𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍'𝐒 forty year service as a shepherd of the flock of the Christ, last six months of which have been spent here at St. Andrew's church in Bordsley, had made him develop a monotonous daily routine he thoroughly enjoyed.
Like any day before, he finished his midday meal with appetising delight and washed it down with some fine wine from the church cellar, halfway dreaming about the comfortable solitude of his quarters where he would rest until the evening mass.
Prop my feet up, and a good book, mused the priest, keys on his belt jingling in rhythm with the sagging jowls of his face.
Light filtered into the humble room, steadily illuminating the crooked bookshelf lined with century old manuscripts of religious texts, some of which he brought all the way from Coventry. Above a small cot hung a delicate golden crucifix, an olive branch stuck between the wood of the cross and the wall.
A hand with several rings could be seen first - a simple band of gold and a signet, and one richly encrusted with rubies - gripping the arm of his chair. Olive skin peaked from beneath the billowing darkness of the coat. Two amber, cat-like eyes lazily followed his movements. Henry Brown felt like a cornered church mice faced with a hungry feline.
"Good evening, padre."
Hollow and sharp would be the way he described the voice coming from beneath the fedora, tactfully tilted over the interlocutors face. He sees her every Saturday, lighting the candles with Polly Gray at the shrine made for the boys that lost their lives in the war. Two fierce sinners finding solace in the holiest of the places.
The former vicar informed him that the church he was now in charge of was a neutral ground of sorts, and equally belonged to two dominant gangs of the city, the Blinders and the Italians. At first it confused him, for how could a city be owned by those people?
Things will happen, bad things, dear Henry. Keep your head down and don't get in their way. Father Moore told him, and rightfully so.
It took him only a couple of titles in the papers, of violent affairs and mutilated bodies washing up on the banks of the canal, to come to the understanding of where he truly came.
And now, Father Henry was slapped with a terrifying realisation - he was going to die.
With a lump in his throat, he shut the door gently as if not to disturb the phantom like creature in his armchair. Several seconds passed, none of them making a move. Henry tightly grasped the rosary in his pocket before speaking.
"Miss Cardinale," his eyes warily observed the revolver sitting like an obedient pet on her lap, voice wavering. "It is forbidden to enter the house of God with such weaponry."
"No one will be harmed tonight, Padre." She smiled tactfully, the other part of that sentence hanging in the tense air of the room. If you comply, naturally.
"I must ask you for a favour." Caterina reclined in the chaise, lazily leaning on one side. It was not as if she wanted to do this - no, wait. It was a lie, she loved instilling fear in churchmen. The mighty men that lived off of people's donations and taxes, preaching idiocities. Now that she needed one for a particular situation, she decided she might as well enjoy herself a bit.
"You are aware St Andrew's is a neutral territory and I can't really - "
"Not on Cardinale business tonight. I'm on Shelby business."
As if injected with a sudden gust of courage, the priest retorted. "What if I say no?"
Wrong answer, she mused to herself. Slowly procuring a cigarette with her lithe fingers, she took her time placing it between her chapped lips and lighting the other end. Torturous for the priest, but most amusing to her. Exhaling, she smirked knowingly.
"I wonder what the bishop would say when he finds out you've been taking the church money and funding the start up of the Young Communist League."
"How did-I-" No cross can help me now.
A blank, emotionless stare shut the babbling of the graying vicar.
"It was not a question , Padre."
Ada tapped her foot impatiently, glancing over her shoulder for what seemed like a millionth time. It was reckless of her to dare herself to walk right through the Blinders territory in her wedding dress. And yet the imperious sense of fuck you she intended to serve to her brother gave her gleeful satisfaction.
"Did you give Freddie the talk?" She asked Caterina once she appeared at the back doors of the church. The other woman rolled her eyes, smoothing down the elegant navy dress she donned for the occasion.
"Didn't need to. He knows what I'd do to him if he ever hurts you."
Caterina paused in front of her, suddenly at a loss for words. "Look at you." Emotions constricted her throat, like a pill hard to swallow. She busied herself with readjusting Ada's veil, smoothing out the wrinkles in the lacework like a fussing mother.
"What? Do I look bad?"
"No, no," a disbelieving laugh escaped her lips. "Ada you're beautiful."
"Are you sure you want to do this now? Without your family."
Ada looked almost offended at such notion, face churning into a sour expression mirroring the inner distaste for her brother's recent actions. "You mean Tommy? He's as good as dead to me."
It was not entirely true, for deep down, out of all her brothers she always loved him the best. He had always been her fiercest protector and a pillar of support. But both were as stubborn as bulls and immovable in their convictions.
Cat sighed in exasperation. It was nearing six in the afternoon when she was supposed to meet Polly for a cuppa with rum and a chat. Now though, she would also be the one to break the news about Ada's nuptials.
"I meant Polly and your other brothers. They love you just as I do." She tried to reason.
The only Shelby daughter shook her head, unyielding. "No, they made their stand, with Thomas. You're the only family I need."
With a tear burning in her eye, she reached up to cover Ada's face with the white veil they borrowed from a dress shop last night.
"Then let's go make you Mrs. Ada Thorne, si?"
".... and then I knocked 'im down, right in the noggin'. Took me tooth but I bet he still feels shit in his nose."
Caterina hid her laughter behind the playing cards in her hands, unsuccessfully, only to burst in a fit of giggles several moments later. In truth, the story Arthur was telling was not that funny but it was in the way he interpreted it - in his gruff Brummie accent and with more curses than necessary - that made her forget her poise and relax for the first time in a long while.
It struck her like a lightning when Thomas asked her to join him and the brothers to play cards at The Garrison.
She had been drinking tea with Polly in their dingy kitchen at Watery Lane when he marched in like a well-dressed thunderstorm. Without thinking, she stood up abruptly, moments later cursing herself for behaving like an airheaded schoolgirl.
Both startled by each others presence, they stood frozen, gazes interlocked until Polly pointedly cleared her throat. Snapping back to reality he muttered his invitation and, not waiting for her reaction, disappeared up the stairs, leaving her bewildered and Polly smirking in her cup.
Finally coming to her senses, only a few more chuckles escaping her lips, she drew another card from the stack. Grace pushed inside the booth hauling a bucket of beer and setting it atop the table, messing up their cards in the process.
"I was winnin' !" John spluttered, making the other occupants of the booth roll their eyes.
"Don't shit John," Caterina tugged her cards form underneath the bucket. " We've been playin' for an hour and you've not been close once."
A round of laughter sounded from the players, Arthur jovially hitting her on the back. "Yeah we're keeping you alright." John's face burned red. "Go and play snap with Finn."
"Did you want whiskey as well?" Grace asked Tommy softly, eyelashes subtly fluttering in his direction. It did not go unnoticed by the oldest Shelby brother, watching the exchange with interest.
"No, just beer." Tommy shook his head, focusing on his cards.
Noticing the disheveled appearance of their favourite barmaid Caterina abandoned her cards, leaving them face down on the table. "I'll help you out there."
It earned her a thankful smile from Grace as they filtered out of the booth. Before she shut the doors, she narrowed her eyes at the brothers, raising a threatening finger in their direction. "Don't you fucking dare touch my cards."
"Why no whiskey, Tommy?" Arthur squinted at his brother. "Are you expecting trouble?"
Tommy ignored his question, picking up another card instead. The jolly crowd on the other side of the door grew louder, making them cringe at the awful cacophony of drunken voices. "Jesus Christ, Tommy. What the hell made you let them sing? " John chuckled, the toothpick in his mouth bobbing along.
"They sound like they're strangling cats out there."
"All right, twenty to play. Come on." Arthur diverted their attention back at the game at hand. He paused, narrowing his eyes at his younger brother. It was curious, the change in Tommy's behaviour. Little details, like the way he seemed to pay more attention to Finn or the fact he brooded a bit less than in the previous months. The thought that his brother might be recovering from the horrors of war warmed his heart. And he certainly had an idea of who he should thank for that. The oblivious fools would never admit it, though.
"What did make you change your mind though, Tommy? Mmm?"
John showed his face form behind the cards, smirking cheekily. "Yeah, I mean,- It's about time, Tommy." He was not the only one that noticed the way Tommy's eyes followed Caterina's form when she exited the room.
"Time for what?"
"Time you took yourself a woman." John nudged his head in the direction of the door, through which Caterina disappeared moments ago.
"Just play the bloody hands." Thomas shook his head at their ramblings, yet unable to stop a small smile forming on his lips.
"You stay the way you are, Tommy. Remember what Dad used to say -" Arthur started, throwing his hand around John's shoulders.
"Fast women and slow horses, " Arthur and John chorused, two equally mocking grins etched on their faces. "..will ruin your life."
Before anything more could be said, bright headlights shining through the windows of The Garrison, the sound of car tires soon following.
"Coppers?" John questioned. Tommy had a feeling that was not quite true.
The doors of the pub burst open with a bang, two armed men flanking the entrance. What was a rambunctious mass of people only moments ago became silent like a tomb.
Caterina tugged Grace behind her, the two slowly backing towards the bar and poor Harry clutching his cleaning cloth behind it.
In came the King. Not King George, no - King William Kimber entered the pub, his polished shoes clicking against Garrison's rotting floorboards. Caterina was sure she had never seen a man with such arrogant posture in her life - greasy hair slicked back against his scalp, clean cut suit and the most ugly moustache she had the displeasure to see.
The bartender's jaw fell open in sheer shock. "Holy shit. It's Billy Kimber." Harry gasped.
"Is there any man here named Shelby?" Billy Kimber sneered, eyes glaring over the people in the pub, frozen in fear. Not getting the answer he was expecting, he pulled his gun towards the ceiling, firing a shot. People screamed and covered their heads as pieces of paint and wood fell from above, followed by a thick cloud of dust.
"I said: is there any man here named Shelby?" He repeated.
Tommy opened the door of the booth, the Blinders filtering out behind him. His eyes never left Kimber's face as he ordered the bartender. "Harry, get these men a drink."
"Everyone else, go home." The effect of his words was instantaneous as the men scrambled for the door, most sobered by the shock of what they witnessed and desperate to get away from the pub.
As the mass began to move, Caterina turned to the horror stricken Irishwoman by her side. "You go home."
"But Mr Fenton said- " She protested weakly.
Caterina's eyes hardened, irritated by the blonde's persistence. "Santo Dio, Grace, go bloody home." Taking the tray with whiskey from her hands she signaled towards the back exit. Not willing to bicker with her she nodded, disappearing out the back.
The remaining Blinders placed a table between them with three chairs on one side for the Shelby brothers and two on the other for Kimber and his man. Setting her tray on the table, Caterina was quick to pour each of the men a glass of whiskey before retreating, choosing to stand behind Tommy's chair.
Trying not to show the disgust at the way Kimber's eyes trailed lustfully over her features, Cat tightened her grip on the back of the chair.
"I've never approved of women in pubs but when they look like that.." He whistled appreciatively, making her skin crawl. "Must be a good fuck, aye?"
"You said you wanted men called Shelby. You've got three of them." Thomas interrupted him, wanting to draw his attention away from the woman behind him. He lit a match, bringing it up to the cigarette in his mouth.
"Right, I'd never heard of ya," his nasal voice grated her ears. "Then I did hear of ya, some little Didicoy razor gang. I thought to myself, so what? But then you fuck me over so now you have my undivided attention."
"By the way," Kimber gestured between the three Shelby brothers. "Which one am I talking to? Who's the boss."
"Well, I'm the oldest." Arthur informed him, sitting up. It prompted a mocking scoff from Kimber.
"Clearly." The King chuckled.
John's stare darkened, leaning forward. "Are you laughing at my brother?" It hardly intimidated Kimber, only making him more amused.
"Right, he's the oldest," He pointed at Arthur, then at the fuming John. "You're the thickest." Lastly he narrowed his eyes at Tommy, calmly sitting back in his chair, smoking.
"I'm told the boss is called Tommy and I'm guessing that's you cos you're looking me up and down like I'm a fucking tart." He was, indeed, doing just that.
"I want to know what you want." Tommy asked, keeping his facade calm.
With a subtle cough, the man at Kimber's side spoke up in a posh, patient tone. "There were suspicious betting patterns at Kempton Park. A horse called Monaghan Boy. He won by a length twice and then finished last with £3,000 bet on him."
"Which one am I talking to?" Tommy questioned, knowing full well which one of them was Kimber, but taking enjoyment in pushing the mobster's buttons. "Which one of you is the boss?"
"I am Mr Kimber's advisor and accountant." The speckled man simpered.
"And I'm the fucking boss, OK? Right, end of parley, you fixed a race without my permission." Kimber was foaming at his mouth, standing up from his chair in rage.
"You fucking Gypsy scum what live off the war pensions of these poor old Garrison Lane widows! That's your level! I am Billy Kimber, I run the races and you fixed one of them so I'm going to have you shot against a post." He spat, turning around with the intention of leaving the place.
"Mr Kimber." Thomas pulled put the cursed bullet from his pocket, tossing it at the man. "Look at it. That is my name on it. It's from the Lee family. You are also at war with the Lees, Mr Kimber, am I right?" He prodded, waiting for a reaction.
"The Lees are attacking your bookies and taking your money. Your men can't control them. You need help."
"Perhaps we should listen to what Mr Shelby has to say." The accountant acted as a voice of reason, trying to calm his boss's temper. "Before we make our decisions."
"Right, the Lees are doing a lot of talking at the fairs. They have a lot of kin. They're saying the racetracks are easy meat because the police are busy with strikes." Thomas paused, letting the information sink in. "Now, we have connections. We know how they operate. You have muscle. Together we can beat them. Divided, maybe not."
"Mr Kimber, perhaps we should take some time for reflection. Possibly make arrangements for a second meeting."
"I admire you, Mr Kimber." Tommy grit his teeth, stealthily lying straight through them. "You started with nothing and built a legitimate business. It would be an honour to work with you, Mr Kimber."
"Nobody works with me. People work for me." Kimber stated arrogantly. He fished a coin out of his pocket and threw it at Tommy's feet. Somehow, his face remained impassive despite the continuous degradation coming from Billy Kimber.
"Pick it up, Pikey." He ordered, eyes flickering in amusement between Tommy and the coin.
As Thomas made move to pick up the coin, Arthur and her tensed up John on the other hand stood up in protest. Caterina was quick to place a placating hand on his shoulder, gently nudging him to stand down.
"Sit. Sit down." Tommy ordered his brother before leaning down to retrieve the coin. John's nostrils flared in rage, but still he sat down again, obediently. Caterina gave him a light squeeze on the shoulder as a reassurance, earning her a thankful nod before she resumed her place.
"That's for your ceiling." Kimber said, glancing up at the hole in the pub's roof.
"Thank you, Mr Kimber." Tommy called after him, clenching the coin in his hand.
Just as he was starting to walk out of the pub, Kimber turned around, eyes narrowing at Caterina, still standing behind the table. Eyeing her with a sudden curiosity he motioned her to step forward.
"You, pretty girl, what are you doing with this scum?"
She circled the table to where Thomas stood. He watched their exchange like a hawk. Batting her eyelashes she said. "I'm Caterina Cardinale, Mr Kimber. And I have a business proposition for you."
Realisation flashed through his eyes at her last name, quickly turning into a mocking smirk. She had seen many of those, patronising sneers once she presented herself as a woman in charge of the financial dwellings of Cardinale Imports. In truth, she wondered if she'll ever be rid of them.
"Right girly. You one of them Cardinale lemon fuckers? There's only one business I'd do with ya." Billy gave her a sleazy grin, eyes trailing over the curves of her dress. On her right, Thomas tensed, the hand in which he held the coin clenching tightly.
"I'll give you the names of men on your payroll currently spying on you and reporting back to the police." A smug smile covered her lips as she noticed the way Kimber's face contorted into one of silent rage. That's what you get for underestimating me you piece of shit.
"We will be at Cheltenham." Kimber's accountant informed the brothers, trying to diffuse the newly created tension in the room.
"As will I." Thomas concluded.
"You," Kimber pointed at Caterina. "Dress pretty and then we might talk."
She threw a saccharine smile his way. She was this close to pulling the gun securely in the holster around her leg. "Of course, sir."
As the doors of The Garrison shut behind the last of Kimber's men, the remaining people in the room released a breath of relief. Arthur slumped back in his chair, dragging his calloused hand over his face. A sudden realisation came to him as all pieces fell into place - it seemed as if every event of the past few days had one purpose, and one purpose only.
"So you picked a fight with the Lees on purpose." Arthur stated in disbelief, watching as Tommy locked the front door. "Tommy, we can't mess with Billy fucking Kimber."
Instead of replying, Thomas crossed the room to where Caterina still stood, slightly leaning on the chair he occupied minutes ago. Reaching forward he gently touched her forearm as if to snap her from a distant dream. Her eyes instantaneously found his, latching onto them like a drowning man to a lifeboat.
"You alright?" He asked, his voice quiet.
She nodded, breathing out a chuckle of relief. "Yup, all gone as planned." They both knew it was only a matter of time before they were forced into confrontation with The King, Billy Kimber, but neither of them were sure if it would end with all of them in one piece.
Releasing her, Tommy reached for a glass of whiskey from the table, raising it towards Arthur triumphantly.
"Get yourself a decent haircut, man." Thomas grinned at his brother. "We're going to the races."
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ
for some unknown reason the Kimber scene was the hardest for me to write?
i think it's because it's so fluid in the original that it was kind of hard to fit Cat in
oh my Cheltenham is coming up in the next chapter