THE FRENCH KISSERS ― Thomas Shelby

08. the wandering jew

"I wouldn't be able to tell right now, since it smells like dog piss and horse shit in here," Kaya replied dryly. It was the first time she was meeting him and she didn't look one bit intimidated by his confusing words, which was exactly why Rose had brought her. She just hoped Kaya's audacity wouldn't get them in trouble, given as she was as much of a ticking time bomb as he was.

"That's more me than the place, I'm sure," Alfie turned around and started toddling away, gesturing with his hand around, towards the bottles of rum. "Has your friend tried my bread yet, Rose?"

"Yes, I believe she has, we sell it in our bars."

"Well, she should try it again. Meanwhile, you come in 'ere, yeah?" He ordered, entering his office without waiting for a reply. Rose exchanged a quick glance with Kaya before following him and sitting across from him. "So Rose, help me out, will ya? 'Cause I have no fucking idea why on Earth would a delicate English rose such as yourself decide to visit me in this humble shithole."

"Same reason as always, Alfie, business. And if there's an English rose in here, it's certainly not me."

"Hope no one ever cuts out that silver tongue of yours, it'd be a shame," Alfie rested his back on the chair and crossed his hands over his stomach, his scrutinizing stare making Rose feel as if she had arrived to Judgment Day without even going through life. "Business, you say? Just like that first time you walked in here, right, when you had a fucking sniper up in that roof aiming at me just to get me to sign whatever fucking deal it was with you."

Rose smiled at the memory from all those years ago, at how Nicolas had agreed to her plan without batting an eye; they both knew the only way Alfie would agree to negotiate with a new gang was if his life was on the line.

"Well, it worked, didn't it? We secured a good deal. So that's water under the bridge."

"Yeah... well, the only other person who's been crazy enough to pull a similar stunt with me was that fuckwad from Birmingham that almost blew up this place."

"Thomas Shelby, you mean?"

"Yeah, that fucker. I've been told you recently met him, yes?"

"Unfortunately," Rose nodded. "I'm not here to talk about him. As you know, I control a considerable number of ports in the north coast of France. I want to trade your rum in France in exchange of you selling my absinthe in your pubs here in England."

"And why the fuck would I want to sell your absinthe in my pubs, love, that shit tastes like liquid weed."

Rose smiled, too familiarized with Alfie's destabilizing techniques to take offense in his words. "To you, maybe, but clients think otherwise. You know it sells well. My absinthe in your pubs and your rum in all of France; it seems to me you have the most to gain."

"Right, yeah," when Alfie leaned forward, placing his crossed hands on the desk between them, Rose prepared herself for something that wouldn't make any sense and yet have all the meaning. That was always the case with Alfie; Rose had never met anyone who could say such raw truths amidst so much gibberish. "I had a garden once, Rose, yeah? A lovely garden filled with beautiful fucking flowers. And I used to take my dog to piss there, right, and he'd piss there, for hours and hours, in every single rose of that beautiful fucking garden. Except in one, right, because there was always this one fucking rose that had a fucking gun pointed at my poor dog's head. So that's the only rose he wouldn't piss in."

"I wouldn't point a gun at your dog, Alfie, if anything, I'd point it at you. Do we have a deal or not? I could have gone to the Sabinis or the Shelbys or any other gang out there, but I chose you, because I like you better. And I know you don't like anyone, but you like me. You betray everyone, but not me. Because sometimes two knives meet and decide to stab their own backs instead of each other. I'd like to keep it that way."