1919.
Cora Jane Grayson is the classiest tease on the streets of Small Heath, Birmingham. However, the woman in black and diamonds, finds herself guilty by association when a new Chief Inspector comes over from Ireland and finds her family ties to t...
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Cora sat in the side room of the Garrison alone with a large glass of red wine as her only company.
She'd heard that Tommy had supposedly killed Danny and she had settled that she would never be able to look Thomas in the eyes ever again.
She had also seen that Harry had a new barmaid, a blonde Irishwoman with a voice like an angel apparently, but Harry had served her so quickly that she had been able to officially meet the Irish girl.
Staring at the wine in her hand, Cora heard to door swing open cautiously. She felt him set next to her, placing his hat on the table.
"I already know what you did," she tried to stop any conversation her eyes never moving.
"I didn't do it," Tommy admitted, staring at his hands. Neither of them could look at one another.
"Funny joke," she commented monotonously.
"Danny Whizz-Bang is safely on a boat to London," Tommy looked at the side of Cora's face as she took a sip of her drink. "He's not dead."
Finally making eye contact, the two looked into eye others' eyes. "Why?" Cora questioned in disbelief.
"I realised I need him for something," Tommy smirked, avoiding the truth. Cora still stared at him expressionless until she could hold it anymore.
"You are such a twat," she laughed happily, Tommy smiling beside her as they began to drink with one another.
•-•-•-•-•
It was late at night when Cora neared her flat. The streets were empty and dimly lit by the occasional street light. Cora had left Tommy at the Garrison to get an early night since John and Arthur had burst in drunk out of their minds.
As she when to shove her keys into the lock of the close door, she felt a presence beside her.
"Miss Grayson," a thick Irish accent addressed her on her left.
Cora turned her head to see an older man, roughly in his sixties, dressed respectably in a full suit with an overcoat and hat. His hair and moustache was greying and he had a stern facial expression.
"You must be Chief Inspector Campbell," she assumed cockily. She leaned against the door, putting on a confident act to hissed the fact that she was shitting herself after she'd heard what he'd done to Arthur.
"What do you know about the Peaky Blinders, Miss Grayson?"
"Who?" She replied dimly, keeping up her weak act.
What Cora failed to noticed was that she had, on instinct, walked into the close door. It was a fact she failed to notice until she was pressed up against it with a rough hand around her neck.
"Your games don't fool me, Cora Grayson," Campbell growled, applying more pressure to her neck causing her to wince in pain, "You have information on the Peaky Blinders. Where are the guns?"
The act was crumbling, and Cora's body shook to the core. Whatever Thomas had gotten himself into was a suicide mission. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She felt the back of her head smash against the wood of the door before she felt his hand leave her neck. Cora breathed heavily, gasp for air and in pain. She fell to the ground on her hands in knees, refusing to make any eye contact with the Chief Inspector when her spoke, "You can tell Thomas Shelby that he can hand them over or this will happen again, Miss Grayson."
Cora could feel him move closer to her. She felt his breath when he whispered in her ear, "and next time, it will be worse for you."
Cora heard him walk away, and she was left breathing heavily on the ground with her keys digging into her hand, dirt over the bottom of her dress and one thing on her mind:
