Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 59

Tommy's pov

"Arthur." Tommy squares his shoulders, holding the phone receiver so tightly his knuckles turn white. "Have you found them?"

His blood cools as he hears his brother's hesitation on the other end of the line. "Found the car. A little further into town, there was coppers everywhere..."

Every emotion of Tommy's shuts down. There's no room for concern as he hears his brother shudder, no room for caring about any civilians that have been hurt in whatever happened. Every molecule of his being is lit with purpose — to find you and John.

"Tommy, it's McGuffin's lot. They've got 'em. Dragged 'em from some Bed and Breakfast."

"Then we fucking find them." Tommy snaps his fingers at Ada, standing in the doorway of the room with her hand covering her mouth. He motions for her to pass him a fountain pen and sheet of paper. "Give me the exact address they were taken from. And have the police hand over every bit of fucking evidence they've found, and then tell them to fuck off."

His fingers form loops of ink across the page as Arthur speaks. The house is deathly silent, only the taps of Michael's shoes as he paces audible from the next room over.

Ada waits until he's hung up the phone before speaking in a whisper.

"They'll call though, won't they?" she asks. "They'll want to call and make demands, or..."

Tommy shakes his head, resting his palms on the desk and leaning forward. "It's not us they're after, Ada. It's her." He pulls himself upright. "It'll be a fucking miracle if John's not dead already."

She sets her jaw. "Then we find them. Now."

Tommy raises his eyebrows. "How, Ada? They could be anywhere in the fucking country."

"No," Michael says, slowly entering the room. "They couldn't." He clenches his jaw. "I, uh, began reading about aircraft after mum started buying me model planes. McGuffin owns three fighter jets from the war. They're all registered in his name, one belonged to his brother who died fighting. I'd say he'll keep close to them."

Tommy nods slowly. "So he'll be near a hangar."

"With a landing strip," Ada adds. "He's not taking a boat to and from Ireland every month if he owns the planes."

"How long could it take to track down every single one in Britain?" Tommy asks.

"Hours. Days, to drive to them all." Michael's lips twitch. "Unless... we're in the sky ourselves."

***

"So, this is what's been keeping you out of the house, and so distracted you've made errors on the accounts," Tommy says. "And here I thought it was just the Bancroft effect."

"Mum paid for the flying lessons," Michael mutters. "Thought it would keep me out of trouble."

They walk through the private hangar full of planes from the war. Fighters, bombers, and cargo aircraft line either side, all gleaming and brand new — monoplanes, biplanes.

"Would have cost most her life's savings," Tommy comments.

Michael inhales loudly. "Which is why I couldn't say no."

"Well, I hope you learnt a thing or two," Tommy says.  "Enough to fly us?"

"Private hire's expensive," Michael says, "and then there's fuel costs, and if anything went wrong with the engine I wouldn't know how—"

"Michael," Tommy interrupts. "We're not paying for the fucking plane."

Michael's brows knit together. "But then why..."

"We don't pay for our suits." Tommy lights a cigarette. "We don't pay for our drink. And we're not going to pay to bring John and our girl home. Now, pick an aircraft. I'll find out where the nearest private hangars are."