Traitors and Trouble
When Tommy sat in the quiet with his thoughts… when he let them take ahold of him and make themselves known… Tommy knew that there was something irreparably broken inside of him.
It had been broken by Tommy’s father, by Tommy’s mother. Those broken pieces were shattered by Remus’s war, crushed to dust by the tunnels in France.
Tommy had to stick all the pieces together himself and hold them in place, refusing to let anyone see the damage beneath the mask.
It slipped at times like then, when people were angry and screaming, acting as if Tommy had burned them when Tommy only ever tried to hurt himself.
“IS THAT WHY THAT FUCKIN’ AGENT IS HERE?!” Arthur roared, spittle flying from his mouth and his whiskey shaking in his glass.
“We will all be killed,” Polly hissed at Tommy, glaring at him with eyes that promised curses on Tommy’s bloodline.
Even John, John who followed Tommy’s words like law, shook his head when Tommy made the mistake of looking to him.
The one person - the only bloody person who wasn’t screaming or acting as if Tommy cut them with his own blade - was Harry.
“I thought you said that your men brought the guns on accident?” Harry sounded nervous to speak up, his eyes flickering around the room that was filling with rage, yet he still spoke up.
Tommy had seen the Agent of the Crown at the train station that morning and knew it was time to come clean. Tommy delayed all day, but eventually told Finn to inform the others that there was to be a family meeting that evening.
With an Agent of the Crown in Small Heath, then the Crown must suspect where the crate of Lewis Machine Guns had disappeared to. If they were to discover who had the guns, Tommy would be hung.
It was simple.
Tommy’s neck was on the line and they all acted otherwise.
“They did,” Tommy agreed, quiet and cool. He nodded to Harry in a silent gesture of appreciation. To prevent his fingers to begin shaking, Tommy pulled a cigarette from his case, silently wishing it was something stronger.
“And ya didn’t send ‘em back?” Arthur demanded harshly. “I ain’t buyin’ it, Tommy, I ain’t. Ya know what’ll happen if they’re found.”
“They won’t be,” Tommy assured Arthur - assured everyone. Tommy knew what he was doing, he knew those guns would take his family further than ever. If Tommy could find a purpose for them, as he did every other part of his company, then the Shelby family would be unstoppable.
They wouldn’t need to fight for places at the races, they wouldn’t need to rely on fixing a race once a month to bring in gold. Tommy could make sure Finn was never hungry, that John’s kids were taken care of. There would never be a need for the children in their family to know the struggles and challenges that Tommy and the eldest brothers knew too well.
“Like hell they won’t,” Polly said. “You’ve gone too far, Tommy. You have and I won’t have a part in it.”
That was Polly’s problem, thinking that Tommy was still a boy in need of approval from her.
“Then leave.” Tommy stared at Polly unblinkingly with the cold eyes that even she couldn’t bear to look at for long. It took six seconds before Polly looked away, her sneer telling Tommy more than any words could have.
Tommy wished Ada were there… or even that Remus had not left so quickly. Ada was often the calming force in the room, the one who could keep Tommy from exploding and Polly from saying things they would all regret. Remus used to be the one who kept logic in the face of conflict; the one who knew that sacrifices had to be made for achievements.
Harry was trying to replace Tommy’s errant sister and Arthur’s closest friend. The boy wasn’t failing, Tommy only would prefer to have someone backing his moves with more confidence.
Tommy stood slowly and acted as if the accusing eyes of his brothers and aunt didn’t feel like blades against his skin. They were angry then and would be forgiving when Tommy found a way to profit off the guns.
“I will deal with the Agent,” Tommy informed them all. “I have a constable working his way in the agent’s trust and will bring me information when he has it.”
“Working with the bloody police now?” John asked. He had one shoulder leaning against the fireplace and Tommy could see where he hid his hand, hiding evidence that it was not Tommy who trusted the wrong people.
“There is no harm for us to have a constable on our books,” Tommy said. “He is to report to me about the agent and will give advance notice before any moves are taken against any of our men.”
Which brought up Tommy’s other point of the evening.
“Freddie is no longer in the family,” Tommy informed them all, his expression kept unaffected. “As a show of goodwill, the constable told me that Freddie has been inciting riots at the mill, speaking to them all of communism and the like.”
“Freddie Thorne?” Polly asked, whipping her head around to stare at Tommy with her bird-like sharp gaze. “You’re moving to remove Freddie Thorne from the Peaky Blinders?”
“Moving? No.” Tommy finished the last of his smoke and stubbed it out in his ashtray while everyone watched him. “It is done,” Tommy said. He let his eyes sweep the room, assessing the damage done to his family and what reparations there would be.
Polly’s pride was damaged more than anything. The woman had allowed herself to believe that their family would always need her as a leader, someone to make decisions for them all. It galled her to be placed on the sidelines; an advisor more than a decision maker.
Arthur was red in the face, glowering at the floor. It was also Arthur’s pride more than anything that smarted. Arthur thought that, as the eldest, he should be the one to lead their family. There was no mind for business in Arthur’s head, no patience to watch for changing winds.
John was already beginning to relax. Tommy suspected that he protested most things because Polly did more than any true outrage. John leaned on Polly, his children saw her as a caretaker who stepped in when their mother had passed. When Polly protested, John did. John held no grudges though, he was the easiest of the three eldest Shelby boys to placate.
And Harry… well, Harry had not raised a single word against Tommy, had he? Harry had nodded when Remus left with a whispered word and he tried to back Tommy when he had the chance. Tommy could see that most of the dealings of their family went over his head, but there was something to be said for loyalty.
“There is a race being held at the London track on Sunday.” Tommy nodded to John, “You will keep the betting house open. I’ll find three men to cover the doors.”
“Really?” John was already beginning to smile; damned easy to please, he was. “You trust me to run it?”
Truthfully? No. It was a small race though, not one that they had any large stake in.
“I do,” Tommy said. “You know the betting house as well as I do.”
“And where will you be?” Polly asked, correctly guessing that Tommy only passed on that obligation because he would be busy.
“I think it would be best if I traveled to London,” Tommy said evenly. “I can see if there are any openings for our men in the track and Harry can see how a horse race is ran.”
“What?” Harry sounded so surprised that it made Arthur finally crack a smile as he reached out to shake Harry’s shoulder in a playful manner.
“Tommy don’t go for the women and wine,” Arthur told him with a cheeky wink. “You’ll be bored outta your fuckin’ mind, eh? Them horses, that’s all Tommy’ll be lookin’ at.”
Tommy didn’t say that Harry seemed to share his appreciation for horses or that if Arthur cared more for the boy than Remus that he would already know that. Tommy only caught Harry’s eyes and tipped his head the slightest amount.
Harry had shown loyalty to Tommy and Tommy had no issue with showing him that it was not misplaced. If Tommy were a man who placed bets rather than counted them, he would bet on himself.
The odds would be frightful, factoring in the lack of accompanying bets, but it meant that the payoff would be that much richer.
When business was concluded, Tommy decided that he would make his way to the Garrison for a drink. There was no shortage of whiskey in Tommy’s office, but he needed to begin putting out eyes and ears for his sister.
Ada had been flighty lately, more so than usual. Tommy thought that it might have coincided with Remus’s return, though he couldn’t be sure.
“I’ll walk you,” Tommy told Harry, catching the boy as he pulled his coat and scarf back on.
“Thanks.” Harry hurried to finish buttoning up his coat and he nodded in thanks when Tommy opened the front door for him.
“I dunno where Remus went,” Harry said, his breath forming a cloud in the frigid air before him. “He’s been a bit off today, I thought maybe… the moon?”
Tommy looked upward and saw the waning moon above them. It meant that Remus would be more lively, more impulsive…
“It’s always like this.”
Tommy was twenty when Remus took his hand and placed it over Remus’s chest. Tommy could feel his face heating at the intimacy and only a lifetime spent hiding himself kept it from turning his cheeks pink.
“I’ve got too much energy before the moon,” Remus whispered, his eyes on the sky. “After? I feel drained, exhausted. Sometimes - sometimes it makes me think the wolf is killing me off. Every month, a little more…”
Tommy looked over Remus‘s face in the safety of the night and counted every scar, every freckle that dotted his skin.
While Remus sounded resigned that he would face an early death, Tommy was just as resigned.
“The wolf would have to kill me first,” Tommy swore in a whisper beneath the moon. “If it wanted to take you, I would stop it.”
Remus looked down at Tommy and they were so close together that their breath mixed and Remus’s heart raced beneath Tommy’s hand. Tommy would move his hand if Remus asked him to.
“It’s hard, being alone now.”
“You’re not alone.”
Remus never asked him to move his hand.
“With Remus, it’s hard to tell,” Tommy said drily. It used to be simple, when Tommy thought he knew Remus - when he could count on Remus. “Best to not wonder, it would be a short trip to insanity, hmm?”
“Probably, yeah.” Harry grinned again, another person so easy to please.
They were nearing the Garrison when they heard it - a small explosion, more of a burst of multicolored lights than any ammunition. Tommy flinched and caught himself, going entirely still instead. Harry turned to the side and gasped.
“I think that’s Remus’s place.”
Tommy’s mind replayed explosions on loops - loops of blood and death, whispered prayers and final words. He was frozen, unable to move.
A tug on his wrist.
The face of a young soldier, clean shaven and green eyed.
“Tommy, come on.”
Tommy did not shake himself as much as he was shaken by the wrist. It took his brain a second to catch up with his eyes —
Small Heath. Tommy was in Small Heath. The only explosion had been a burst of lights and sounds, no fire or bloodshed. There were no soldiers, only a gypsy boy in a scarf made by Polly pulling Tommy to the building where Remus’s flat was.
France was in the past, Tommy’s brain would do well to remember that the war was over.
“Stay here,” Tommy told Harry when they reached the door. The lights were gone and it was quiet once more, but Tommy took no half-measures when it came to the safety of his men. It mattered not at all that Harry was a gypsy boy, he would not charge in first to an unknown situation.
Typically, neither would Tommy. Remus was in though and if he was hurt or being attacked, Tommy would assist him.
Tommy pulled his revolver and clicked the first bullet in place. With his finger on the trigger, Tommy silently moved up the stairs.
Where there had been a rush of turmoil, there was only calm inside of Tommy. It was the moments before a battle that would set Tommy on edge - the lights, noise, anticipation. When Tommy had a weapon in his hand, he was calm and collected.
Just when Tommy reached for the door, with Harry just on his heels, Remus called out.
“Don’t come in!” Remus yelled, never one to be surprised. “Tommy, take Harry to your place, alright?”
Tommy’s hand was still on the knob and he turned just enough to see Harry behind him. Harry had his face crinkled and a man’s look in his eyes. Harry met Tommy’s eyes and he shook his head - Tommy’s thoughts exactly.
The boy would be a Peaky Blinder yet.
Tommy turned his wrist, pushed the door, and —
Later, Remus would say that he didn’t know who swore louder, Tommy or Sirius Black. It took Tommy only a second to click the two men in the sitting room with Remus -
The blonde was Barty Crouch, the man that John said Remus had saved from magical imprisonment by his father.
The other man? The one that seemed more bone than skin with the filthy black hair that hung beneath his shoulders?
That was Sirius Black.
Tommy would have immediately shot him, but Harry had more fire inside of him than Tommy had anticipated.
“You!” Harry shoved past Tommy and lunged for Black. Nobody had an opportunity to grab Harry, or kill Black, before Harry’s hands were wrapped around Black’s throat and they were both knocked to the ground.
Tommy saw Harry’s wand roll away in his peripheral vision and had the idle thought that the boy must not be as great of a gypsy as Remus said he was.
“Harry, wait!” Remus made to grab Harry and the other man, Crouch, flung an arm out to stop him.
Barty had a soft voice, unexpected. There was something meek about the curl of his shoulders, but there was life in his slow smile.
“Seems like something they should work out,” Barty said, watching as they all did where Harry grappled with Black. It seemed as if Harry was willing to choke the life from him and Tommy had no quarrel with the end result, only the stain it would leave on Harry’s shoulders.
Tommy moved his gun with the bodies on the floor, quite confident that he could kill Black without physically harming the boy.
“Kill me.” Black goaded Harry in a raspy voice, one that grated Tommy’s nerves. “Do it. I’d deserve it.”
“It’s your fault that my parents are dead,” Harry said, his grip loosening despite the anger he showed.
“I know,” Black said just as Remus protested that.
“It wasn’t him,” Remus said. He knocked Crouch’s arm out of his way and held his hands out when Harry looked to him. “It wasn’t, Harry. I swear to you, I would have killed him if it had been.”
“Then who?” Tommy asked, never allowing the barrel of his gun to stray from where it was aimed at Black’s forehead. If Harry leaned back an inch, Tommy could ensure only one bullet was wasted in Black’s chest.
“Peter Pettigrew.”
Harry had been correct in his assessment, Crouch did not seem entirely sane. Certainly his smile when he knew that dramatic declaration was met with shock didn’t give any indication of sanity.
“Surprise.” Crouch wiggled his fingers mockingly. “Really, imagine my face when Pettigrew showed up at a meeting. I thought he was a spy, really.”
Arthur once said that Tommy was ‘dramatic as a queen’. It had been when Tommy was younger, before France. Tommy and Freddie had a spat, the details of which Tommy refused to even think of, and when Tommy stormed in the house and woke Finn, Arthur had been heated.
“Dramatic as a fuckin’ queen, you are!” Arthur yelled, just louder than Finn cried. “You reckon that’s how men act? Fuck!”
Tommy had nothing on Barty Crouch, clearly.
“Pettigrew is…” Harry blinked and Tommy could see his eyes grow behind his glasses. In contrast, Remus closed his.
“What’d you say?” Harry demanded. “A meeting…? For - for what? Barty, what was the meeting for?!”
“Death eaters,” Black croaked. “Voldemort’s followers, the inner circle.”
“He’s a BLOODY DEATH EATER?!”
Harry was off Black in an instant, leaving Tommy’s field clear to take the shot. Tommy would have, until Remus got between him and Black.
“It sounds bad, just let me explain,” Remus pleaded. While Remus tried to pull Black to his feet, Harry was backing to the door.
“He’s trying to kill me!” Harry pointed at Black before swinging to point at Crouch. “And he was in the group that killed my parents! What are you playing at, Remus?!”
It was a fair question, one that Tommy would appreciate an answer to as well.
“I - I need five fucking minutes!” Remus snapped, sending Harry the last few steps to the door. Tommy, helpfully, moved out of Harry’s way.
“You’re mental,” Harry said, shaking his head and glancing around as if unsure who the biggest threat in the room was. With Black on his feet and Remus’s hand on his back, Tommy would say Black.
“Harry, please—” Remus was unable to plead for any leniency before Harry bolted down the staircase, running out the bottom door in an instant.
The silence that fell was deafening. Only Black made any noise as he coughed and breathed harshly from Harry’s hands being wrapped around his neck.
“Tommy…” Remus turned his begging eyes to Tommy. “Can you go after him?”
“No.” Tommy didn’t care what Black said to earn Remus’s so instant forgiveness, Tommy had none inside of him. Tommy had never moved his gun and it was then that Remus finally noticed it.
“You’re not killing him.” Remus shuffled to the side, blocking Black with his entire body. It only caused Tommy’s hand to tremble, nothing blatantly obvious.
“You forgive too easily,” Tommy told him. “Move.”
“You don’t understand the situation,” Remus countered. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
Nothing to…?
Tommy looked at Remus then and no effort in the world could mask the hurt that reverberated through him like the aftermath of a grenade.
“He betrayed your men,” Tommy reminded Remus.
Remus was calm, “He didn’t.”
“He traded your friends to a murdering gypsy!”
“It wasn’t him, Tommy.”
“HE BROKE YOU IN PIECES!” Tommy yelled, furious.
There was a wash of pity in Remus’s eyes; it was Black who responded.
“I don’t see how that’s your bloody business,” Black sneered at Tommy.
Not Tommy’s business?
Tommy feigned to his left, knowing Remus would would assume it was a feint and compensate to the right. It left Tommy’s true left entirely open to shoot Black.
“Everything is my fucking business,” Tommy told him, hating every drop of blood that poured from Black’s shoulder and the guttural moan he made. When Remus turned to care for his once great friend, Tommy left.
Harry might not be Tommy’s problem, but Tommy assumed that the boy was stinging with betrayal and, well, misery loved company, did it not?
Tommy checked his house first and found only Arthur.
“Have you seen Harry?” Tommy asked him, not pausing to so much as remove his cap.
“Aye, ‘e’s at John’s,” Arthur said as he pulled his own coat on. “John saw ‘im running past and stopped ‘im, offered ‘im a drink.”
Tommy snorted quietly. John would offer Harry a drink, as if Harry were a Birmingham boy who was raised on liquor.
Arthur smoothed down the ridiculous mustache that he so proudly began to grow when they returned from France and seemed momentarily troubled.
“Sounded like trouble with Sca’,” Arthur muttered.
“An immense amount,” Tommy confirmed. “Sirius Black is there.”
“Is he?”
“I shot him.”
“Good lad!” Arthur crowed with a slap to Tommy’s shoulder. “I’ll just go see if Harry needs his uncle then, eh?”
“No, no, I’ll go,” Tommy said quickly. He covered himself when Arthur seemed too interested in Tommy’s protest. “The boy seems taken with me is all.”
“Does he?” Arthur grinned and seemed to be mocking Tommy with the twinkle in his eyes. “It ain’t ‘cause the two of you get along like gas and a fire, is it?”
“I’ve been courteous to him, since Remus is important to you,” Tommy said shortly.
“Right you are,” Arthur chuckled. “Alright then, I’ll be off to help Sca’. Black gets in ‘is head, you know that.”
Yes, Tommy was well aware of that.
John’s house was a squat two-bedroom nothing that he inherited from his late wife’s parents. It sat on the edge of town and even from a distance, Tommy could hear the chickens clucking as they ran wild in John’s yard.
John was a good man, but he let his children run his house. It was similar to how the Shelby boys had been raised, but with much more disastrous results. It was a sign of John’s affection for his children, affection that not one of the Shelbys received from their father and never enough from their mother.
Tommy kicked a chicken away when it ran to him squawking. John swore that the chickens were for eggs and meat, yet not a one of them had seen John ever bring himself to kill any of them.
Pets. John made his chickens pets.
Tommy made a mental note that John needed a wife as he made his way through the yard. A woman would get John on track, keep him from collecting chickens and offering drinks to distressed gypsy children.
Even with the late hour, Tommy was surprised that neither of his nieces nor his nephew were outside. It was only John leaning in a doorway, smoking, with Harry sitting on a step. There was a bottle in Harry’s hands and Tommy nearly smiled to see the watered down brown liquor inside it.
Perhaps Tommy didn’t give John enough credit.
“Evening,” Tommy said mildly.
“Evening, Tommy,” John said merrily, their earlier squabble forgotten. “Harry here is having quite the night.”
“He is,” Tommy agreed. Tommy fished a cigarette from his pocket and nodded when John offered him a light. Tommy watched Harry and raised an eyebrow when the boy looked at him. “I shot Black, unfortunately, I believe he will live.”
It didn’t lessen the glassy look in Harry’s eyes, a look of unshed tears that Tommy fervently hoped Harry kept unshed, but Harry did grace him a small smile.
“Sounds like you shot the wrong one.” Harry took a drink and Tommy nearly choked on his cigarette at the sour look on the boy’s face. John did laugh aloud, since he had been drinking much harder liquor than watered-whiskey before Harry’s age.
“The other one’s Barty Crouch?” John asked. He raised his hand when Harry nodded. “Nobody better fuckin’ shoot him, I lost a finger savin’ his ass, didn’t I?”
“You should keep track of your digits more closely,” Tommy said seriously.
“Barty’s a death eater,” Harry scowled, quite darkly for someone who had no more knowledge on the term than Tommy had prior to an hour ago.
“That like a gypsy curse?” John asked.
“A gang, it seems,” Tommy corrected him. “The one that Remus fought against.”
“The one that killed my family,” Harry added. “He was part of the group that killed my parents and Remus - Remus just moved him in his house! Was he even going to tell me? ‘Oh, Harry, I know he helped kill your parents but we’re such good friends now!’” Harry scoffed and the next drink he took didn’t pull as much of a face from him.
John looked to Tommy and Tommy only lit himself a cigarette. Remus’s choices were poor and Tommy wouldn’t defend him.
“Look ‘ere, lad,” John started, “Scar’s a good bloke, right? Always been a good bloke. ‘E practically raised our Finn when we were all tied up in France. I don’t know nothing about no gypsy gangs, but I know you’re damn important to Scar, yeah?”
Harry didn’t look inclined to agree, neither did Tommy truly.
“Important enough that he would give Harry his revenge?” Tommy wondered aloud, placing himself in the lad’s shoes. Tommy would want revenge, Tommy would demand it in blood and death.
An eye for an eye, it would be poetic.
“I’m not killing anyone,” Harry said; so pure, so stubborn. “I don’t want Barty dead, but I don’t want to live with him either.”
Now that… that was something Tommy could quite easily arrange.
Harry decided that he would accept John’s offer and stay with him. Since John also offered to ring Remus and inform him, it left Tommy free to make his way to the Garrison for a drink.
A drink and some suitable company.
The hour was quite late and Tommy let himself inside the pub. Grace was cleaning tables and Tommy paused for a moment to watch her.
Grace was interesting, certainly lovely. There was something lurking beneath her soft exterior, some hidden secret that Tommy longed to dig inside of her and pull out. She certainly had an interest and she would be far from the first person to show an interest in Tommy and be used for his purposes.
Most women in town understood that Tommy rarely had an interest in flesh or flattery, though he had made few exceptions. There was one, Lizzie, that Tommy would go to when he had an itch that needed satisfied.
Lizzie was simple, secretive.
There was something extra about Grace that held Tommy’s interest though.
“You’re staring, Mister Shelby.”
Grace looked up from the table she had been cleaning and she smiled an uncomplicated and easy smile.
“Was I?” Tommy asked. “My mistake.”
“I didn’t say I minded,” Grace said. She swayed some on her way to the bar and Tommy made a much shorter trip there. Grace raised an eyebrow when Tommy let himself behind the counter to find a bottle of something acceptance to drink.
“Is this about that agent?” Grace asked, reversing their roles when she sat in one of the high stools.
“Agent?” Tommy asked, playing the fool. “What Agent?” He poured himself a double, then poured Grace a drink.
“Inspector Campbell,” Grace told him, holding her drink and not so much as sipping it. “He was here asking about your family.”
“Was he?” Tommy remained impassive and neatly threw back his drink. Tommy would take as much as Grace would freely give him, but he would give nothing in return.
It was always safer that way.
“I saw Mark talking to him, I don’t think he told him anything,” Grace said. “But Mark said the inspector bought up a room just upstairs for a month. He’s meant to return tomorrow.”
So Mark was going to rent a room to the agent deny to investigate the missing machine guns… interesting.
It was thanks to Tommy that Mark had a pot to piss in, Tommy and his brothers.
Perhaps it was time for the Garrison to come under new ownership.
“The inspector arrives tomorrow?” Tommy asked Grace, checking how much time he had available to him.
“Supposed to check in after lunch,” Grace said.
That was in twelve hours… it wasn’t much time, but Tommy had done more in less. It wasn’t likely that he would be sleeping regardless.
If Tommy played his cards right, perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone.
Though… ideally… Tommy would have at least one form of backup with him.
Remus was out of the question. Arthur would be with Remus. John had his children. Polly and Ada were laughable when it came to brute force. Finn was still too young. Freddie was no longer to be associated with business matters. Danny was on his way to London, to lie low and recuperate.
Tommy sighed before he poured himself another drink that he quickly swallowed down.
In a perfect world, Tommy would have his choice of backup. In Tommy’s world, he had a thirteen year old gyspy at his disposal.