Dottie, Polly and Ada were in Small Heath in the back of the betting den when they heard. They had gotten the call from Tommy, a frantic call causing Polly to curse and rip the phone out of the wall.
Either of them didn't process what they were told, allowing Ada to drive them quickly through the city and in to the hospital. When Dottie saw Micheal being carried on a stretcher, she broke down, tears spilling from her eyes. She grasped hold of his hand, walking quickly to match the paces of the nurses and staff carrying him.
"It's alright, Micheal," she says, holding tightly on to his hand as Polly yells behind her.
"Please, can we get some help here? Please!"
"It's all right Michael. It's all right Michael, I'm here. I'm here now, it's okay," Dottie says, paying no attention as the staff members carry Micheal in to a hospital room.
Polly is on the other side of Micheal, running with the stretcher as Micheal breathes heavily, almost gasping out in pain.
Dottie sniffs, covering her mouth as she sees the bullet hole.
The staff wheel the stretcher in to a large room as Polly yells, attracting attention from every other staff member and patient in the room.
"It's alright, Micheal, it's alright, Micheal. I'm here." She says as Micheal bares his teeth.
"It's all right Michael, you're gonna be OK. Don't leave us now, just keep breathing."
Dottie's attention is pulled away from her bruised brother when she hears footsteps. She sees Tommy, once a man full of live now fully empty and alone, walk in to the room. Behind him is two young men with flat caps against their heads.
"No, no, I don't want fucking kids in here, I want soldiers." Polly exclaims, anger imitating from her. She walks round the bed, as her voice grows with anger. "I don't want fucking kids who joined just for the sport."
The peaky boys look at Tommy, almost as if they're asking for his permission to leave. Tommy nods his head, muttering a Go on, go.
"I want men who've served in here." Polly continues, staring deadly at Tommy.
"Alright, Pol." He agrees simply.
Polly flares once more at him as she walks back over to the bed, pushing in between the staff members of the hospital to see Micheal, laying bruised and bloody. Dottie bites her lip to stop her from sobbing. Polly tries to touch Micheal's body, murmuring incoherently.
"Mrs Gray, please."
Tommy walks forward, "Pol, Pol."
"Don't go, don't go..." Polly mutters, her hands shaking as Dottie steps away from the bed, seeing her hands covered in blood.
"He's in good hands." A doctor says, trying to turn Polly away from the bed.
"Polly? Pol? Pol?" Tommy states, finally grasping hold of Polly's attention. She spins on her heels, glaring back at him.
"Fuck those bastards responsible!"
Tommy nods. "All right, let them do their job, all right? Let them do their job, I'll get soldiers. I'll be back. I'll be back."
Polly nods, trying to hold back a sob. She looks back at Dottie, who looks crushed as she stares between the doctors, looking at the bullet wound in Micheal's chest.
Polly walks over to Dottie, pulling her in to her arms. "It's okay, he'll be okay."
—
The Shelby family, mixed with the Gray's, sit and stand around a table in one of the Shelby houses in Small Heath. The doors to the betting den are wide open, allowing a nasty breeze to cool the room. Everyone seems to be on edge, everyone mourning.
Dottie sits with Florence laying against her chest. The child being fast asleep, with Isiah behind Dottie, holding a sleeping Eliza on his hip.
Tommy walks through the betting den as Finn begins to pour some amber whiskey in to different glasses. His hands are shaking.
Tommy looks around the room as Finn steps back.
"John is dead. Esme's gone on the road with the Lees. She's taken the kids. Michael is badly wounded, they say it's 60/40 in his favour."
Polly scoffs, a thin cigarette between her fingers. "There's no number, there's no percentages. So the hand, the hand beneath him stops him falling. Spoke to someone... my son will live." Polly says,
Ada shares a look with Dottie, who breathes out, her chest churning. She uses her free hand to itch where her bullet scar is. Now Micheal will have a matching one.
"Michael and John were shot because we killed someone... Vincenzo Changretta. His son Luca has come to take revenge. Men from New York and Sicily are in Birmingham. These men will not leave our city until the whole family is dead. That's how it works, an eye for an eye. It's called vendetta."
"Yeah, well..." Arthur drops his arm from Linda's shoulders, smoothing his thumbs over a gold and brass bullet.
"The bullet's been written... It says Luca. When the time comes, and it will come... me as the oldest brother, will put this bullet into his fucking head." He places the bullet down on to the table, glaring at it.
"There's been some bad blood between us."
Dottie scoffs loudly.
Tommy rolls his head towards Dottie, "Dottie, please? Until this business is settled we stay together. We stay here."
Shaking her head, Dottie argues back.
"I'm not staying here, I'm not having my children know you Thomas."
"Do you want to die, Dottie?" Tommy argues back, raising his voice, "because that is what will fucking happen if you don't. So yes, we stay here, all of us. Small Heath, Bordesley, Hay Mills down to Greet." He stares at Dottie, as if he's inviting her for another argument.
"We know every face, every man is a soldier in this army. These men are professionals and they're good at what they do, so we're gonna need more than we have. We send a message to Aberama Gold."
This time, Johnny Dogs argues back. "No. No, Tom. I'll get you 50 Lee boys. Good men, Tom."
"I don't need good men Johnny, for this I need bad men."
"Tommy, his people are fucking savages." Johnny replies, "you know, heathens, Tom. They don't even let them in the fair, so they come and steal our horses. You know, stealing from their own, Tom."
Polly sits up. "So this is the plan, Thomas?" Polly starts, her voice slurring. "This is the plan? Bullet with a name on it, help from a bunch of savages."
Tommy doesn't respond. "We're gonna go on the offensive. I've spoken to Moss."
Scoffing, Polly stands up, "Moss?" She repeats, stepping away from the table,
"I've spoken to Moss." Tommy repeats, "Moss is putting out word. Eyes and ears so we can find them. Yeah, the truth is, the police are busy with the revolution. Moss says they're expecting strikes and riots when the weather gets warm and the Bolsheviks plan to—"
Dottie eyes up Polly, seeing her refill her glass up with whiskey. She sits down again, looking at Dottie with an eyebrow raised. Dottie looks away.
Ada interjects. "The Bolsheviks couldn't plan a fucking picnic. He's reading the wrong papers."
"Ada! Real, or not real, the coppers don't give a fuck about us, all right?Which means... that here today in this room... we have to agree to end this war between us. Take a vote."
Arthur is the first to speak. He grasps hold of his glass. "Peace."
Ada sighs, "I was never a part of this, but... peace."
"Peace." Lizzie agrees.
"Peace." Says Charlie Strong.
Finn nods, looking down at the table. "Peace."
"Shut up, Finn." Arthur grumbles.
Finn looks at Tommy, "why can't I say peace?" He asks.
Tommy looks at Arthur, "Arthur, let him have his say." He looks back at Finn, "Finn? Sit at the table."
Finn complies, pulling out the nearest chair and sitting on it. Arthur leans forward, grabbing the back of his neck.
"Little bastard..." he says, his voice quiet, "sending a fucking kid, Sergeant Major... to do men's work." He then leans back.
"My son's not here to speak..." Polly turns her head, looking at Tommy with an empty and intimidating glare, "So I'll speak on behalf of us both. Truce." She lifts her cigarette back up to her lips, eyeing Dottie from the corner of her eye.
"Dottie?" Tommy asks as the attention in the room fall to her. "Dottie, think about it—"
"They took my child of me when she was born, Tommy," Dottie says cold heartedly, staring emptily at Tommy, "I gave birth, and they ripped her from me. That's what you did to me. That was all you, so truce."
Tommy breathes out. "Five for peace. Three for truce, one on abstention. Let's get on with the war."