Home Again

Pub

Arthur Shelby walked into a pub. He eyed the place, up and down, along with its customers. "I don't like the look of this place," he said as he held the door open for his younger brother John.

Arthur stepped forward. He looked as he did in his youth except for his face, which had aged slightly over the years. Some of his hair was grey where it had once been brown but his eyes still retained their same unchecked ferocity. He smoothed the section of his unbuzzed hair back along his head. "What d'ya think, John?" He asked.

John trailed behind him wearing much of the same agedness. The only thing different about his eyes was that they were tamer. He kept his head down, eyeing the place, left and right, with suspicion. "It's all we have to go on," he said.

"You're right about that."

They continued to make their way to the bar.

"'ello," Arthur said, eyeing the bartender who was busy drying a glass and ignorant to the fact that two Shelbys had come into his restaurant.

"'ow can I help you?" The barkeep asked, still oblivious.

John spoke, "We'd like to inquire about a man named Thomas Shelby..."

The room eyed them and John had the barkeep's full attention. "...Junior, that is," he finished.

"W-why would you go wonderin about a name like that?" The man asked.

"Personal reasons," said Arthur.

"Well, I don't know much," the barkeep said.

"How bout you tell us what you know," said John.

The barkeep thought a while, rubbing a dry shot glass over and over. Before he spoke, another man, sitting at a stool, entered the conversation.

"You two still run as Thomas Shelby's errandboys?" Came his slurred inquiry.

John stoically turned to the man, overshadowing him. "Would you still run your mouth if I cut the tongue out of it?"

The man was silent as a tomb.

"Before your friend over here pays for his disrespect," Arthur continued, "hows about you tell us what we came here for, eh?"

The barkeep nodded. "I heard that a Peaky Blinder likes to hang out at that restaurant on the corner of 10th and Mulberry. But it's just what I heard."

"Is that all?" John said, returning to the conversation.

"I swear it on me mum's grave," the barkeep said.

"All right, John. I think we have what we need," Arthur said.

" I do too," John replied.

"We'll be back if we run into the inconvenience of not verifying this source of yours," Arthur said before making his way out.

John kicked over a stool and left.

~

"Put that gun away," Clover said.

"What?" Junior was beyond shocked.

"I said put the bloody thing away. You're obviously not going to shoot me," she said.

"How do you figure that?" He asked with his weapon still cocked.

"I'm the only one helping you. You don't seem to have any family or friends. And the only reason why a man dressed like you would be worked up about a couple dollars is that he's on the run from something or someone...which you obviously are."

"So put that gun away, I'm tired of seeing it in my house," Clover said.

Junior obeyed, setting the safety and placing the weapon on the table. He sat dumbfounded.

Clover stood taller. "Now the next thing you're going to do is tell me your name and exactly who or what you're running from. I need to know who may come after me or my family. Then you are going to contact my uncle and apologize-"

"Fuck no-"

"I SAID APOLOGIZE so that you can get your goddamn money and get the hell out of my house. Are we clear?" She paused, panting. She must have been yelling at the top of her lungs. She could not gauge her noise level; much less hear herself at all. "Are we clear?" She echoed at a normal volume.

Junior made eye contact and nodded. He looked at her with sense of something like admiration in his eyes. But she could not tell for sure.

"All right then." She said. "Excuse me."

Clover left the room and went straight to the washroom. Her hands were trembling as she closed and locked the door. She kneeled over the toilet and vomited.