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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FORETHOUGHT
THE OPULENT DISPLAY OF what Thomas claimed to be his office, was about the last place Ines had thought he would be spending his waking hours. It was impressive in size; its decor undoubtedly expensive - Ines would know - high ceiling, velvet curtains minimizing the light while adding a baroque-like style to the dim room.
Had Ines been asked where he would be in the future, a decade back, she would regrettably have assumed six feet underground. Lamentably, deceased and not merely performing his duties as a tunneller.
But here he stood, very much alive despite his surely unhealthy living, and Ines could only assume the rumors of him being a wealthy businessman were indeed true.
The maid who had brought tea placed the tray on a small table, assuming the guest was a friend of her employer and they were comfortable. Ines took a seat, smiling at the maid and took a seat, but Thomas went behind his work desk, pulling out a cigarette before sitting in his chair. This was not a "chummy" situation.
At least once since his family had gained the rank they had, someone had tried to pry their way back into their lives. Now Thomas was under the impression Ines too sought to snake her way back into his life. With what intention, he did not know, but he was not going to unveil the hopelessly-in-love fool that remained caged in him and welcome her with open arms.
"Thank you, Evelyn."
Evelyn left the room, closing the door behind her but not before receiving a nod from Thomas. Ines cleared her throat, trying to rid, or at least suppress, the anxiety building in her throat. She tried to break the tangible tension with a warm voice one would only speak in, in a friendly situation, not when one had just traveled overseas to see a man, whom very well might be her only lifeline. Ines was by all who knew her known as a pleasant conversationalist, and she hoped to utilize that skill.
"That is a beautiful son out there, Thomas—"
"What are you doing in my home, Ines?"
Noted. Definitely not a "chummy" situation.
Ines sighed woefully and looked down. His letter expressed his most inner thoughts and Ines cursed herself for believing for one moment that he, in fact, would allow her back into his life, no questions asked. There were going to be questions and with the memory so freshly-painted in her brain, she was not confident she could dig into the wound.
Yet another sigh resonated as she sat up straight. She had to win back his trust. It seemed only just, after all, Thomas had a plethora of reasons to paint her a rival, and only so many reasons to not. Howbeit, Thomas also knew Ines would not appear on his doorstep looking disheveled with a single bag and a dog unless it was urgent.
The heart-rending expression resting on her wan face spoke before she had the strength to. Thomas understood the seriousness. Her sorrow had always been his Achille's heel, for he knew it took her a lot of courage to trust another with her troubles. She would not have come all this way if she was not in dire need of help or another equally pressing matter. Judging by her disheveled look and the stuffed suitcase and dog she had brought, Thomas concluded she needed his help.
But the same way Thomas knew Ines like the back of his hand, Ines knew Thomas, too. He had also been somewhat of a mystery, a vague soul to those who did not know him well, while in fact, he was a direct and simple man, but now, also a busy one. When he wanted something, he would take it, and when he asked questions he wanted them answered. Therefore, Ines did not sugarcoat the situation at hand.
"I shot Nikolaj."
There was a small pause while Thomas sat, stone-faced, almost as if she had not just confessed to shooting her husband. The lack of expression did not coincide with the rumbling of his thoughts. Lifting the cigarette to his plump lips, he inhaled.
"Who?"
"Ni--Nikolaj... My husband."
He bobbed his head and emitted a murmur, like he did not know already, or had forgotten. But he knew. Thomas knew everything about Mr. Brogaard. His silence encouraged Ines to explain. As pleasant as her missed looks were to the eye, Thomas was still looking for the reason for her visit.
"He... He was going to hurt me. I don't know how but he found out I helped you. He knew I went to see you, and... And he just--he just lost himself, Tommy. I didn't know what to do, I--I was... I was so afraid of him." Ines' voice was weak, fragile, as she recalled the moment.
"And where do I fit into all of this?"
Ines sat still for a moment. His rigid manner made it all the more difficult to expose herself to him. However, she recognized the businessman in her childhood friend and could only respect him for wishing to know exactly what it was he was getting involved in if he was to help out, a literal damsel in distress.
"I--I'm afraid of what he'll do. I... I didn't know where else I could be safe, and--and I thought, with your letter and all, you would--you and your brothers could... Help. I--I don't know, Tommy, I don't know what to do, fuck this was--"
"So you didn't kill him?" asked Tommy flatly. He could sense she was on the verge of breaking, and truth be told he did not know how to comfort her.
With that in mind, he took a little time to preen in the fact Ines had come to him for help - granted, she admitted she had nowhere else to go - but that did not make it any less true that she acknowledged she would be safe with him. Thomas could guarantee her, he would keep her safe.
"Heavens no! I... I could never, I just--he scared me, and now I know what he's capable of and..." blethered Ines, trying to get a hold of herself. "I'm afraid something is wrong with him. Like, I think he is mentally ill."
Thomas sighed and put out his cigarette. She should have known better than to anger and cripple a man as opposed to eliminating the posing threat.
"You said you know what he's capable of. What do you mean by that?"
Wetting her dry lips, Ines hesitated, dragging it out. She remembered it vividly, the memory fresh like the final strokes of the paintbrush yet were drying on the canvas of her mind. A picture marked by gore and brutal ruthlessness of one man depriving another man of his God-given life. Peter Karlsen was the one suffering a cold-blooded death at the hands of Ines' husband, Nikolaj, the one playing God.
Aside from the recent events, Ines did not dare to think how many, if any, else had tasted Nikolaj's wrath, here, now aware of his dealings with those "Butcher Brothers".
"Nikolaj knows a lot of people. He has connections in high places and enough favors to call in would he want to do so. The thing is, I... I'm not even sure if it's me he'll come after."
Thomas said nothing.
Ines sucked in a breath, but exhaled a cry, finding it difficult to calm her nerves while under his hard stare. If there was anything thing she had come to find out through running a business alongside him, it was that he could be one hard-hearted enemy. Battling the fear of her husband wishing her dead was one thing; the fear of becoming an enemy of the Dane broke the curve.
"Tommy, please, you know I would not come to you unless it was urgent."
Just as he had predicted. Perhaps it was because she implored him so, or maybe it was merely the vague memory of a rich friendship. Either way, Thomas understood she did not only fear for herself but him, too. Although he would not admit to the humane emotion - in the very least not in his sober state - Thomas was blithe to know his quelled love, even now, years later, was reciprocated.
Thomas cleared his throat and stood to his feet suddenly. In no time he had perched before Ines, a pear-shaped bottle in one hand, and a round one in the other. If Ines promptly was to be a part of his life, he would be forced to face feelings he had long ago put a lid on. He was not going to do that sober.
