"Taste fucking good, ain't it?" roared the man, taking the glass from Tommy's hands. "Some good fucking alcohol right there."
The man was quite tall, much like Tommy, if not slightly taller. He had broad shoulders and his back was always ever so slightly hunched. He had thick facial hair of a light chestnut colour. His eyes were of a dirty blue-green, and his skin was rough and slightly wrinkled. He dressed casually, not caring much about the grimy apron he wore, stumbling about his dusty factory, shouting and swearing constantly. Tommy noted that his employees were easily intimidated by him, if not even afraid. Clearly, Alfie Solomons was a powerful man. He didn't like looking rich, but he was definitely loaded.
"You've built quite an empire here, Mr Solomons," hummed Tommy, following him through the low-ceiling, cavernous rooms.
"Yeah? You're great at flattery, Tommy," scoffed Alfie Solomons, in his harsh London accent. "And for the purpose of the conversation, it's a legitimate business."
"Of course," answered the Peaky Blinder, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"So," crooned Alfie, "what brings you, a Shelby, to the heart of Camden of all places?"
"Business."
"Fuckin' hell, mate," exclaimed Alfie Solomons, stopping briefly to shoot Tommy a humorous look. "Business in London? Why?"
Tommy smirked, pulling out a cigarette. He offered one to Alfie.
He cleared his throat.
"You heard of Sabini?" he asked, his voice low and serious.
Alfie Solomons' face contorted into a half-amused, half-frustrated grimace.
"Get in my fuckin' office. Go on, get in."
He led Tommy to a bright office. It was smaller than his, but more atmospheric. The woodwork was all light-coloured wood, it smelt heavily of tobacco and wood shavings. Alfie Solomons let himself collapse into a leather chair, lifting his feet onto his messy desk and pulled out a bag of cashews. He signalled to Tommy, who sat opposite him on a greasy chair.
"Cashew?"
"No, thank you."
"Now," he grumbled, violently tossing the cashews aside , "tell me what you want with Sabini."
"Revenge."
"Why come to me?" exclaimed Alfie Solomons, wide-eyed and impatient.
"I want to make a deal, Mr Solomons."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marguerite sat in Tommy's leather chair in his quiet office, her eyes briefly scanning the items on his desk: an unemptied ash tray, stamps, documents concerning financial transactions and alliances, death certificates of those unlucky enough to get in the way of the Shelby family, an empty whiskey glass. Her posture relaxed and she tapped her red heel loudly against the floor, as if waiting for something or someone. Suddenly, she rose to her feet, and turned to face the filing cabinets behind her. Here, she rummaged for a good 15 minutes until she found a document. 'Business in London'
She gently turned the page. 'Alfie Solomons, London.'
That's where Tommy had gone.
She was busy, though. Polly was too impatient for Tommy to come back to find her son, Michael. Her and the young woman had gone off to find him, but with no luck. Tommy knew more people, he'd be able to help. They just had to wait for him to come back from London.
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Marguerite - A Thomas Shelby story
Tiểu thuyết Lịch sửMarguerite is a story set in the 1920s, also known as the Roaring Twenties. This period was a time of prosperity for the Western world who got back on their feet soon after the First World War ended. However, the poor were struggling to keep themse...
