Nothing Will Change

Chapter 16

Under the fall of rain arrived a black car, only one street lamp illuminating it in the night. Under cover from the pelts of diamonds Tommy Shelby stood against a barrel, awaiting the inspectors arrival. Stepping out he approached him slowly, building up his stance like a bear stepping out his cage into the ring. They stood far from each other, neither bothered to see the others face under the moonlight. Though they knew each look they'd give each other would have no semblance of emotion, no fear or no trust for the other. No respect. Tommy had his arms folded as the inspector stopped, eyeing him up and down like the fellow bully on the playground, the fellow king on the chessboard.

"Your message said you have an address for me," the inspector began.

Tommy pulled it out from his pocket, "anonymous tip off. The address of Stanly Chapman."

"You promised me Freddie Thorne," the inspector huffed.

"This is instead of Freddie Thorne."

"No deal."

As the inspector turned to the rain, Tommy raised his voice, "inspector, Stanly Chapman is a bigger fish than Freddie Thorne. He is currently holding £200 in cash. Given to the Communist party by the Russian Government," the inspector walked back, "that's right, Chapman has snow on his boots and all you'll need is a shovel. If he talks, you'll have proof. You might even get that medal."

Tommy taunted him. He hated looking at the man, how he stood with such conviction to which he believed he had strength to overcome him. But he was merely an inspector, a coward, and Tommy gave no luck to cowards.

"Now..." He continued, closing the distance between them, "before I give you the address... I want your word... That you will let Freddie Thorne and my sister leave the city."

"Very well. You have my word," the inspector replied, holding his hand out for the paper. Tommy put it in his hand and they both turned to the rain outside the archway.

From another pocket, a cigarette found its way into Tommy's hand, "I'd say our little truce is proving productive for both of us, inspector. I get the information... And protection and you..." Tommy wondered away with his cigarette, "well... You get Bolsheviks."

Nodding his head, the inspector didn't appear so satisfied, and Tommy wouldn't let it show how it made him feel. With his back to him he wanted to smirk, wanted to make another comment to knock him down... But he wouldn't. He would stand composed as the inspector sat down.

"But on a more pressing matter," the inspector said, "I'm afraid that Mr Churchill is becoming impatient. And I fear that... If you don't give back those stolen weapons soon... I will be replaced. That would be the finish of me, that's for sure."

"When my business with Kimber is done the guns will be returned. That was the deal," Tommy replied bored.

"Then I'm in your hands. Completely," the inspector shook his head, "you hold all the cards. But I hope to God that my dismissal doesn't come before your decision to hand back those guns. And I say this for your sake because... If I were to be fired and it were your fault... I would do things that would shame the devil."

Tommy's face twitched. Just for a second he reacted, but he set his jaw back to his blankness.

The inspector chuckled, "my fury is a thing to behold. On my last day in power, for example, I would see to it that you and your scum brothers have your heads stoved in with mallets and spades. And your sister too."

He was standing in front of him them, evil in his eyes so raw he didn't need to frown for Tommy to see it. Was it fire in his eyes or blood, he didn't know, just that they were red unlike the devil's. Perhaps it was the whiskey or opium by his bed but Tommy could not see the inspector, just the raw creature he kept inside for when he did not get his way. Too right he didn't go to war, as Tommy might have felt sympathy for the men he went up against.