Tigress → Thomas Shelby

The Boy Who Cried Tiger

It started with a complaint.

A knock on the mini-door reminiscent of a cat flap. It slid open to reveal Harry's face peering into the smoke-filled private room. "Tommy," he rasped. "One of your men's throwing a tantrum out here."

Indeed, swearing and rustling could be heard in the far corner of the pub, one voice slightly louder than the others above the usual buzz of noise.

"Can't you deal with it on your own?" John asked. The younger brother hadn't intended it to be unkind, but his naturally blunt manner meant his genuine curiosity came off as brash. Anyone other than the bartender of the Garrison - who had known the Shelbys before the war - would have found it offensive.

"It's about Chinatown." Harry's eyes flickered to Thomas, who straightened up. "Thought you'd might like to know."

"Send him in." Thomas Shelby ordered coolly.

"What's going on?" Arthur turned to him. "I thought what they did wasn't any of our business."

"True," Thomas responded. "But it pays to keep an eye on blind spots."

The door opened. Thomas recognised the man; he was a grunt they used to ransack enemy houses. Mean eyes and stubby fingers meant he was good at his job - one of menial destruction rather than any real cognitive skills.

Speaking of violence, he was sporting the trophies of it. Two black eyes, both swollen until they were almost double their original size. The rest of his face that wasn't purple was red with rage, but he still had the sense to take off his cap. "Misters," he almost snarled.

"What is it, Barmy?" Arthur asked.

"The Chinese, Mister!" Barmy exploded. He pointed at the top half of his bruised face. "They attacked me! Me! A Peaky Blinder!"

Arthur glanced at Thomas, who did not return his brother's gaze. "Are you sure?" Thomas asked.

"Aye! They nabbed me outside the whorehouse and beat me!" Barmy spat on the floor. "Cunts! It was one against twenty! I got five of them though, Mister Tommy," his eyes glistened as he remembered the glories of battle. "I broke the bones of one and ground the other to a pulp! That was before they held me down, you see, the cowards - "

"Do you know why they attacked you, Barmy?" Thomas interrupted.

Barmy shook his head. "Not a clue, but if I did anythin' to offend them I'd do it ten times over, the scheming fucks!"

"Right, thank you." Thomas said, unamused. "You may go now."

Barmy leered. "I'll go alright! I can gather up the rest of the men, Mister Tommy, and we can lay waste to those red, slanty-eyed - "

"You won't do anything of the sort."

The incredulity on Barmy's face was clear despite half of it being out of commission. He blinked. "Sorry, Mister? What do you mean?"

"There's no need to declare war. I'll send word for the Chinese to come to the Garrison and give you an apology."

"What? Just one of them? Half of them attacked me, Mister Tommy! We should be taking their heads!"

"I trust the Chinese not to break our agreements for no reason," Thomas said calmly. "Their representative will explain the situation to me, and I have no doubt they will ask for your forgiveness."

"But Mister - !" Barmy sputtered, taking a bold step forward. John stood.

"That will be all." John said sternly.

Barmy glanced from John to Arthur, and then to Thomas. The matter was decided - even a henchman with black eyes could see that.

"Aye, Misters," Barmy muttered. He stormed out of the room, disappointed at the brothers' lack of fury and action he had been expecting.