𝑫𝒐 𝑰 𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝑲𝒏𝒐𝒘?

Arctic Monkeys

1:15 ──♡───── 4:17

"𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚙."

The back of the Shelby household, where the Peaky Blinders fixed races, buzzed with quiet activity. John Shelby and the men were gathered at the board, writing down numbers and discussing the bets. Tommy Shelby stood among them, listening intently as they talked. He glanced at the figures on the board, his sharp eyes assessing the information.

The office door opened abruptly, and Arthur Shelby stepped out, his face flushed and his movements slightly unsteady. He was clearly drunk, but his voice was loud and commanding.

"Tommy!" Arthur shouted. "Get in here. Now."

Tommy glanced up from the board, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he left the group and entered the office, closing the door behind him.

Inside, Arthur poured whiskey into his glass, his movements deliberate but unsteady. He turned toward Tommy, pointing at him as he began to speak.

"Now, you were seen doing the powder trick down at Garrison Courts."

Tommy leaned against the wall, his voice calm and measured. "Times are hard. People need a reason to lay a bet."

"There was a Chinese," Arthur said, his voice edged with frustration.

"The washerwomen say she's a witch," Tommy replied, his tone indifferent. "It helps them believe."

Arthur's voice grew firmer. "We don't mess with Chinese."

"Look at the book-"

"Chinese have cutters of their own," Arthur interrupted, his tone sharp.

Tommy straightened slightly. "We agreed, Arthur. I'm taking charge of drumming up their money."

Arthur's frustration boiled over. "What if Monaghan Boy wins, Tommy? You fixing races now? Do you have permission from Billy Kimber to be fixing races? And what's got into you? You think we can take on the Chinese and Billy Kimber? Billy's got a bloody army!"

Tommy stepped closer to Arthur, his voice low and cutting. "I think, Arthur. That's what I do."

He got into Arthur's face, his sharp blue eyes unflinching. "I think. So that you don't have to."

Tommy turned and headed for the door, his steps deliberate.

"There's news from Belfast," Arthur said as Tommy reached the door.

Tommy left the office, and Arthur followed him out into the main room. The men continued working, focused on their tasks, oblivious to the tension between the brothers.

"I'm calling a family council tonight at 9," Arthur said, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the room. "I want all of us there. You hear me? There's trouble coming."

Arthur's voice lingered in the air as Tommy kept walking, his expression unreadable.

----------------------------------------

The streets of Small Heath were as quiet as they ever got, the faint hum of life from the betting shops and pubs a constant backdrop. Polly Gray, her sharp eyes scanning the alley, waited silently behind a wall, gripping a pistol in her hand. She had been seething all afternoon, and now she was ready to deal with the cause of her frustration: John Shelby.

When he strolled past, his toothpick bobbing lazily between his teeth, Polly stepped out without warning and swung the butt of the pistol at his face.

"Christ!" John shouted, stumbling back and clutching his jaw. "What the f-"

"Look at the gun," Polly barked, thrusting the pistol in front of his face before he could finish the sentence.

John blinked, still rubbing his cheek where the gun had made contact. "Aunt Polly, what the hell are ye on about?"

Polly's glare could have cut through steel. "Recognize it?"

"Shit," John muttered under his breath, trying to piece together why Polly looked ready to murder him. "Ah, fuck. What's this now?"

"Get up off yer arse, you mumping pig," Polly snapped, stepping back to give him space. John groaned, getting to his feet and readjusting the toothpick still stuck between his lips.

"Aunt Poll," he grumbled, wincing. "What the fuck did you do that for?"

"Finn was playin' with this this afternoon by the cut," Polly hissed, her voice cold and furious. "It was loaded. Nearly blew Ada's tits off."

John froze, his face paling slightly. "Ah, shit. Must've... must've fallen outta me pocket."

Polly's glare only sharpened. "He said he found it on the sideboard of the betting shop. With bullets in it."

John stammered, fumbling for an excuse. "I... I must've been drunk."

Polly let out a sharp laugh, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "When are you not drunk?"

"Look, Aunt Polly," John said quickly, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry. I'm-Christ, I'm sorry, alright?"

Polly stared at him for a long moment, the silence heavy as she let him stew in his own guilt. Finally, she tucked the pistol back into her coat and jabbed a finger into his chest. "We'll keep this between ourselves if you swear not to leave guns lyin' around."

John nodded quickly. "I swear. Never again."

Polly stepped back, her tone softening slightly, though the edge remained. "Look, I know havin' four kids without a woman is hard, but my boot's harder." Polly turned on her heel. "Now, come on. We're late."

----------------------------------------

The Garrison was lively as always, the clink of glasses and low hum of conversation filling the air. Harry stood behind the bar, his sleeves rolled up as he poured drinks for a rowdy group of regulars.

John made a beeline for the bar, eager to grab a pint and forget about the sore spot on his cheek. Polly, meanwhile, scanned the room, her sharp gaze landing on Maeve Harding, who was wiping down a table near the back.

Maeve had her sleeves rolled up, her hair pinned back, and her expression somewhere between boredom and annoyance. She glanced up as Polly approached, her green eyes narrowing slightly.

"You," Polly said, her voice brisk. "Family dinner. Let's go."

Maeve leaned against the table she'd just cleaned, crossing her arms. "Why in the name of God would I be at a family dinner?"

Polly gave her a pointed look, the kind that could make grown men cower.

Maeve blinked, then let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, I don't even know why I asked that."

Polly smirked faintly. "Go change."

Maeve straightened, rolling her eyes but not arguing. "I'm not gettin' blamed if I miss my wages for this," she muttered, tossing the cleaning rag over her shoulder as she made her way to the back.

Harry glanced over, raising an eyebrow. "What's this about, Polly?"

"None of your business, Harry," Polly said briskly, turning her attention to John, who was already halfway through a pint. "We're leavin'. Now."

John grumbled but chugged the rest of his drink, slamming the empty glass down on the bar. "Christ, you're pushy tonight."

"Keep talkin', John," Polly said. "See how far it gets you."

Maeve returned a few moments later, dressed in a sharp coat and boots. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket, lighting it with a practiced flick of her match. "Alright," she said, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Let's get this over with."

John raised an eyebrow at her. "Fuck me, Maeve. You always this cheery?"

Maeve shot him a look, smirking faintly. "Only when you're around."

Polly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Both of you, shut up and move."

----------------------------------------

Polly, John, and Maeve walked into the Shelby house together. Polly, cigarette already lit, made a beeline for her seat, her movements brisk and unbothered. John followed with his usual swagger, still nursing his bruised ego from earlier. Maeve brought up the rear, lighting her cigarette as she stepped into the room.

As Maeve walked past Arthur, she leaned down to kiss his cheek-a casual gesture, as if they hadn't spent years apart. Without a word, Arthur snatched the cigarette from her fingers, tossed it to the ground, and crushed it under his boot.

Maeve straightened, raising an eyebrow. "A simple 'hello' would've done."

Arthur didn't reply, and no one at the table reacted. It was just another day with the Shelbys. Maeve smirked faintly and slid into her seat, crossing her legs as she reached for another cigarette.

John, meanwhile, perched himself on top of a chair rather than sitting in it, chewing on his toothpick like he had all the time in the world. Tommy stood farther back, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.

Arthur clapped his hands together, commanding attention. "Right! I've called this family meeting because I've got some very important news."

Polly took a drag from her cigarette, watching Arthur with narrowed eyes. Maeve glanced at Polly, who raised an eyebrow in return, but neither said anything.

Arthur pulled a handful of folded papers from his pocket and tossed them onto the table. "Scudboat and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night," he said. "They were buying a stallion to cover their mares. While they were there, they ended up in a pub on the Shankhill Road. And in that pub, there was a copper. Handing out these."

Polly picked up one of the flyers, skimming it quickly. "If you're over five feet and can fight, come to Birmingham," she read aloud, her voice laced with skepticism.

Arthur nodded grimly. "They're recruiting Protestant Irishmen to come over here as Specials."

Ada frowned. "To do what?"

Tommy, still leaning against the wall, spoke evenly. "To clean up the city, Ada. He's the Chief Inspector. The last four years, he's been clearing the IRA out of Belfast."

Arthur bristled. "How do you know so bloody much?"

"'Cause I asked the coppers on our payroll," Tommy replied, his tone as casual as ever.

"And why didn't you tell me?" Arthur demanded.

"I'm tellin' you now," Tommy said, holding Arthur's gaze.

Maeve tilted her head slightly, her voice cutting through the tension. "So they're importing trouble from Belfast, then. Sounds like they're planning to make a bloody mess of things here."

Polly glanced at Maeve, her lips twitching in faint approval. "Why are they sending him to Birmingham?"

Tommy answered before Arthur could. "There've been strikes at the BSA. And the Austin works. The papers are talking about sedition and revolution. I reckon it's communists he's after."

Maeve exhaled a thin stream of smoke, her green eyes narrowing. "Right, because what we really need is more boots on throats."

Ada, who had been quiet, seemed lost in thought, her gaze distant. Maeve noticed immediately, her sharp eyes locking onto her. When Ada glanced up and caught Maeve staring, she quickly looked away. Maeve didn't press, but her lips curled into a faint smirk as she turned her attention back to the table.

Polly tapped ash into an ashtray. "So this copper's gonna leave us alone, right?"

Tommy shook his head slightly. "There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him. They say Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night."

John snorted, still perched on his chair. "Yeah, but we ain't IRA. We bloody fought for the King. Anyway, we're Peaky Blinders. We're not scared of coppers."

Arthur nodded. "He's right."

John grinned, leaning back slightly. "If they come for us, we'll cut them a smile each."

Maeve leaned back, her expression unimpressed. "Aye, because that's exactly the kind of thinking that keeps us in one piece."

Polly shot her a quick look, smirking faintly before turning to Arthur. "So, Arthur. Is that it?"

Arthur hesitated, his frustration bubbling just under the surface. "What do you think, Aunt Poll?"

Polly leaned back, her sharp gaze flicking to Tommy. "This family does everything open. You've nothing more to say to this meeting, Thomas?"

Tommy finally moved from the wall, stepping closer to the table. "No," he said, his voice flat. "Nothing that's women's business."

Polly's voice snapped like a whip. "This whole bloody enterprise was women's business while you boys were away at war. What's changed?"

Tommy's reply was blunt and unflinching. "We came back."

Maeve smirked, flicking ash from her cigarette. "And here I thought comin' back meant pickin' up where we left off. Turns out, we've got a few cracks to patch first."

Tommy glanced at her but he didn't reply. Arthur shifted his weight, his gaze darting between Maeve and Tommy, but he said nothing.