Angel

40

            "Dad's dead," Tommy's voice sounded over the phone. "Good riddance," I huffed. "He was in a bar, in Boston called the Mickey Free. Two men waiting in an alley. He was shot twice. A woman called Rosie Rice wrote us, saying while he was dying, he asked for our forgiveness," Tommy informed me. "Well, it's a bit late for that now, isn't it?" I sighed. "I'm taking the boys out for a day of hunting, we'll eat what we shoot in his honor, and then we'll move on," Tommy replied. "Eat in his honor? The man didn't have much honor to begin with," I sighed. "Lena," Tommy sighed. "Fine, I'll have a drink in his honor, but I won't be joining you for the hunt," I replied begrudgingly. "Alright. We've got business coming up. Talk soon," Tommy muttered before the line went dead. I sighed, walking absentmindedly into the kitchen and pouring myself a whiskey. "'S a bit early for whiskey, innit?" Alfie's baritone voice sounded out as he entered the kitchen. "My father's dead. I'm having a drink in his honor, and then I'll forget him," I sighed. I placed the cap back on the bottle, lifting the glass tumbler in my hand. "To Arthur Shelby Senior, a gypsy, a con man, a shitty husband, and a shitty father," I spoke loudly, bringing the glass down and shooting the whiskey back with a single gulp. "Alright, that's done. Fuck him," I spat. "Ya know, I've 'eard you're not supposed to speak ill o' the dead," Alfie chuckled, taking the glass from my hand. "Fuck those old wives tales. I've never had anything good to say about the man, and I'm sure as hell not gonna start now," I sighed.

            "So you're sayin' we won't be namin' any o' our kids after 'im then?" Alfie chuckled, sliding his arms around my waist. "Our kids?" I chuckled, looking up at him as I linked my arms around his neck. "Well o' course, angel. We're about to be married, I been thinkin' about mini you's and me's runnin' around," Alfie replied with a smile. "You really want to be a father?" I asked, and his smile grew. "I never thought I'd be sayin' this but yeah. I always wanted kids. That dream faded when I went into business, but it's always been there, just didn't think I'd meet the right woman," he sighed in reply. "You'd make a great father, you know," I grinned. "Ya think so?" Alfie asked, the uncertainty in his eyes growing. "Of course. Just look at the way you've taken care of me," I chuckled. "That's not a very good example. I let ya get shot, angel," Alfie sighed, looking down. I gripped his chin in my hands, forcing his head up so his eyes met mine. "There was nothing you could have done about that, and you know it," I said gently. "I want a family, angel. I want us to have a family. That's another reason I've been pushing so hard for this retirement shit," Alfie sighed. "I want a family too, you know. What do you say when all this Russian business is over, we take on retirement and a family. Tommy said it's the last move. I say once it's over, we start trying," I whispered. Alfie's lips turned up at the sound of that, and the hopefull twinkle in his eye began to return. "What do ya say we start now," he smirked. I let out a scream and a laugh as he threw me over his shoulder at once and tore up the stairs.

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            "How was she, Tom?" Arthur asked as I sipped from a glass of whiskey on the couch in the parlour. Tommy had new business to discuss, and he'd called my brothers and I to the house, ready to expose the secrets he'd learned from the Duchess Tatianna. "Talkative, yeah," Tommy replied. Arthur hummed in reply. "I was fucking working, alright?" Tommy huffed. "Yeah," I scoffed, ignoring the harsh look Tommy threw me. "From what she said, when she was out of her fucking mind, I'm pretty certain the treasury is underneath the house. What have you got?" Tommy sighed, lighting a cigarette. "Ada got this from the British Library using her scholar's pass," I sighed, pulling the parchment out of my handbag and unfurling the blueprints of the house on the table in front of me. "She talks about her aunt coming up the stairs to have breakfast in the morning, which means it has to be in the building somewhere," Tommy insisted. "Wine cellar. Septic. Kitchen cellar," Arthur read off the paper. "And a tunnel under the river," John added, pointing. "They don't trust a soul in this country, so my guess is they've turned one of the cellars into a strong room," Tommy said, "Did you find someone, Arthur?"

            "Moss got me this. Stefan Radischevsky," Arthur replied, handing Tommy a packet of paper, "He's a kid from Greet, lives in Cheltenham. Dad's a Russian. He has dreams of owning a pub, but he's got a record." "Breaking and entering," Tommy read out of the file. "Mhmm," Arthur hummed. "And he speaks Russian?" Tommy asked. "Yeah," Arthur replied at once. "Their butler drinks in a pub called the Masons Arms. Get to him, tell him who we are, offer him some money if he gives the kid a job in the house," Tommy ordered. There came a knock at the door, interrupting his train of thought. "Wait!" he called out impatiently, "Talk to the kid, offer him one of the pubs we took off the Italians if he works in the house for four weeks, keeps his ears open. Alright? Come." The door slowly opened as my brothers nodded, and Lizzie entered. "The executive committee of the union of bookies and allied trades will see you now, sir," she spoke, looking directly to Tommy. Tommy and I exchanged a confused glance, and I immediately followed after him to the kitchen. I chuckled to myself as I took in Polly's state. She was slouched back in a chair, feet propped up on the table with a cold cloth over her eyes. "I heard you were giving speeches off the back of a wagon, Pol," I chuckled. "I can't remember a fucking thing," Polly sighed in reply. "Well, Moss tells me you were threatening to burn down the town hall," Tommy informed her.

            "Oh, Tommy, we were having a laugh. You know, actually, the crowd around me was bigger than the crowd around Jessie Eden," Polly smirked, removing the cloth and rising to her feet. "Who's Jessie Eden?" I asked. "She's too soft. You're not gonna break the capitalist system talking about separate lavatories for women," Polly replied, rising to her feet. "Who's Jessie Eden?" Tommy repeated my question sternly. "She's a new best friend," Lizzie smirked. "Shop steward at the Lucas factory," Esme answered. "A woman shop steward, I've heard of her," Tommy said. "There's a leaflet here if you want to take a look, Tommy," Lizzie said, handing him a thin packet. "So, separate lavatory? Is that it? Is that what you want?" Tommy sighed, taking in the leaflet. I rolled my eyes and huffed in annoyance, grabbing the leaflet out of his hands. "I don't know what you want. You have to tell me what it is that you want and then I'll know," Tommy argued. "Actually, we want to know about the robbery you're planning," Esme hissed. My stomach dropped and I looked up to meet her gaze as she looked between Tommy and I. "Not the factory robbery. The other one," she clarified, "The one you're not telling the women about, 'cept for Lena." "John has a big mouth," Tommy muttered. "No. Arthur told Linda, Linda told me," Esme shot back. "Polly?" Tommy asked. "Read the leaflet, Tommy," Lizzie insisted, and I handed the thin packet back to him. "Ladies, why don't I talk to Tommy and Lena privately, and then I'll report back to you faithfully," Polly suggested. "You're not just gonna take payments from the Russians, are you, Tommy?" Esme hissed, "You're going to clean them out, is that right?"

            "Esme," Lizzie cautioned. "So? What happens after, when they come for us? When I'm about to give birth?" Esme spat. "Get out, get back to work," Tommy ordered stiffly. "Esme, come on," Lizzie urged, rising to her feet. "Keep us posted, won't you, sister?" Esme called to Polly as she and Lizzie took their leave. "I will," Polly promised. "Fucking hell," Tommy sighed as the door shut behind them. "So, Arthur tells Linda everything, eh?" I sighed as Tommy and I took our seats at the table. "She's stolen his soul and taken it to a better place. The suburbs. Where men are honest with their wives," Polly sighed in reply, "We can trust Lizzie." "Yeah, but I can't trust Esme," Tommy spat, "I can't trust the fucking Russians to pay me or the army, and I can't trust my own brother to keep his fucking mouth shut." "Did you make progress last night?" Polly asked as I lit a cigarette. "Yes," Tommy answered shortly. "John said the girl looks like Edna Purviance from the pictures," Polly commented, clicking her tongue, "Be careful." "She's an excellent source of information regarding the location of the merchandise," Tommy sighed. "Here we go," Polly chuckled. "You know, there is a general lack of discipline in this fucking company," Tommy protested. "She stayed the night," I informed Polly, who smirked, unsurprised. "I'm working, you two," Tommy rolled his eyes with a sigh, "I am working for the good of the company." "You're grieving," Polly corrected, "And when you grieve, you make bad choices. I know. I did it myself." "Look. No more marches. No more fucking politics. It can kill us. Alright? Joke or no joke," Tommy ordered. "Did you tell Arthur about the priest?" Polly asked, leaning forward. "I only told you and Lena," Tommy replied, blowing smoke as he exhaled. "Thanks for the burden," I spoke up, lighting a cigarette of my own.