𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐚 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 🍞PEAKY BLINDERS 🥖

Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Despite trusting the Polish boy, Tommy still disliked leaving Kizzie without the family.

But his presence did improve Kizzie's mood; she was no longer upset with Tommy. She had a "friend" outside of the family and was able to go where she pleased.

The rules Oscar needed to follow were clear: Kizzie was the boss when out of the house with her—whatever she said goes. But if Tommy needed information on Kizzie, Tommy got that information, no questions asked. These conditions made it possible for him to travel to the Black Lion, an Irish-run pub, to hopefully find those responsible for bombing the Garrison.

Whoever did it wanted Tommy's attention. Otherwise, they'd pick a time when they knew he and his people were inside.

He suspected the IRA: Lord knew that the Irish bombed anything they could get their hands on.

Tommy followed the small boy between alleys. Down steps and under washing lines. Followed until they reached the backside of a butcher shop, where Tommy was stripped of his coat and cap and checked for weapons. A burlap sack went over his head as the two men guided him to their destination.

He kept his breathing even. He did not fear the situation. No, he knew coming down here would warrant this behavior. And he had no doubt he'd walk away. These people needed Tommy.

Tommy was sat down on a metal chair, with the sack pulled off the moment he touched down. Two people were before him: a man and woman. A table between them had a revolver at the far corner. Tommy rubbed away sweat from his upper lip and waited for his turn to strike.

"Thomas Shelby," the Irish woman said. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her short, blunt haircut matched the glare she sent his way.

"You blew up my pub."

"Anger defeats fear. Good."

"You blew up my pub." But this time it was quieter. Angry he certainly was.

The woman looked at her companion. "Thomas Shelby has a reputation to uphold."

This had the man smile. "A reputation of not being scared of anything."

"In all the world, violent men are the easiest to deal with."

"So tell me," Tommy began. "Which brand of rebel are you, eh? I read somewhere that you Paddies started fighting amongst yourselves now. The king offers you a peace treaty, and you start a war over it. That's funny, don't you think? A war about peace." They remained silent, blank expressions burning holes into his head. "So are you for the treaty or against? Forgive me, I get confused."

The man stood and reached for the revolver, dragging it against the wood before keeping it at his side. He smelled of coal and smoke.

"You are one decision away from death, Mr. Shelby," the woman said.

"So stop fucking smiling."

Tommy pointed at her. "You're Irene O'Donnell. You have a son at Cherry Wood Road School in Harbourne. He has iron on his legs. His name is Sean. He comes last in every race...poor boy. Poor boy if the race is important. You know what I mean, Irene O'Donnell?"

The gun cocked and pressed against Tommy's temple.

It worked. She stared, jaw gently gaped open.

He felt the man's fury beside him. "There are other ways to carry out this mission. Please allow me to put a bullet in this scum tinker's head!"

"No," Irene finally said. "He researches his enemies... As do I." She sat forward. " You have a mentally defective little sister. Families who can't afford to send them away kick them out. But usually they're already orphaned. Both have two options. Die from starvation and the cold, because they're too stupid, or they get picked up by traffickers. Boys and girls like your sister get beaten and raped and no one ever comes finding them. It would be a shame if something happened to you and your family and poor Kezia Shelby became lost in the streets."

Tommy's poker face shattered. He straddled a tightrope of rage and madness. She hit his only nerve, just as he did hers. The only difference? Tommy's words provoked the wickedness in Irene. She tested him, and he failed.

"We research well, Mr. Shelby," she continued. "And we both have people who need us. That's why you've been chosen."

Tommy used what air remained in his lungs to speak. "I am chosen?" He needed space, before he exploded. And the best temporary relief rested in his pockets. "Can the Chosen One smoke?"

The gun fell away from him and Tommy's trembling fingers dug for his cigarettes and matchbook.

Irene, satisfied, spoke again while her companion came back to sit beside her. "A vacancy has appeared and you are going to fill it."

"Chosen by whom?"

"An informed consensus."

The fire burning Tommy from the inside out shrunk at his first drag. "I have things to do." A sister to protect. "So perhaps you can tell the Chosen One what he has been chosen for."

"From now on, Mr. Shelby, you shut your fucking Gypsy mouth and listen to your instructions."

Tommy inhaled the last bit of cigarette. He removed it from between his lips and flung it away. How did that happen? He only just lit it. Kizzie told him he went through cigarettes like candy when he was anxious...

He reached into his carton to pull out a new one. If he focused on smoking, he could make it through this. Return to Kizzie and return from the poison in his head.

☻

Tommy was late.

He told Kizzie he'd be back by 3 o'clock.

"He's alright, girl," Aunt Polly chided. Her niece's handprints smudged the freshly cleaned windows.

"But what if he isn't?" She reached one hand into her pocket. "What if something happened?"

The two marbles she fiddled around with clanked gently.

"I have every reason to believe that if Tommy was dead, you'd know before anyone else."

"Why?"

"With how close you two are, Kizzie. Don't underestimate that." Even if most times it purely serves Thomas.

The front door opened and Kizzie sprinted into the parlor.

"Tommy!"

Her brother's colors were ice blue. They pierced right through her skin and through bone. She shuddered against his chest.

"It's alright," he whispered. It meant to soothe them both. "It's alright." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two yellow tickets. "They have a six o'clock show. I picked them up on the way back. Let's go and then get some dinner after. Yeah?"

"Yes!" Kizzie squeezed him tighter and his blues became light and airy as the sky. She let him go and practically glided to the coat rack.

From the living room, Aunt Polly wordlessly warned Thomas: Something happened, and you're going to tell me.

But it was going to wait. Right now, he fully intended to spoil Kizzie and let himself have a fucking moment where he smiled and laughed and felt wholly needed: from his rotten soul to his tainted blood.

Author's Note:

That monologue Irene says to Tommy about Kizzie has been written down/in my head since before I started drafting this story. I think once I typed it I was like okay fine, I'll write the damn story.