Alfie Solomons, the crime boss of Camden Town and King of the Jews: estranged from his wife, his empire crumbling and ravaged by war, he makes a deal with the devil, and nothing is the same again.
Covering his years of involvement with the Birmingha...
"Nice of you to show up this morning Ollie," called Malka with smile as he walked along the canal towards the A.B.C.
His jaw fell open when he saw a long line of Bakers loading barrels and crates onto a long boat. Nearby were a few large hand carts ready for taking stock to the pound where they kept the company vans.
The hive of activity seemed to have people's spirit up as the camaraderie of the men gave an electricity to the air.
"Bloody hell, how much did you shift?" Ollie asked astonished.
"About half, not as much as I had hoped. Called in a lot of favours just to shift what we did."
"Half!? Malka that's amazing!" he expressed flabbergasted.
"Tomorrow we are shipping out a lot of stock already ordered, paid for and produced, but is still aging. The ones stacked where Alfie will be meeting Luca, those ones, but only to businesses that have expressed they can store them long-term until ready for consumption."
As Ollie nodded, Malka was called away to sign off on the first boat load, which was now ready to finalise and leave. As she climbed on board and began double checking stock, numbers, and locations of each barrel against the list, Ollie made his way inside and down into the underground business.
The bakery somehow seemed colder than the icy morning outside. Blowing warm air into his hands he cast an eye over the Meet. The operation seemed just as smooth underground as it was overground.
The A.B.C felt like a living organism as bakers carted crates, rolled barrels, and called out locations of what needed moving next for despatch. As Ollie made his way to the office at the opposite end, he found himself jumping aside to avoid dollys being rushed through and explosive proofing tests being performed.
Upon reaching the office he breathed a sigh of relief as he left the buzz of the bakery and entered the small, dark office. Hoping to enjoy a little peace, he instead found himself frozen in the doorway as his eyes scanned the scene.
Nobody had cleaned up the broken glass from Friday, it still laid scattered over furniture and the floor. While unusual, it wasn't what had been the main cause of the shock. The office seemed much larger, indeed there was more space, as Alfie's Captain's desk and chair had disappeared.
The threadbare rug highlighted where it had once been by the more vibrant and clean patches where the large, desk-deep legs had once sat. He slowly removed his hat as he considered how many years the desk had occupied that space and the stories it could tell. The men shot by Alfie, the men cut by Malka, the business deals struck, the pleading and begging of good and bad men alike, along with all the sex it had on it. So much history, he thought with a smile.
Turning to his own makeshift desk and placing his hat down, he noticed it had been recently used in his absence. The up-ended crate he used as a stool was pulled out and a pen with an inkwell lay on the desk next to a freshly written invoice. Noticing the ink was still wet, Ollie ran the blotter over and then picked up the invoice for a browse.
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