Hidden Secrets - Thomas Shelby//Peaky Blinders

Kimber's Demise

Children rushed through the streets at the urgent behest of mothers as a sense of foreboding traveled through the dampened streets of Small Heath.

Tommy stalked down the street, a sense of determined urgency marking his stride. He turned his body briefly, never slowing his step, as John called his name, running to catch up with a bag of guns in hand.

"Tommy! We've had word from Nipper at Hay Mills and he says the police are letting them through."

Tommy let a frustrated sigh escape his lips as they continued through the streets, innocents scrambling to get business done to take shelter.

"And how come all our police have disappeared?" John continued, keeping stride with his older brother.

"Because it was the police who told Kimber about the plan," Tommy answered swiftly.

"And who told the police?"

A pointed look was the only answer Tommy gave his brother.

John knew of the notes Tommy had received hinting at the barmaid's dealing with a copper. He had also been there in the pub earlier and had taken his own notice of a missing barmaid.

John gave an angry growl, his free hand coming up to play with the toothpick that hung from his mouth.

"Leave it, John," Tommy warned. "Aunt Pol is dealing with it." John gave a satisfied smirk to that. "What I need you to do," Tommy directed, "when we win this, is to make your way to Kimber's house and see what you can find on Lis. Be quick, be quiet, John. Don't do anything stupid. Just get her out if she's there. If she's not, get what answers you can and get your fucking ass back here. Understand?"

John gave an understanding nod of his head before splitting off from his brother to join the other few men gathered just down from the Garrison.

Tommy sped his steps, quickly making his way up the concrete ramp to the open doors of the factory in order to address the small group of men huddled in front of him.

"Alright men, you were mostly in the war so you know that battle plans always change and get fucked up. Well, here it is. Things have changed." Tommy looked at each of the men before him. Heavens above and hells below, he hated this feeling. "We fight them here. Today. Alone."

The gathered men stood silently as their leader continued. "Now they're gonna come for the pub. They're gonna try and break us up for good. And we'll have no help from the law today."

Tommy's voiced raised along with his gun as he reached behind him and pointed to the pub just down the way. "That pub there is called the Garrison. Well, now it really is one. And it belongs to us, right?"

The men shouted their agreement in unison, some raising their weapons for emphasis.

"How many are there?" Arthur yelled out in question.

"Jeremiah says two Riley vans." Tommy stood with hands at his side, gun held tightly in one. "So I reckon we're outnumbered three to one."

"Aw, fuck," came Arthur's eloquent reply.

"But it's us, boys. It's us. The Small Heath Rifles. We never lost a fight yet, did we?" The handful of men standing there responded with a proud and defiant, "No!" Their faces displaying the loyalty and trust for the man that stood before them.

"Alright. Jeremiah," Tommy turned to address the dark man before him. "I know you vowed to God to never pick up a weapon again. Can you ask him from me if you can help us today?"

The preacher man gave a stood at attention salute before answering in the affirmative. "God says he doesn't deal with Small Heath, sir."

"Good man," Tommy called out as John handed Jeremiah a long gun.