METHOD OF MADNESS ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ¹ (Under editing)

𝓋. 𝓉𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-𝓈𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃: another trigger

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : female robbery - the neighbourhood

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

v. twenty-seven: ❝another trigger❞

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Small heath, Birmingham

In the bustling heart of Birmingham's market, a clandestine meeting was unfolding between a wily copper and a feared gangster. The city's grime and bustle seemed to hold its breath as the notorious Thomas Shelby and the duplicitous Inspector Campbell faced off in a grim ballet of words.

Earlier in the day, the IRA goon who'd paid Thomas a visit had dangled the prospect of a new war like a poisoned chalice, driving Thomas to act swiftly to quash the threat before it took root. The Peaky Blinders weren't known for backing down from a fight, especially one that promised intellectual intrigue and righteous fury.

Campbell, relishing the substantial bribe Shelby had handed him, felt buoyed by the prospect of climbing the ranks with this tidy little windfall. The conversation flowed smoothly enough, with Thomas deftly steering it away from any implications that might implicate his gang in the unrest.

But as they exchanged pleasantries, Thomas's thoughts darkened, fixating on the one thing that gnawed at him—the two broken promises Campbell had made.

As the conversation meandered, Thomas called out to Campbell, halting him mid-stride. "Inspector, since we're getting along so well...can you answer me a question or two?"

Campbell, clearly uncomfortable, avoided Thomas's piercing gaze, instead focusing on the chaotic clamor of the market around them.

"A question?" He mumbled, clearly not eager for this confrontation.

Thomas's voice grew low and menacing, masking his irritation with a facade of casual inquiry. "Do you know who might've plotted the ambush on one of my subordinates?"

Feigning ignorance, Campbell offered a nonchalant response. "One of your subordinates?"

"In the grime of Small Heath, news spreads quicker than a fire in dry brush. You know bloody well what I'm talking about." Thomas's tone hardened, his irritation seeping through despite his best efforts to remain composed.

A smirk tugged at Campbell's lips as he glanced at Thomas, assessing the damage inflicted on the Peaky Blinders. If Thomas wasn't enraged, he wouldn't have broached the topic. Yet Campbell underestimated the gravity of the question—it was a warning that Thomas was aware of the police's meddling and would not take it lying down.

Campbell's response, a feeble excuse, reverberated with an empty ring. "As it happens, it's just a drunk who roughed up your woman."

Thomas's jaw clenched in barely contained fury. The inspector's flippant dismissal stung. "Inspector Campbell, we both know that's a pile of shite."