-=₪ November 1932 ₪=-
The Mansion / Margate / 6.49pm
"Is Malka home?"
"My sister is sick, Mr Shelby. She isn't fit for visitors." said Ishmael.
"Letters and telegrams don't appear to be getting through and when I call, you refuse to let me speak with her. Now, I've travelled a long way--"
"Where were you when she needed you? A year ago she called for you, but you didn't come."
"I know. I'm sorry, I should have come." Tommy conceded.
After some thought and observing the politian with narrowed eyes, Ishmael lowered the gun.
"Fine, but if she wants you gone--."
"I'll leave."
"Arms up." Ishmael ordered.
Tommy clicked his tongue and then after some short consideration lifted his arms. Ishmael searched and quickly discovered the gun inside the Politian's suit jacket tucked in a leather holster, but to Tommy's surprise Ishmael didn't confiscate the weapon but instead moved on to search various other pockets; trousers, coat, suit, all inside pockets.
"What are you looking for?" asked Tommy.
"My sister has light fingers. You're clean, come on."
Ishmael led Mr Shelby to the first-floor landing but stopped short of the large drawing room doorway and turned.
"I should warn you Mr Shelby, she isn't as you remember. Please keep an--."
The sound of smashing glass came from the drawing room making Ishmael abandon his sentence and run into the room, leaving Tommy standing on the landing.
"Malka!" called Ishmael with alarm while running to her side.
Tommy followed and stood in the doorway. The room hadn't changed much since he last laid eyes on it, but it was a lot messier, if such a thing was possible. Newspapers were strewn about, empty bottles and old drinking glasses laid around, along with clothes, melted candles and general rubbish. He also noticed a small leather case, about the size of a book, which laid open. Inside were a few needles and other paraphernalia that Tommy recognised only too well, he used to have a similar leather case for a similar purpose. Ishmael glanced over his shoulder to Tommy as he quickly knocked the case closed, wanting to hide its contents from the MP.
Malka was in her armchair with knees up and head buried. She looked gaunt, stick thin and deathly ill. Tommy observed as Ishmael bent down in front of her and attempted to check if his sister was hurt in anyway.
"Get out Ishmael!" she snapped, quickly lifting her head, and lashing out at him.
"Malka, you're hurt." he replied seeing her cut and bleeding hand.
Pulling away she tried to leave the chair but instead stumbled to the floor, seemingly too weak or intoxicated to walk. Tommy believed either was possible if her appearance was anything to go by.
Ishmael tried to break her fall but fell to the floor with Malka and was immediately pushed away again as she laid on the rug with her eyes closed.
"Fuck off!" she demanded.
"Maybe I can help?" Tommy offered stepping forwards.
"Alfie?"
They both looked to Malka in silence for a moment. Tommy, now closer, was shocked by how unwell she looked. Her cadaverous appearance, her grey skin, and everything about her seemed hollowed. Hollow-cheeks, hollow-eyes, inverted form and would presume her barren of life if she didn't occasionally move. She also seemed to be in a state of perpetual tears; not crying, or sobbing, but her eyes were nevertheless still silently leaking as if operating entirely independently from the rest of her.
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The Camden Tales
FanfictionAlfie 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...