or better, wait for me in bed, sweetheart," he told
Andrea and went to open the door.

All that he saw was a cloak and a hood, pulled over a face that lay in
darkness.  Without a word he stepped into the hall and turned off the
light.  George has stunned.  The hooded man passed him by, went to the
living room and said slowly, "Turn off each light."  He watched when
George pressed a combination of numbers that shut the outside blinds.
He knew that they went down for each room, so that his house was now a
little fortress that nobody would be able to break in to.  The
combination he alone knew.

It was now pitch dark in the house.  Suddenly he remembered Andrea
waiting for him in the bedroom.  He would await him every minute.

But then there was light, a lit candle in the hand of the visitor, and
George shivered with excitement.  Finally he would have everything
again, the cock he yearned for . . .  George went on to the guest room,
the bed was invitingly large, a double bed, ready to jump in.

The candle was placed on a table next to the door, too far away to see
good enough, but light enough not to stumble.

The cloak was falling down.  George stared at the man.  His face was
covered by a mask, sort of a Zorro mask, that hid his eyes and nose.
And his cock was straining up to the ceiling, long and red.  Used.

The man tossed him a package of condoms and a tube. "Undress."

The voice was old. Old and demanding.  George started to sweat, he
tried to peel off his clothes, wet from the shower he had shared with
Andrea.

Andrea was still waiting for him . . . . Quickly George rushed to the
door and locked it.  Then he struggled with his socks and the trousers
that seemed to be glued on his body.  The cock was getting impatient.
It bounced up and down when the man moved in the direction of the bed.
George finally was naked, went to him, got on his knees and sniffed. His
tongue darting out, catching a few drops of excitement.  Circled around
the tip that was peering out of the foreskin.  Got it into his mouth,
and moaned with pleasure.  But the man remained silent, there was no
movement, he just looked down and watched George's actions.

And then he withdrew and lay upon the bed, George was above him in no
time, kneeling between his hairy legs, going down on him like it would
be the last time.  His own penis was dripping and smearing his fluid all
over the sheets and the knees of the unknown man.  And then he felt
turned over by a surprisingly firm grip, a finger was pushed into his
ass, searching his insides.  George saw stars exploding before his eyes
when he hit the right spot.  He spread his legs, mustered himself up for
the large intruder but it didn't come.  Instead he felt a tongue at his
opening, darting in and out, like a second penis, leaving him in a
puddle of saliva and spittle.  And then he heard the first moan from
him.  A deep rumble, like a wolf.  His penis vanished in the other's
mouth, he felt his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, sucking. Sucking
and sucking still until he couldn't hold on no more.  A deep cry escaped
George's mouth, quickly covered by a large hand.

He was turned over once more, his ass stuck high in the air, only
fingers greasing him, inside, around and under and then he felt it . . .
a large, hard, soft and hot thing those width almost split his anus.
But George pushed back, softly first, then more and more until the head
slipped in.  Once more a cry escaped George but this time the man let it
happen.  A stronger push and he was in.  George gritted his teeth, the
hands clamped around the bed linen.  Another push, a long stroke,
another and he was out again.  George silently begged he might come back
and bit his lips until they bled when he felt entered again.

He was laying spread eagled upon the bed while the masked man fucked him
like a hammer.  He heard his panting, the breath upon his back, the
sweat dripping upon his skin.  Faster and faster, George thought his
blood must be dripping from his anus, but still he enjoyed it.  More and
more.  This very moment he felt hands approaching his throat.  Large
hands wrapping around his neck, strangling his windpipe until he
couldn't breath.  Something rustled.  From the corner of his eyes he saw
a white plastic bag.  And in this last moment of highest ecstasy, when
he drenched the sheets beneath him, he lost consciousness.


Andrea waited in vain.  He had enjoyed what George had done to his body,
and was willing to give him a good fuck but then he wondered why George
didn't appear.  The blinds had went down and Andrea had awaited him
every second.  He had spread himself upon the bed, turned on the TV and
must have dropped off, when he heard a cry from below.  Something was
going on down there.  A burglar?  Andrea cursed the fact that he had no
phone, his cell phone George had taken away.

He didn't dare to look, just tiptoed to the door and lay his ear to the
wood.  No sound.  He opened the door, went out to the staircase and
peered down.  It was pitch dark.  But then a small light appeared.  Sort
of a candle's light and then there was the shadow of a man, dressed in
something wide, like a cloak.

He dragged something heavy.  Andrea's heartbeat went to his throat.
Silently he slipped back into the bedroom.  Then the clicking of the
door told him that the man had gone.  He heard the turning of keys.
Locked.  Andrea knew the door was too heavy to destroy it.  The blinds
were heavy too and strengthened with iron gates.  The combination to
open them was George's secret.  That's for George's panic attacks that a
burglar could break into his house.

Andrea sat upon the bed.  What now?  And what happened to George?

He dragged himself up, pulled on his jeans and went down the staircase.
First he tried the entrance door.  As feared, it was locked.  He
rattled, knowing it was in vain.  The second bunch of keys, always
hanging beside the door, had vanished too.  Andrea entered the living
room, then the kitchen, the guest bath and finally the guest room.  He
found the bed clothes disheveled, on the carpet a used condom and an
open tube of jelly.  The slimy fluid had ran out.

This was getting mysterious. . . who was the secret, nightly visitor
whom George let in, slept with and got knocked out finally?  On the
small table beside the door he found traces of wax. Perhaps it was
indeed a candle he had seen.  And where was George now?  Was he still
alive?

And then he made the connection:  George at Luigi's Bar - the murder -
what if the nightly visitor and the murderer were one and the same? -
George killed with a plastic bag.  Despair spread out.  Fervently he
pressed the buttons for the blinds, just in case he could hit the right
combination per chance.  But nothing moved.  Then he opened the glass
doors to the garden and banged his fists upon the metal surface, he
squeezed his fingers between ground and blinds with the result that his
fingertips were bleeding.  Then he took a chair and tried to smash the
blinds - no luck.

At least he wouldn't starve for the fridge and pantry were stuffed with
food. He just hoped that Roberto would show up sooner or later when he
didn't hear from him.  Andrea once more started his restless walk
through the house to find an escape.



Luigi's Bar

The rooms, usually bustling with life, were deserted and dimly lighted.
Instead of using the stage for their practices, the strippers had
gathered there:  Christian, Claudio, Giulio and Nando, the brother of
Sascha.  They were silent when Luigi and Tasso entered the stage,
joining them in their silence.

   "It's two of us now," Nando started to speak.  "First Paolo, now
Sascha."  One moment Tasso feared that he would break out into tears.
He had the same tiny locks like his brother, the same long lashes
shading his eyes, but he was extremely well built, result of countless
days in the workout studios.

Tasso sighed and looked at his partner. "We have to tell you that we
have decided to close this bar for good," Luigi started, more softly
than the men had been used to.  Everybody was looking at him.  "We
aren't sure if we will ever get our license back, that's the main
reason."

The guys started to protest and Luigi lifted his hand. "I've spoken to
Camillo and he agreed to take you over as a group if you want.  You're
the best guys."  He smiled a little.

They looked at each other; Camillo's nightclub was one of the most
luxurious in town.  Luigi had paid them well, but perhaps Camillo would
pay more.  Their faces lit up.

   "Of course we will take over all costs of Sascha's funeral," he
said to Nando. "I've heard you shared several nights with our mysterious
man in chamber 4?"

   "Guess we all have.  But nobody has ever seen his face.  The night
Sascha died I had seen him last when he entered chamber 20 with a young
man - Vincenzo he called him when we met briefly in the corridor."
Nando's head sunk.  "That was the last time I saw him."  Hastily he
wiped his eyes.  "But now . . . how can we find out when the bar is
closed?"

   "You told me you have the film from the camera," Claudio threw in.
"You should bring it to the police."

   "There's nothing important to see.  Just material for a porn movie
I'd say."

   "Nonetheless.  The police might have better possibilities," Luigi said.
"Do you know this Vincenzo?"

Nando shook his head. "He seemed nice to me.  Probably Sascha had just
met him.  I haven't seen him afterward, but that's not our man."  He
looked all around.  "We all know since the long dong had started to
visit the bar that everything had changed.  Former chamber 4 was just a
room for foursomes, but then it started to be an insider's tip."

Claudio nodded.  "It's just not the abnormal length, it's the thrill
around, the candles, the silence and his skill.  But he was out of
control sometimes.  I've seen how he strangled a guy, but thought it was
just instinctive at the peak of his orgasm.  Probably we've slept with a
killer and have just been lucky."

Luigi nodded.  "Keep your eyes open then when you start to work for
Camillo.  I'll set a notice that you have changed your employer, perhaps
he will follow you."


Gianicolo

Sebastian had taken his holidays for he still was in a state of shock.
Not that the treatment had been bad but this definitely didn't belong to
his good experiences in life.  They all had picked him up this morning
from the police station and he had never been so happy to see them,
especially Kay.  Since he had heard the new about the second incident at
Luigi's Bar he had remained very thoughtful, trying to sort out
everything that the guys had told him.  How did everything fit together?

Kay came with the news from Tasso; he had done his job there for some
hours, mainly talked about Nando's opinion, the empty camera which
didn't have Sebastian's fingerprints, naturally.

His legs shook, and he rolled the whiskey  in the glass, Marcus had
bought him.  He was glad that he had quit visiting the dark rooms
since he had met Kay.

   "Leandro and Daniel had let us into their secrets, Bastian."  Marcus
sat beside him in a chair under a sunshade in the garden.  "Seems as if
he has an idea who our friend is.  Do you per chance know a Cardinal
Borghese?"

   "Gianluca Borghese?  Sure I know him.  Recently he took over the relics
from Daniel's altar for the Lateran.  He lives in his house that's now
Galleria Borghese."

   "That was him?" Marcus asked surprised.  "But do you know him
personally?"

   "Not that I know.  Why?"

   "Leandro is highly suspicious that he is the one and the same: the man
with the excitingly long thing and the murderer himself."

Sebastian was too stunned to say anything.

   "The bad thing is that Gianluca and Leandro stood face to face at
Luigi's Bar.  It must have been shortly after the murder.  He held a
stuffed plastic bag, Leandro said and looked pretty disarranged to put
it mildly.  Vincenzo told them . . ."

   "Stop, give me a break, please," Sebastian said. "Who is this Vincenzo
actually?"

   "Leandro's ex-lover.  He followed both to Luigi and hooked up with
Sascha to go with him to the darkrooms.  After some time two guys
entered the room, one of them was our man, hood and cloak and a candle.
Vincenzo was frightened and left the room, leaving Sascha behind."

   "Hmm.  So it could be that the hood and the other guy were the last to
see Sascha alive right?"

   "Right.  But not necessarily."

   "And how are we supposed to find out?"  Sebastian took another sip
from his whiskey. It had a very relaxing effect.

   "Vincenzo gave his report to the police when we've picked you up",
Marcus continued. "And then Leandro uttered his suspicions about
Borghese."

   "Let me guess," Sebastian said calm, "they said they can do nothing
because they can't investigate against a cardinal of the Vatican State,
right?"

   "How do you know?"

Sebastian just smiled. He saw Kay coming from the house and beamed.
He made room on the bench where he was sitting and pressed Kay very
close to his body.  "I didn't sleep one minute," he told him.  "Me
neither," Kay replied.  "Have you filled him in?" he asked Marcus.

   "Everything except about this Vincenzo.  Marcus said it's Leandro's
ex-lover?  From Volterra?  I've never seen him.  Leandro must have
hidden this secret from me."

   "Surely enough, he was hot for you," Kay said grinning.  "So was
Vincenzo in his way."

   "I don't think Leandro would do such sly things."

   "Vincenzo is married," Marcus added.  "He left him to marry a woman to
save the family set-up, so to say."

Sebastian lifted his eyebrows in surprise.  "Well . . . how odd.  And
now he he changed his mind, yes?  What's with Daniel and Leandro?"

Marcus and Kay shrugged their shoulders.  "I have the feeling they're
about to figure it out."  Kay nodded over to the men, vanishing around
the house:  Leandro and Vincenzo.



   "I really don't know how to handle this," Leandro was telling him.
"Everything is in turmoil inside me."  He pulled a leaf to pieces.  "I
even had to sleep alone this night.  I need more time."

Vincenzo's eyes lit up. "And Daniel didn't complain?"

Sure he had, but not that much to change Leandro's mind.  He felt pretty
bad about it, but he hadn't promised Daniel anything. It was just that
Daniel's closeness disturbed his mind from thinking clearly. Actually
it wasn't the fact itself whether he had fallen in love with Daniel or
not but just that the whole idea had disrupted all his plans he had made
for Rome.

Meran? He would be trapped in a small town again. But Daniel's sad
eyes made his heart pound. If only he was a little more persistent...
like Vincenzo was.


To be serious he couldn't imagine Daniel being that jealous that he
would lose his mind and get into a fight with his ex-lover. Although . . .

   "Perhaps we have to decide it with fists then.  Just me and Daniel,
like in an arena."

Leandro snorted.  "Gladiator, eh?  And the prize is me."  He stood and
looked into Vincenzo's cornflower blue eyes. "What will you do now?  How
long will you wait for my decision?"

Leandro suddenly felt the power of his words and the meaning behind
them.  He should feel flattered that two men would fight for him, but he
couldn't.

   "Your welcome was pretty harsh," he heard Vincenzo saying.  "You blew
my mind, took the wind from all my sails and I thought I'd have no chance.
But now . . ."  He placed his arm around Leandro's waist and pulled him
close.  "Just remember.  Close our eyes and remember our plans.  I'll
make them reality."

It was hard not to follow his wishes.  "With what?  Where do you want to
go?"

   "Stay here in Rome, you have your work and I'll find a suiting shop for
the tourists.  There can never be enough of them, right?"

Leandro was about to nod.  Daniel would return to Meran and would be out
of sight.  And out of his mind.  "I won't give up that easily, I like
you too much."  That had been Daniel's words but Leandro wasn't sure to
if he should believe them.  He needed proof. But what about his own
feelings? Surely he had fallen in love with Daniel. Daniel was somebody
to trust, to restore his tired mind and body, and since Leandro wasn't
a person who needed constant entertainment he seemed the right man
for him. It was great to share his nights with him and Leandro hadn't
missed Vincenzo for a single second of them. Daniel was a man; not the boy
Leandro considered Vincenzo to be. He smiled a half smile. Glancing
at his former lover he noticed that Vincenzo wasn't a boy anymore either,
but in his memories he always considered him to be, like in the old
days when they had shared their first kiss, heated from playing. Leandro
wasn't able to change this feeling. Vincenzo would always be his
childhood friend, a lover that had passed - somebody he was about to
leave behind. On the other hand: did he know Daniel enough? Perhaps
the old familiarity weighed more?

 "Give me more time," he said.  "You have enough money to stay?"

Vincenzo nodded, truly convinced that he would win in the end.

Leandro peered through the kitchen window.  Daniel and Nicholas were
cooking together, preparing a welcome dinner for Sebastian.  From the
smell, coming through the window, it must be marvelous. Leandro saw
them laughing, both had dressed in long aprons that reached to their
ankles. Daniel was sure a solid man. He could rely on him, couldn't
he? More than he could on Vincenzo?

In his head formed a plan, but he needed Daniel for this, so he
delayed it until the night.

Daniel had seen Leandro talking to his old lover from the
kitchen window. He saw Vincenzo talking non-stop to Leandro
who was taciturn and thoughtful. Perhaps this very moment his
destiny was sealed. Would their young love be strong enough to resist
the old memories or not? Would he be forced into a verbal or
physical fight? Would he fight? It had hurt that Leandro hadn't
wanted to share his bed with him last night but what could he do.

He spilled vinegar over his fingers instead of over the salad. Nicholas
nudged him. He was sure he had seen them too and was thinking his own part.
Although he was a bit shy of asking Daniel he thought it was important.
He cleared his throat. "Danny, I think you should do something about
this here", he said quietly.

   "I know", was Daniel's only answer.

   "I know... that's all?" Nicholas was getting agitated. He wiped his
hands on his apron and looked closely at the older man. "The little
time I've learnt to know Leandro I realised he's worth the fight."

   "Fight?" Daniel echoed.

   "Yes, fight. Man, you can't stand here and watch Vincenzo dragging
his ex-lover into his arms once more. If you feel anything for Leandro
you'll have to stand up for him."

Daniel smiled at the young men's heat. "You've learnt something, right?"
he said after a while. "I mean the days when you and Marcus..."

Nicholas held his gaze. "Yes, I've learnt something. We both learnt
something. If you're in love it's important not to waste any time.
Let him know that you want him."

Daniel was still smiling and nodded. "I know you're right. I've never had
the opportunity to fight for somebody." That was nonsense he thought
immediately. He hadn't fight for his relationship with Felix for instance.
Perhaps it would had been possible for both of them to increase their
feelings for eachother if he would had given them time. But he hadn't
and it was over. And Daniel actually wasn't sad about it. He knew that
he was a ditherer, completely different to his cousin Sebastian who
always took the bull by the horns. He felt ashamed that this young man
had to tell him this, but he wasn't angry. Nicholas was right.

Vincenzo and Leandro had gone. And Daniel promised himself that he
wouldn't sleep alone that night.



Via Appia

Roberto didn't show up.  It was now the third day and Andrea was getting
really despaired.  Incessantly he had tried to smash the door and the
blinds, leaving just bulges behind.  He was able to lift them from the
floor, and tried to squeeze himself through but was afraid to get
stuck.  Then he tried the attic, but the skylights were too small, so he
took a sheet and wrote the word "Aiuto" upon it - help.  This he hung
out but since the opening was so small, nobody would be able to read
it.

This morning he had inspected the basement and came back pretty
dirty.  There was the oil tank and some old stuff from the former
owner.  But then he had detected a secret door behind a shelf full of
old cans and empty glasses and bottles.  He pushed the shelf aside and
had been able to open the rusted door.  There was a steep staircase
leading down and Andrea was determined to use it.

So he packed his rucksack with bread, salami and cheese, took a large
bottle of water, a torch and some matches.  He had absolutely no clue
where the staircase would lead him, perhaps to the neighbour next door
whose basements were connected, but he doubted it.  Why would it be that
steep then?

He took a sheet and scribbled some words, then left it at the kitchen
table.  He gathered all his guts, opened the door and started to enter
the staircase.



Somewhere

It was night, or was it day?  He neither could make out the time nor
which day it was.  Whenever he opened his eyes he was surrounded by a
steady dim light because the blinds were always shut down. Blinds. . .
he had closed the blinds, that's right . . . but what happened then?

Another morning.  Another evening?  His tongue felt wet with a slimy,
not exactly tasteful fluid, he feared to choke when his mouth was
stuffed with a . . . thing that was pliable and hot.  Spongy . . . His
throat hurt, as well his head and his anus.  There had been something
but he didn't know what . . . . A weight upon his body helpless on the
ground.  A bed perhaps.  He couldn't open his eyes, they were too
heavy.  Some more fluid, hot and bitter this time, but he drank
thirstily and then . . . oblivion.



Galleria Borghese

The door bell rang.  Gianluca, startled, lifted his head.  He didn't
welcome visitors.  It was two in the afternoon, the museum was closed.
And very few people knew the entrance door to his wing of the museum.
Sighing he closed the book and tenderly wiped over it.  Then he dressed
into his cloak and went to open the door.

The young man, Leandro, smiled into his face.  Gianluca thought he would
faint.  He couldn't control his facial expression and was sure that it
was twitching.

   "Signore Cardinal, scusi to disturb you.  But I haven't seen you for
so long I thought I would meet  you at Villa Giulia.  The Apollo of Veji,
you remember?"

   "Si. . . si.  I do remember."  Gianluca's thoughts paced through his
mind.  Madonna, what could he want?  He had seen him coming from Luigi's
Bar.  Not a suitable place for a catholic cardinal . . .

   "Umm. . . do you want to come in?"  He stepped invitingly aside.

   "No, no.  It's not necessary.  What about a walk through the park?
I've never seen the park of this house.  I've read it's brilliant."

   "Oh yes, well, it is.  Brilliant."  Gianluca hesitated and looked wary.
But then he decided to take the bull by the horns.  If the boy wanted to
blackmail him, he would find a solution.  He closed the door behind him
and walked with Leandro around the house.  It was a nice baroque
garden.  In the middle of it was sort of a labyrinth, trees were formed
to sculptures and the flowers in the beds were decorated as curled
snakes. Some very fine specimen of Angel's Trumpets stood in groups,
their large, yellow trumpet-like flowers hung in clusters from
the branches, oozing an intoxicating smell.

   "How is the work, Leandro?"

   "Oh, fine, fine.  I'm working at the copy of town Ceverteri, you know.
It develops slowly, there's so much to think of."  He stopped at a bench
in front of a box tree hedge.  "It's hot today, isn't it."

Gianluca was getting nervous.  That guy was beating around the bush.  He
took a seat and Leandro sat beside him.  "To make it short, Leandro.
You and I know what you have seen three days ago.  What do you want from
me?"

Landro jerked a bit for Gianluca had changed the tone.  It was now raspy
and old. Cold. He was sure that he had walked slowly enough that
Daniel and Vincenzo could follow him.  If he just could know where they
were hidden right now. Daniel wasn't excited about Leandro's suggestion
in the first place, but Vincenzo had been all for it despite what he did
was dangerous. Daniel.... last night he had met a different Daniel;
there was no trace of hesitation on his side. Leandro wondered what
had shaken him out of his reserve. But now was no time to ponder.

   "Well," Leandro said, "that's no problem, his Eminence. Your
secret is well hidden with me."

   "Secret?"  Gianluca's head flung around.  He goggled at the younger
man.  "What secret?"

   "Well, what would a cardinal of the Holy Curia have to do in a gay
bar?"

   "It was a gay bar?"

Leandro couldn't help but laugh.  That was hilarious. "Oh, you didn't
know it was a gay bar?  You've lost your way then?"

   "Surely I did.  Actually I wanted to visit some of my lambs but must
have gone to the wrong entrance."  That was poppycock he thought
instantly.   How stupid must this young man be to believe that?  So he
changed the tactic.

   "Alright, you have me.  I'm not the first gay cardinal and will not be
the last.  Where is the problem?"

Leandro looked at him with an innocent look.  "I don't see a problem,
cardinal.  You have changed it into one when you denied it."

That had some reasons, Gianluca thought.

   "I really just wanted to know how you are," Leandro continued.  Well
we met a Luigi's Bar and I was surprised, yes.  But it's none of my
business.  You didn't think I wanted to blackmail you?  Betray your
secret to the curia?  Huh, how should I do that?  And who would be
interested?  We all know how the Vatican handles things . . . probably
you would be transferred to a small town?  Perhaps not."

Gianluca said nothing.  He stared intently at his hands which had
started to tremble slightly.

   "Do you know where to go, now that Luigi's Bar is closed?"

   "Scusi?  Another bar?"

   "Yes.  I've heard that the strippers have another engagement at
Camillo's "Forty Seven."  It's pretty posh.  I think I will try it out.
Do you?"

   "Was this an invitation?"  Perhaps he was keen on old men?  Gianluca
measured him from head to feet.  Could it be?  Leandro gave him a deep
look and Gianluca shivered.  His cock started to raise.

   "When?"  he croaked.

   "Let's say Friday night?"

Another suspicious look. Gianluca rose and marched on, Leandro followed
him.  "I have to go, Signore Cardinal.  My break is over."

Gianluca nodded absentmindedly and stared into empty space.




Rome's Underground

His flashlight illuminated just a small patch of the unsteady ground.
But, determined, he gripped his bag tighter and started to walk.
He felt the burden of earth upon his shoulders; there was no sound, no
insects, no mice rustling in the recesses while he went on.  Andrea
wasn't claustrophobic but the walls were so close together that only
one person could pass.  Each moment he feared that it could cave in or
some creature, well hidden in one on the byways could jump in his way
and dig his claws into his body....

He stopped.  A crossways.  To the left and right passages turned off,
vanishing in the darkness outside the circle of light created by his
flashlight.  Andrea thought that he was pretty unsure of the meaning of
this labyrinth under Rome's ground.  He wasn't Theseus and Ariadne with
a red thread was far away.

So he searched on the ground and picked up a small stone with which he
scratched an arrow into the soft Tuff stone that pointed straight on.
He had decided not to change the direction.  He passed several more cross
roads and marked each one, then a draft of air touched his body.  He
pointed the flashlight to the left and saw a vertical shaft from which
coolness poured in.  Cautiously he stepped closer and guided the light
into the shaft up and downwards.  More tuff, and Andrea sensed that this
tunnel he was walking along wasn't the last level, but that there must
be more down under and more above.

Suddenly a flash bolted through his mind:  The catacombs!  The
catacombs stretched themselves hundreds of kilometers under Rome's
ground.

He shivered in the cool air streaming from the shaft.  He could walk
here for days without finding the exit.  Would it be better to return
and wait for Roberto?  But it wasn't certain that he would show up.
And perhaps the killer would come back for his next victim....

Determined, he walked on.  At the next crossways he marked the walls
until his way reached a dead end.  Andrea's knuckles knocked on the
stone.  Crumbly and greasy.  He turned back to the last crossways,
took the right junction, another junction and yet another.  Now the
loculi started.  Niches, open or closed with marble plates with
withered inscriptions, where the dead bodies had been laid to rest.
His flashlight detected more of them, carved into stone:  a pelican,
a fish - the sign of Peter - a peacock, the Good Shepherd and the
sign for Martyrs and Christos Rex.

He followed the narrow tunnels from both sides filled with loculi,
his flashlight beam slid over skulls and bones or even complete
skeletons.  The people of those times must have been much smaller,
he tried to distract himself with biological connections.  Those
small niches, almost made just for children ....

Andrea lost his sense of time, his watch told him that he was just short
of three hours in the underground but to him it seemed as if it must
have been three days.  Exhausted, he sat down and leaned his back
against the wall, then he took the water bottle and drank; he was
too excited to eat.  It was warm; sweat had beaded upon his forehead
and upper lip.  The air was stale, musty and putrid and he couldn't
bring himself to think about the consequences if he couldn't find an
exit from this labyrinth.  Someday, in hundreds of years, an
archaeologist would find this way and would wonder about the strange
and stupid tourist that had lost his guide and the way to end up in
this ancient cemetery . . .

Andrea closed his eyes and when he opened them again it was yet
another hour later.  Cursing, he jumped up and rushed forward.
But abruptly he stopped.  He wasn't sure from which direction he
had come . . . he hurried in panic through the tunnels, then it
opened into a hall, well a larger room under the earth with grave
houses whose arcosols had been decorated with paintings, stucco and
graffiti; decayed stones, the doors open so he could see the mummified
bodies.  On one side of the room was a small staircase leading,
presumably, to the ground below this one.  Andrea thought a moment.
Sometime he must be able to find the area that was given free for
the tourists, but as long as there wasn't a light meant there was
no hope for him yet.  His hate for George grew with each step he
made in darkness.  If he had had his cock under control and didn't
fuck with everybody that rang his door bell he wouldn't be in this
tight spot now.  Instantly he regretted his thoughts though.  George
was dead.  But this meant that George had know the nightly visitor
for he never let strangers into his house.  And the consequence was
that Andrea would know him too.  Was the killer one of the men George
met at Luigi's Bar and had invited him to the house the other day?
How mysterious this all was.

When he entered the staircase he saw that there was another one,
leading up.  Pleased he followed.  Perhaps he would reach the higher
level to meet some workers, preparing the tunnel for tourists.



Galleria Borghese

He was sleeping.  Gianluca had checked on him some hours ago.
The room was locked, without a window, unreachable. Nobody
else except his family knew about this secret place. When Camillo
Borghese had become Pope Paul V, he had brought some of the family
treasures here to protect them from all the wars that shook Rome
and the land of Italy constantly. Paul V had given money for the
restorations of this church. His descendants had also used it.
It was owing to this place that Napoleon Bonaparte hadn't seen
all of the large Borghese-collection to take it with him
to Paris.

The light that crept into this room was greenish like the tea Gianluca
administered to him regularly.  It was a dose that would knock him out,
perhaps he would lose his memory, perhaps he would never awake.  But
Gianluca would have now one for his own, for his pleasure, to use like
a sex doll. Oh yes, he had seen the lust in his eyes - nobody had been
that eager to spread his ass cheeks for him without any hesitation or
inhibitions about the length of his instrument.  Gianluca grinned.  He
had always been proud of that.

He stirred the greenish tea, made from the Angel's Trumpets standing
in his Baroque Garden.  It was a hallucinogen that would destroy,
sooner or later, his nerves, or his brain cells or both.  But Gianluca
didn't care; he needed his kick, the pictures it created in his mind.

Lovingly he stared at the woodcuts of the open book.  He didn't need
them anymore, like the porn magazines and video cassettes - finally
he had a living body available next door, whenever he was in need of
it.

The small, normal operating part of his mind told him that nobody
would understand the reasons he needed male bodies that way to be
happy and at the same time hated them.

Yes.

He hated himself, like he did all hustlers, strippers, sluts, and
faggots in particular, because he was a faggot himself.

He leaned back in his chair and sipped at his tea.  Pictures were
building in his mind.  The silent house in Rome's surrounding.
Everything settled long before his birth:  The first son inherited
the house, the second was allowed to study and the third one had to
become a priest.  Each family had a priest.  The Borgheses were a
very old, traditional dynasty, well acknowledged not only in the
village where they inhabited an old country house with servants and
staff.  This tradition belonged to the ancient family of the Borghese,
brought forth cardinals and popes.  And then there was he:  The last
one left for his brothers had died.  A homosexual.

Pictures in his mind, colourful; the brothers happily together.  The
fear by night.  His father opening the door to the room he shared
with his brother.  He had been too young to understand.  His brother
whimpering, the father standing upright, with his pajama trousers on,
taking the head of his son and pushing it to his belly, faster and
faster.  His brother's heavy panting because he could only breath
through his nose.

Gianluca didn't understand.  He thought that his brother needed
comfort so close to his father's body.  Those blow jobs had been
the only pleasure for his father - for women hardly do this - his
brother had explained.  But what did Gianluca know about blow jobs
then?

Another sip from the tea.  He had learned to value the taste of cum
when he was 12; his brother had moved out and left him alone to
fulfill the desires of a cranky, horny old man.  Gianluca thought
it to be the right thing, because his father had said it would be
ok.  Just a secret between father and son, leaving the female side
of the world out.  He had accustomed to the rancid taste of his
father's cum and to his cock he had put into Gianluca's anus.  A
new experience.

Gianluca closed his eyes.  Still he felt the large intruder - similar
to his own now.  Too large for a 14 years old.  He hid the bloody
underpants in the deepest corner of his wardrobe.  He had to get on
his hands and knees - the most animal position he knew for his father
couldn't fuck him in a different style because he would have had to
look him in the eyes then.

Gianluca hated and loved it.  Until today he didn't know which feeling
was stronger.   And he never had allowed any man to enter him again.

Gianluca's hands wandered absentmindedly over the book's paper sheets.
That was the only love he knew and killing was just the act of
deliverance.

He always killed his father.

The paper rustled.  Gianluca dug his nails in, tore the pages and
Poliphiilo and his lover Polio shriveled to paper balls in his fists.
He wouldn't let fiction he had made out of his life be destroyed by
this young man named Leandro.  If necessary he would kill his father
again.  Like he did each night, in every dream, in any occasion.
Since the stripper Paolo had tried to force himself into his body
the memories came back.  Everything was fresh like in the days of
childhood.

He emptied his cup and went away to have a look at his booty.

 ~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter six follows soon