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Walking into Alfie Solomons’s office on his own gives Michael a bigger high than any he’s ever had from cocaine. He’s a bit nonplussed, therefore, when the first thing Alfie does is peer at him through his glasses then look back down at his desk with a blunt, “No.”
Michael hesitates, glancing around the empty room to check Alfie isn’t talking to someone else. There’s an awkward silence which feels several times longer than it is before Michael manages to gather himself together enough to start speaking, “I’m here to sign off the current business with –”
“Yeah I know why you’re here.” Alfie peers at him again through the eyeglasses and Michael suddenly wishes he was brave and powerful enough to knock the stupid things right off his face. “And I’d rather speak to the organ grinder.”
“Tommy sent me.” Michael snaps, and he can’t stop sounding just a little put-upon. Nor can he stop the fear flickering through his face as Solomons reaches into his side-drawer without a word and pulls out a gun, dropping it down on the table between them. Michael’s eyes are drawn to it, dark and deadly while Alfie ignores him completely and goes back to his writing. The horribly awkward silence returns, and it’s with a bit more anger that Michael responds this time, “Tommy told me when he first met you, you pointed a gun at him.”
“I did.”
“And now you’re going to point it at me.”
Alfie puts down the pen, and glances at the gun, looking up with shrewd eyes. “Am I? Or am I still pointing it at Tommy Shelby?”
Michael feels a sickly creeping fear working down his spine. Suddenly he just wants to be out of there. Reaching into his jacket, he pulls out the papers he’s brought with him and drops them insolently on top of the gun. “Do you want these or not?”
Their eyes meet, and Michael is determined not to be the first to look away. Alfie stares at him for a bit, until Michael can feel his ears starting to go red, then widens his eyes and picks up the papers, fiddling with his glasses to read them. “Alright then, what have you brought?”
Michael lets out a little breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
“Yeah, yeah, I can do all this. You didn’t need to come down for this. But he sent you.” Alfie gives Michael another frank appraising look, “You branching out a bit then? Out of your safe little office?”
Michael shrugs, not sure he trusts himself to provide the right answer.
“Yeah, you’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you?” Alfie says, and there’s a sting at the end of that question. Michael stays silent. Alfie reads through the papers then picks up the gun and, to Michael’s complete surprise, hands it across to him.
“There you go. You didn’t do badly, all things considered. Not the daftest thing I’ve had in here by a long shot. You are daft though, and you need to work on that. It shows. Shows in your face too much.”
Michael looks down at the gun. Naturally he wants to point it at Alfie, but he’s not stupid or suicidal enough for that. Instead he points it at the table and pulls back the safety with his thumb. “What shows on my face?”
“Everything, mate.”
“Everything?” It’s amazing how much braver he feels with a gun in his hand.
“Everything you feel about everything.” Alfie lays the papers down on the desk, eyes fixed on Michael’s, “Everything you feel about Tommy.”
Alfie is right, damn it, because Michael absolutely can’t stop the heated blush that creeps up his neck just from the tone in the man's voice. His hands grip the gun a little tighter and the temptation to shoot it increases almost unbearably.
“Alright put that fucking gun down boy, because if you point it at me I’ll take your hands off and nobody wants that.” Alfie snaps at him. Michael looks down and then carefully puts the safety back on, lowering the gun into his lap. Alfie makes an approving noise.
“See what you’re got to understand about Tommy is that he, well, he doesn’t feel he can be loved. Doesn’t think it’s possible. That’s why we ain’t either of us got a chance, never in a million years. He’s all a bit wrong, up here.” Alfie’s finger rubs up against his temple, “If he realises you’re a bit soft for him, lad, he will use you to breaking because he thinks any daft sod that fancies him must be half-daft or all-wrong.”
Even though it’s not about to go off, Michael keeps his finger tight on the trigger of the gun. It feels comforting to have the power to blow Alfie’s brains out in his hand.
“The problem with our Tommy is that if he ever finds himself going soft for someone it gets him all on edge. Panics him up. He’s just waiting for it to go wrong, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He expects the worse of people, and he’s usually going to be right with that. Only way you can properly calm him down is to drop him right in it. I’m not suggesting you do that mind, in your case I suspect betraying Tommy Shelby would be very bad for your health. But you got to ask yourself, haven’t you, about a man who marries the woman that fucking double-crossed him.”
“I would never betray Tommy.” Michael snaps, because of all the confusing things Alfie is saying that’s the only one that makes sense.
“Yeah well you’ve got to do it properly, haven’t you? Can’t be personal, never personal. All business.” Alfie picks up his pen and shuffles his way through the paperwork, marking and scrawling as he reaches places where signatures are needed. “But I’ll tell you this, mate, he’s never going to look twice at you if you spend the rest of your life with your head up his arse. There you go, do I need to sign this one as well?”
Michael manages a nod. He suddenly finds he hates Alfie a little. Alfie has caused Tommy Shelby nothing but pain and problems, and yet Tommy doesn’t seem either capable or willing to remove the man from his life, while Michael’s done everything Tommy has ever asked of him and he’s almost been killed for it.
Alfie finishes with the papers and stacks them together neatly, handing them back. “There you are. All done and dusted. Now piss off. And watch out how you look at him, alright? He’ll never notice, like I said he’s too trapped in his own head, but if you make those puppy eyes at him too often his brothers will. I would not like to be you if Arthur catches on to you, because he is a dangerous fucking animal and I do not imagine he'd be particularly sympathetic.”
Michael takes the papers and tucks them back into his jacket, holding on to the gun for long enough to sullenly mutter, “Why do you give a damn anyway?” Alfie taps the table and Michael reluctantly puts the gun back down on it, watching as Alfie locks it away safely in the drawer. Alfie clears his throat, then gives an expansive shrug.
“Heard about what you did to that priest, didn’t I?”
Michael feels his lip twitch a little. “You’re giving me advice because I killed a priest?”
Alfie gives a grunt, “Heard what he did to you.”
This time Michael tries his absolute hardest to stop his face from reacting and he almost succeeds. Stiffly, he pats at the papers in his jacket. “I’ll – I’ll take these back to Tommy then.”
“Yeah you do that.” Alfie looks back down at his desk, already dismissing him. Michael’s lost the gun and with it a lot of his bravery, but he feels he can’t leave it there.
“Did Tommy tell you?” He manages to whisper.
“No.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
Alfie looks up at him, irritated, “Are you still here? Piss off, before I regret not shooting you.”
Michael leaves, but the small block of hatred stays firmly buried within him, and he’s not sure anymore quite who it’s directed towards.