Ex-soldier Birmingham-gangster bets his life on luck and illegalities, adroit wit and burning passion streaking his blood-stained fingertips as a dire quarrel commence between himself and the disturbed Dane who purloined his lover.
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SIX FEET UNDER
SIR ANTON MAES SAT slumped back in a brown, leather armchair, his wary eyes squinted to the slightest, fixated on the younger woman before him. His long-fingered hand played with the cufflinks on his blouse, fingertips tracing the outline of the silver forming a crucifix.
Opposite him, Ines Lenz was positioned in a not as comfortable chair, designed to make guests feel welcomed yet unworthy of sitting in the same king chair like the one the boss owned. The cattle hide was fresh from the tannery up Zonstraat, decorated with a single golden plate in the back, the German surname engraved in a small, golden plate on each furniture provided.
"Ines, I have now had the pleasure of knowing you—how long's it been?"
"Six years," chuckled she, shifting in the seat, feeling of what she had made her fortune.
One of the first things her father had told her since coming to Belgium, God rest his soul, was that she ought to know money did not equal happiness. It was something she did her best to keep at heart, although she soon realized money most certainly was a boon and Hans Lenz never had did have his pockets full, only a wife he loved and adored.
Ines had no such thing as love for another man.
However, she possessed a great amount of money, enough to fill up a whole tank in her mansion—so far it had proved sufficient.
Anton snapped his fingers and got up, beginning to walk around and an illuminating grimace altered his features for the better. "That's it! And now, I know you have business to attend to back in England this week, but I have recently been blessed with a great opportunity, and I would like for you to take part in it."
Reaching over his work table, Ines reached for Anton's cigarettes and he offered her light, striking a match. Looking up at him, above her dark, oval glasses, Ines nodded in appreciation and blew a puff of smoke.
Anton himself was puffing smoke from his tobacco pipe.
The successful club owner nodded at the woman, and walked to the window, peaking the overview of his empire. The club was filled with customers and the soothing sound of his hired band flowed lowly throughout the areas, allowing him to find as much joy to tap his foot to the rhythm.
He was aware of Ines' sour situation, enough ordeals on her plate as it was and now her father had to go and fall about. Anton had never been close to his family, but he could imagine the ghastly emotions she must be suppressing.
"You have my attention," said she, inhaling the Dunhill.
"Just yesterday, I received a telegram from a Mr. Nikolaj Brogaard. Have you heard of him?"
"Vaguely. He deals with motor vehicles, yes?"
"That amongst other goods, yes—but! Mr. Brogaard has been so kind and, yet again, allow me on the guest list, in spite of our differences, of next year's annual business congress, held in Hamburg," carried Anton on with a bubbling feeling inside, turning to take in Ines' reaction but her blank face hidden behind shades gave away nothing.
Ines was repelled by his overly energetic aura. It was not the time.
"I was hoping you would join me. I think you're ready to move up in the big leagues," finished he, clapping together his hands, sincerely hoping for her to agree.
It had been no longer than a year since all production of Lenz Leather Ltd. had been paused, as you had by then provided Anton Maes of all the wished leather-covered interior for his brand. He had been so impressed with your way of driving legal business with no longer education, and so he had offered his counseling and instructions, all he had learned from his own entrepreneurial experiences.
"Let me go bury my father, then we speak business."
. . .
IT WAS HIS DYING wish. For Ines to allow herself to move on from the Shelby heartbreak and to lie with his own love. Why Hans Lenz would mention Ines' former lover, she did not know and it made her ponder more than needed, but now as Hans lied six feet under, she believed he could finally get rest and although her heart was broken for what felt like the hundredth time, she felt it was enough.
The Gods must be grinning, testing her belief like that.
At the instant she exited the automobile and set food on Birmingham grounds, she was filled with all sorts of feelings and her nostrils with the smell of coal and shit. Something she could now say with her leather gloves, long coat, smart hat and a purse full of money, she had not missed; nevertheless, in some way, it managed to give her the sense of finally being home, and had it not been for the insanely cold weather immediately freezing up any hints of liquid, she might of even shed a tear.
The streets looked the same as she recalled and so did the people. The fashion, however, had moved the same as the western sort that was found in the rest of Europe, depending on the weather, of course. Other than that, it was much the same in Small Heath.
This time around, it was Ines that had changed.
The thought had crossed her mind, when she had found his house, passing it to make it to The Garrison Pub. Whether or not the house was still in the Shelby name, she did not know, and the obscurity of not known triggered nothing to make her make the detour of knocking on the door.
So much had happened since last. Ines was sure Thomas would want nothing to do with her, anyway. Overseas, she too had heard he had made some of a name for himself. Simply out of curiosity, she mentioned his name on the street and it seemed to strike men with fear whenever, making Ines wonder what he was up to. Nothing troublesome, she hoped, for his own good.
And to the pub, she had only ever been to one time. Never to drink, however, no—she had only been an innocent and pure mind and at the time never known of pain, but now; now she had felt it all and for that, she needed a pint.
Approaching The Garrison, Ines found her way inside, taking in her golden surroundings as she took off her coat and threw it over the back of a chair. She did not remember all the gold—nor much else, for that matter but it was evident changes and chances had been taken.
"Tell, ain't it old fuckin' Ines?"
No matter how rusty and smoked up that voice had gone, it was one none could misplace. Ines' head lifted and shades were removed, taking in Arthur Shelby approaching her with arms spread as if presenting her as his eyes looked her up and down.
It was not meant as a welcoming embrace, that was not Arthur's way, but she took the liberty anyhow, and wrapped her own around him, unable to contain herself as she saw an old friend, one now even older.
Take away the worn out looks and wrinkles spread across his smiley face that not even a grin could make up for, age had not done him all that bad. The thick mustache cladding his upper lip put a certain ambiance to him, and it had been so long she could barely imagine him without it. She would be lying if she confessed it did not make him as good as he too liked to believe.
"You look good, Arthur."
"And you rich! What have you been up to all this time? No way there's this much funds in fucking leather!" laughed he loudly, he booming voice spry as always as he distanced himself, his bruised hands remaining on her shoulders. "Tommy know you're in town?"
Breathing out and widening her eyes, Ines went to slide off her gloves from her fingers, rubbing them together immediately to gain warmth from the frosty weather outside. "I haven't seen Thomas in forever. I have no reason to believe he knows I'm back."
Running his teeth clean with his tongue, he propped his hands on his hips and wiped away the concern with a big smile and clap of his hands.
