Gentlemen We Are Not

Can I Say It?

"I hear, through very reliable sources, that you're looking for a thoroughbred." Champion Lennox slid the long fingers of his left hand through his dark, wavy hair. He was staring attentively across the table at Thomas Shelby, of the well-known Romani clan, a young man back from the war, seeking to make his bones about Birmingham.

Thomas lifted one side of his pouty lips into a smile, pushing thick gusts of tobacco smoke through his nostrils and dipping the curling ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray in front of him.

"That might be true." Thomas took another slow draw from the cigarette, letting the cool, rich taste of burning tobacco swirl inside his mouth, before exhaling again.

Word on the street was his brother Arthur was head of the infamous Peaky Blinders, shooting, stabbing and stealing their way to a nice-sized fortune. But it seemed Thomas was more intent on finding his path down a more legitimate road. And Lennox thought they might make a favorable arrangement, quickly and quietly.

Tommy was already in favor of this business deal when Champion asked to meet him at the gentleman's club that evening. He liked the prospect of owning a few racehorses, not just for the cashflow from betting or the joy of having animals. It also gave him a thrill to know he was surreptitiously cutting into Sabini's business. That pompous guido had taken a hefty slice of the profits 'round Birmingham, and it was about time some hometown boys gave him competition.

Champion, a man blessed through lineage, but not-so-much in business, had recently inherited a small stable of four horses from his dearly departed mother, Therese of Meriden. If he were another kind of man, he might take time and care to nurture this gift. Take pains to allow it to grow and flourish.

In terms of natural resources, horses were always to one's benefit. Large herders always stayed in need, along with the country's military and as of late, racers. But Champion was too far gone in his career as a betting man, and it was his current debts, due ironically, to bets at the racetrack, that pushed him to quickly sell his mother's prized possessions instead. While a good stud good bring a breeder large sums of money over the years, the cost for feed and training and daily maintenance were too much for him to bear.

Tommy was quite clear on the logistics of this deal. They still had to negotiate a sale price, a time and place for transfer and a drawing up of new ownership papers. But there was something else, lingering between him and Champion like the faint whiff of a familiar cologne.

It was in the way Champion's gaze burned against Tommy's skin and the way his long slender leg slowly parted his own legs beneath the table, slowly rocking back and forth. Tommy felt a stirring in his loins.

"Don't know about you Tommy, but suddenly I'm famished. Could we get a bite before we talk further?"

There was no need for his gypsy blood to intuit what this man wanted. It was quite clear in his eyes, in the way he slowly but thoroughly licked his lips. In the way he let his hand glide over his mouth while one long finger slipped inside and he wrapped his lips around it before letting it slide out with an audible pop.

Tommy's body jolted at the sight and sound and he loudly cleared his throat.

"Right. If you'll excuse me just a moment Mr. Lennox."

Tommy quickly put out his cigarette, stood up from the table, took a slightly long glance at Champion and made his way towards the back. Anyone watching would have simply assumed he needed to use the lavatory. Anyone watching would have been partially correct. But as this was a gentleman's club of a certain nature, practically everyone inside was wont to tend to their tables and mind their business.

Champion waited for almost five minutes, like a true gentleman. He even ordered another round of drinks for their table, instructing the waiter to await their return before refreshing their beverages.