A Gangster With Roses • Tommy Shelby

deal with the devil

|02|
A HANDSHAKE IN HELL

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

THERE'S SOMETHING DANGEROUS about Tommy Shelby and I don't mean just in a violent way. There's something dangerously alluring about him, dangerously engaging, he was compelling poison. You shouldn't be drawn to it but somehow, you are.

Everyone in Small Heath knew who the Shelby's were by now. Any street Tommy was on people would either run and hide or respectfully say hello. Mostly both, one after the other.

"Come on boy, you may have lost the race but you've got us a fortune." Tommy whispers, mounting the Pearl white horse.

Monoghan boy.

"G-go easy on him, his— his, hoof might be close to cracking Tom. Cracked hoof isn't good." Curly stutters coming out the stable.

Curly worked at Tommy's uncle Charlie Strong's yard, he was also a ferryman; but he was best known for being the best horseman in Small Heath. He had a mental issue and slight speech impediment.

"Don't worry, Curly." Tommy picks up the two ropes. "We're only going down the street to the Garrison."

The horse took a couple steps forward, Curly was right, he was slightly in pain. The horse relaxes into a steady walk, head bobbing in time with his feet.

He strokes his horse gently, "There you go boy."

As Tommy entered Watery Lane, kids run past him playing football giddily.

"Sorry Mr Shelby!" One of the kids apologies loudly.

He nods without a word.

When Tommy was on his horse, he felt like he had the eyes of God. Omniscient. Watching over everyone. There were workers in every corner, their black hands from the coal and dirt. Beggars, women with hungry infants and prostitutes.

Most importantly there was coppers. Lots of them now. Patrolling the streets. Ever since the police force had been reformed by the new mayor, they hadn't left.

They practically lived there.

This wasn't good news for Tommy as most of what he did was illegal, he didn't need any more prying eyes.

He hops off his horse and enters the rowdy pub.

The Garrison.

"About time you got here Tommy!" John immediately rushes over to his brother. "They've all had too much to drink, they're singing like dying cats!"

John chuckles with a toothpick in his mouth, putting his arm over his brother. "Don't fancy a drink? Not like you, Tom."

He shakes his head, heading over to the pub counter as the men around them continued to chant, sing and stumble everywhere.

Tommy wasn't in the mood for drinking.

"Fuck these coppers!" Arthur bellows, walking into the pub. "Every bloody street, every bloody corner now! You can't get away from them!"

"Ah, there he is." John announces, that was the Arthur he knew and loved.

Arthur was right, there were coppers everywhere because Small Heath was going through a drug epidemic. The whole of England was actually. The rise of opium, morphine, cocaine and heroine were like never before. Not only were people drugging themselves, they were drugging horses in races so there's could win and get bets.

And the Peaky Blinders of course had a part in it.

"Tommy?" Arthur walks up to his two brothers. "You'll never guess who's back. Aunt Pol wanted to tell you but, I guess I'm telling you me-self."