NEW REIGN || Tommy Shelby

III. NEW NEGOTIATOR

- NEW NEGOTIATOR -

She lifted her chin and watched Alfie let out a low chuckle, resting his thumbs in the pocket of his brown leather apron.

"Right," he said, turning on his heel and walking down the hall. "I know you must have come here for business, Mr. Shelby, but would you both like to try some? Some of my bread?"

They followed him as he talked until they reached the next room. It looked much the same as the first, but this time there was a small table to their right laden with dark glass bottles. They had no labels, but Rose had a feeling she knew exactly what was in them.

Tommy was silent, but she stepped forward, another saccharine smile on her lips.

"We would love to try some, Mr. Solomons."

He turned to Tommy. "Brown or white?"

He gestured to the bottles and one of his men brought three glasses and put them down on the wooden table.

"Brown," Tommy replied with a quick look over his shoulder at Rose.

Alfie huffed a laugh, uncorking one of the bottles closest to him. He poured three cups of the dark, amber rum and handed two of them to Rose and Tommy.

They both took small sips and Rose tried not to wince. It was raw and bitter like the spirits they had had on the front- nothing like the smooth whiskey she was becoming accustomed to and certainly nothing compared to what Tommy usually drank. But he kept his face even and reserved, looking up at Alfie with a nod.

Whatever game Tommy was playing, she would say nothing. Because if she knew one thing, the rum wasn't worth a simple nod.

"It's terrible," she said, handing him back that glass. She tensed, waiting for Alfie's response as he just stared at her outstretched hand. Then he threw his head back in a deep laugh, taking the glass and placing it haphazardly on the table. 

"An honest woman," Alfie said, his voice echoing though the warehouse. "You have found yourself quite the associate, Tommy. But you're right, that brown stuff is shit; we give it to the workers. The white, now that's for us. It's for the bosses."

He nodded for them to follow him once again and they did. The heels of Rose's shoes clicked on the stone floor, echoing down the long hallways until they reached a small office.

The room was lit by two large oil lamps and a there was a dark, wooden desk placed in the centre. The top of the desk was covered in papers and files, as well as a few empty glasses and candles that had been burnt out.

Alfie sat on the far side of the desk in a tall-backed leather chair. There was only one, small, wooden chair on the other side. He gestured for Tommy to sit.

She tried not to roll her eyes. She could see it in him, the way he usually did his business deals. Man to man. But if he thought she was going to stand and nod the whole time, he was wrong about what it was going to be like dealing with the Peaky Blinders.

"I've heard a lot of bad, bad things about you Birmingham people," Alfie huffed, leaning back in his chair. Rose only smiled, perching on the arm of Tommy's chair, crossing one leg over the other.

"I assure you, Mr. Solomons," she cooed with a small smile she had seen Polly make time after time, "it's all true."

He looked at her with a smile that did not quite meet his dark eyes.

"I came here to talk business with you, Mr. Solomons," Tommy interrupted, pulling out a cigarette and running it along the seam of his lips before he lit it, tucking the matchbox back in his pocket.