sweet french. peaky blinders

69

"Really? You forget your fucking telegram. The telegram just said, 'hello'," Solomons said, wide-eyed. "Face it, you want to sell me something. What?"

Tommy paused. Everything had been leading to this: his official way in. He was doing this for all of them, for his family, for Lucille, for his daughter, for his brothers. London was the future.

"We join forces."

"Fuck off," Solomons exclaimed, not missing a beat. "No."

"Mr Solomons, your distillery provides one-tenth of your income. Protection is another 10% and the rest you make from the race tracks. I know you keep a gun in the drawer, beside the whiskey. I know you offer a deal or death," Tommy said, watching as Alfie stilled momentarily, only to come back more heated. "I know what I'm saying makes you angry, but I'm offering you a solution. You see, Mr Sabini is running all your bookies off your courses. And he is closing down the premises that take your rum. And people don't trust your protection anymore."

"You're the bloke who shot Billy Kimber, right?" Alfie broke out into a sadistic smile. "You did, you fucking shot him. You fucking betrayed him, mate. So it would be entirely appropriate to do what I'm thinking in my head to you right now."

"I can offer you 100 good men, all with weapons. And a new relationship with the police."

"Intelligence. Intelligence is a very valuable thing, ain't it, my friend?" Alfie said. "And usually it comes far too fucking late."

He pulled out the gun, holding it to Tommy's head. He didn't move, he barely breathed. Solomons wouldn't shoot. But still, Tommy thought of Lucille and of his promise to her, to come back. He would go back to her, he would go back to her with another promise. A promise of a prosperous future.

"Let's say I shot you already, right, in the fucking face. And the bullet goes bone, mush, one cabinet over there. Which is a shame isn't it. That cabinet is fucked and I got to get rid of it. So, what I do is this. It's fucking simple mate. I cut that cabinet in half, don't I? I do, I just cut the cabinet. I cut."

He dropped the gun, smiling as if they were old friends playing a joke.

"I take one half of the cabinet and put it into a barrel. I take the other half and put it in another barrel. And I send this barrel off to Mandalay and the other barrel off to somewhere like... Timbuktu. Have you ever been?"

Tommy did not miss the threat. "No."

"Would you like to go?"

"No."

"You know I always thought you'd have a great, big fucking gold ring in your nose," Solomon said, barking out another laugh. And like that, Tommy was in. "I'm sorry. Go on. Tell us your plan."

Lucille

The cuts and bruises on Dawson's face had not yet begun to heel, and by the looks of it, Lucille knew it was due to his irritation, causing him to scratch and itch out of agitation many times a minute. His eyes were dark and puffy, a sure sign of lack of sleep, and even a busy Polly had commented on how distressed he was looking. All it had taken for him to let it all out like a bursting dam, was a simple question.

"It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't have been here," Dawson said quietly, tilting his pale face away. He nursed a small cup of tea between his hands, but it was a half an hour too cold.

"He would have gotten himself in it even if you weren't here," Lucille said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault." When she realised he was barely listening, she repeated herself. "It's not your fault, Dawson."

"Then why do I feel so guilty?"

"Because you're a good person. You care about your friends- your family," she said, a sad smile spreading across her lips. Dawson recognised the sentiment and mirrored it, though meekly. "It's not your fault."

"I know," he said.

Lucille was soon drawn away from the kitchen by the ringing of the phone in the betting den, which was empty. Adds hurried in first, her tight, blonde curls in trails behind her. She ripped the phone from the stand, giggling as a voice spoke on the other end.

"It's Aunty Ada!"

Adds handed over the phone to her mother.

"Thank you, my darling. Could you go get Dawson for me please?"

Lucille held the phone to her ear as Dawson appeared by the doorway, having been pulled by the arm by Adds.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Ada?" Lucille asked into the phone.

A beam quickly appeared on Dawson's face. "Ada!"

"God, we've been trying to contact you for days! Are you alright?" Lucille asked.

"Yes, I'm fine now. Bruises can heal," Ada said, the loudness of her voice coming and going. "How's Dawson? I heard he took a beating too."

"Dawson?" Lucille was purposefully loud, watching as his eyes widened at the mention of his name. "He's getting better. He could use some company if you ask me."

Ada laughed knowingly. "Listen, I just saw Tommy. This morning."

"He misses you, Ada," she said with a sigh.

"I know... I just can't be a part of that life anymore," she said. "But he gave me a key. To a new house."

"You should take a look, at least."

"I will, I am. Tell him thank you. Subtly, though," Ada said.

"I will."

Somehow, Tommy's office was pristine with not an inch of paper out of place. It looked empty without him in it, and as Lucille stepped out from the doorway, closing it behind her, she imagined it was him guiding her to the right place.

She fumbled with the top drawer, the one Tommy had said to check before he'd left for London. It wouldn't budge. Sliding her hand beneath the base, she found a key. Inside the drawer was more papers, the top most held in a file, her name scribbled in the top corner. Lucille opened it.

"Fucking hell, Tommy."

Michael Gray.

Born 18th September 1903

Son of Mr Hamish Gray and Mrs Polly Gray.

♡︎

Not loving this chapter but at least we have it!
Also, I didn't read this over enough times so if there's anything wrong please do say x