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Tommy walked into Polly's office and dropped a piece of paper on her desk over top of the ledger she was working on.
"What is this?" she asked, slightly annoyed at the interruption.
"The fruits of our labor," Tommy said in a satisfied way that was almost a smile, or as much as Thomas Shelby ever smiled.
Polly picked up the paper with a sigh and looked it over, her eyes widening as she finally realized what it was.
"This is a deed. To a factory," she said. "Why?"
"We're branching out, Pol," Tommy said, lighting a cigarette. He tapped the paper with a finger. "That means legitimate business."
"Yeah, and with stolen car parts on the line," Polly snorted, but she could see the appeal. It was the up-and-coming thing after all and there was good money in it.
"For now," Tommy said. "But eventually, the whole thing will be legit."
"How did you get this, Tom?" Polly asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Tommy took a long puff of the cigarette and took the paper back from her. "I made the owner a convincing offer."
Polly rolled her eyes slightly. Legitimate business her arse. That must have been why all the Shelby boys were missing the night before.
"You're going to be a father soon, Thomas," she reminded him. "You might want to think of settling down. Not taking such extreme risks."
"I'm taking risks now so I don't have to take so many later," he told her. "Trust me, Pol."
Polly took a deep sigh and reached for her cold cup of tea, then, when she found that to be unsatisfying, her package of cigarettes.
"Just be careful tying our money up in it. If this ends up going south it's on your head. I won't let you pull the rest of us and the rest of the business down with you."
"Don't worry so much, Polly. Eventually, if all goes well, we won't have to worry much at all anymore."
Polly watched as Tommy left her office to go out and make the announcement to the other men. She had a bad feeling about this one for some reason. Thomas Shelby was smart, yes, but sometimes he really needed to be careful of his avarice. If this went wrong, this certainly wouldn't be the first time it had come back to bite him.
~~~~~~~
That night, Tommy bid goodnight to his brothers at the Garrison after having a few drinks to celebrate their newest acquisition. He'd had, perhaps, a few more drinks than he should have and decided to take a leisurely walk home so as to clear his head in the cool night air.
He stopped outside the pub to light a cigarette, the noise and ruckus from within fading into the background as the door closed. He took a drag and looked up at the night sky, watching the smoke drift off into the air. You couldn't see stars in Small Heath from all the smog, but somewhere beyond that the night sky was clear, the moon a blurry orb past the industrial smoke. For a moment, he had a longing for more open spaces, a horse under him, and rolling hills, clean air. As much as he was attached to Small Heath—it was his home, his empire—he could understand how some people could feel trapped by it. He did too, sometimes. But maybe after he got his real business going, he wouldn't have to be. He could move to the manor house he had bought, with Grace and their son, and maybe an honest man could be made of him after all.
Tommy smirked a little at that as he started walking. Now there was a thought. A Shelby with aspirations of being an honest man. His father would probably kill him if he knew.
He didn't realize it at first, still a little muzzy from the whisky, but as he walked, he slowly became aware of shadows. And not just the nightlife, but men pointedly trailing him.
Tommy didn't stop, but he was sobering up quickly. He reached into his coat for his gun and slowly pulled it out and let it hang by his side as he slipped down a side street.
Someone stepped out in front of him and he raised his gun, but before he could fire, he was slammed into from behind and thrown into the wall of a building. He hit hard but managed to bring his arm up between him and the wall for the next blow as he tried to maneuver his gun around.
He got off a shot, but it must have gone wide as there was no cry of pain. Someone grabbed his wrist and wrenched. Pain shot up Tommy's arm and he had no choice but to lose the gun.
A club slammed into his ribs and another across his back. He roared and spun, getting a blow in to one of the men's jaws, causing him to stagger back, but there were at least five of them and they hemmed him in, slamming their clubs into him and kicking the backs of his knees until he couldn't keep his feet anymore. A blow to the jaw finished him and he collapsed on the wet, filthy cobbles.
Someone kicked him over onto his back and he groaned, half conscious, but opened his eyes to glower up at his attacker. Tommy struggled to get onto his elbows, but the boot descended hard onto his chest and pinned him.
"Stay down, Mr. Shelby. You can't fight your way out of this one, someone said and dug his heel into Tommy's sternum to prove his point, making the injured man grit his teeth and curl his fingers into fists. "Get him up."
The man stepped away from Tommy and the others descended on him, shoving him onto his face and wrenching his arms behind his back, binding them, then dragged Tommy to his feet before forcing a hood over his head.
Tommy felt himself being shoved into the back of a car and two men got in on either side of him, pressing him close to make sure he didn't bother trying to escape.
They didn't drive for too long and he tried to memorize the turns they made, but his head was aching from the beating and he wasn't sure how well he did since he was mostly just trying to keep himself conscious at this point.
Finally, they stopped and he was dragged out of the car and into some building. His shoes scraped over the floor as he tried to find his footing. He was shoved roughly into a chair and the hood was removed. Tommy took a deep breath of air, before spitting out a gob of blood.
Lanterns were being lit and the light stabbed at his eyes, making him squint before he tried to focus on the men who had nabbed him.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded roughly, leaning to one side to spit out a gob of blood and saliva. Now that he was seeing them in the light, he thought some of the men looked a bit familiar, but he wasn't entirely sure from where.
Before his question could be answered, two more men strode in, one obviously the man in charge and the other looking like a bookkeeper or something. This man, Tommy had never seen before, which confused him. He had plenty of enemies, but why was an unknown man the one to have him beat up and dragged to what looked to be a warehouse of some sort, probably somewhere near the river if his calculations had been correct.
"Mr. Shelby," the man said. "It's a pleasure to finally meet in person."
Tommy looked up at him balefully. "Hm," was all he offered.
"I suppose I should introduce myself," the man said. "See, I'm Alfred Wexford, and you have my factory."
Ah. Tommy was starting to understand. He looked the man over, trying to gauge the situation. "That was yours? Then how come I was under the impression that it was owned by Mr. Carrington? He's the one I dealt with, after all, his name was on the papers."
"Yes, well, he handles my business here, I have multiple factories and run my business from London. Mr. Carrington sold something that wasn't his, and, well, you didn't actually buy it, did you?"
"Money was exchanged, and I have the papers," Tommy said. "Where I come from that's what we call a binding contract."
Wexford leaned over him, hands resting against the arms of the chair as he inserted himself into Tommy's personal space. "Where I come from we don't let that kind of thing slide."
Tommy looked up at him with an almost lazy gaze, meeting his eyes fearlessly. "With all respect, Mr. Wexford, I don't know you. I've never seen you around here, and that's a problem, because, you see, this is my town. I took down Kimber and chased Sabini back to London and I'll do the same to you."
Wexford smiled darkly. "Well, big words indeed. And yet I'm not the one tied to a chair."
"No, you're not," Tommy replied. "But you might want to figure out who has the upper hand before you try anything."
"Oh, do I?" Wexford asked as he straightened up again and swept his hands around. "Look around you, Shelby. Are your men here? Your loyal followers? Not a Peaky Blinder in sight. You're all alone, and soon to be surrounded by your worst enemies. And you do have quite a few of those, don't you?"
"What is your point, Mr. Wexford?" Tommy cut in balefully. At first, he had assumed the man would beat him, carve his pound of flesh and throw him back out in the street to send a message that wouldn't take, but now he wasn't so sure. Thomas Shelby wasn't in the habit of being wary around his enemies, but he was starting to get there.
Wexford looked a little annoyed that his captive wasn't trembling in fear or groveling yet. "You'll see soon enough," he said. "And I don't think you'll enjoy it very much. Needless to say, I'll be sure to get reparation for my inconvenience as well as my factory back."
"Will you?" Tommy raised his eyebrows. "I look forward to seeing how to manage that."
Wexford turned to his men. "Get him ready. Our guests will be arriving soon."
Guests. Tommy wasn't sure what to make of that and didn't get much chance to think on it, because as soon as Wexford left the room his thugs descended again and yanked Tommy from the chair. They exchanged the ropes on his wrists for manacles. One of the men rigged a meat hook on a hanging chain and they shoved Tommy's hands over his head and looped the manacles through the hook. It was high enough that they had to lift him off his feet to hang him up and he swung painfully, feeling his arms and wrists straining as they bore his weight. The shoulder he'd taken two bullets in protested more than he wanted to admit in this position.
The hood was shoved back over his face, and he huffed a sigh of frustration. It was one thing being left hanging in an unknown location surrounded by enemies, it was another doing so while not being able to see what was coming.
"Your guests are arriving, sir," one of the goons said and Tommy heard Wexford move across the room.
"Perfect. Just in time."
Tommy struggled again, but there was really no point in that and it just left him swinging slightly from the meathook. He heard a door opening on the far side of the warehouse, followed by the sound of quite a few footsteps.
"Gentlemen," Wexford greeted. "I'm so glad you could all make it."
"Yeah, well, as I'm sure my esteemed companions here would attest, missing this would be absurd, mate."
Tommy frowned at the voice which was the distinctive dither of Alfie Solomons. What the hell was he doing here? And who else was with him.
"Let's see the goods before we go any farther, I don't have all fucking night," clipped another voice that Tommy was sure was Sabini.
Holy hell.
He heard footsteps approaching and flinched slightly as something brushed against his back as a hand grabbed ahold of his hood and whipped it off his head.
Tommy blinked at the sudden brightness and when his eyes adjusted he was greeted with the sight of every one of his rivals that was still living standing in front of him, watching with hungry, wolfish eyes like he was nothing but a rabbit. And a snared one at that.
"What the hell is this, Wexford?" Tommy growled, hating the feeling of pure vulnerability that washed through him.
Wexford smirked and that look too was predatory. Tommy hated it. He wasn't used to being the prey. He was used to being the hunter.
"It's time to pay your due, Tommy Shelby," he snarled and turned to the gathered men. "Gentlemen, you've seen the goods. Now it's time for the auction to start. Highest bidder gets Thomas Shelby to do whatever he pleases with him."
~~~~~~~
Arthur and John staggered back to the house, arms slung over each other's shoulders as John snorted with laughter every time Arthur tripped over his feet.
"Shut it," Arthur growled, but was chuckling himself, gripping his little brother more firmly as he threw back his head and breathed the night air in deeply. "You really think Tommy will pull it off? Legit business?"
"It's Tommy," John said simply. "You know how it is when he gets something into his mind."
"Right," Arthur snorted. "Neither Heaven or Hell could stop 'im then."
They made it back to the house and went inside, finally relinquishing their hold on each other in favor of shrugging out of their coats.
"Well, I'm to bed," John said, coat missing the peg before he started shuffling toward the stairs.
"Arthur."
They both turned to see Finn coming into the foyer, a frown on his face.
"Wot are you still doing up?" Arthur grunted.
"Look, something's going down. One of our men stopped by and said he heard rumors that Sabini was in town. And Alfie Solomons too, among others…"
"What d'ya mean?" John demanded. "Where's Tommy?"
"I don't know!" Finn said. "I thought he was with you."
"No, he went back earlier—couple…" Arthur yanked his watch from his pocket. "Two hours ago."
He was starting to feel a lot more sober now and John looked like he was too. "Finn, who else did they say was in town?"
Finn listed several more names and Arthur felt a pit form in his stomach as he turned to John and grabbed his coat again.
"All of our enemies in town at the same time and Tom missing," he muttered, heart quickening. "That can't be good."
John was already grabbing guns and ammo, stuffing his pockets.
"Let me come!" Finn pleaded.
"You call the men," Arthur told him. "We're gonna need 'em."
"Then come back here, Finn," John added firmly.
Finn pressed his lips into a thin line, but thankfully didn't bother to argue. "They said it was going down at the warehouses down the river."
Arthur and John were already out the door, heading for the car.
"What the fuck did Tommy get himself into this time?" Arthur growled as he got behind the wheel.
John shook his head. "Let's just hope we can get him out of it."
~~~~~~~
Tommy wasn't sure he'd heard the words correctly at first, but as what Wexford said sank in, he began to finally realize what was going on here, and why all these powerful rivals were in the same room and not shooting lead into each other.
They were united against a common enemy: him.
And he was being sold off like a horse for the opportunity to do him in with the preferred methods of whoever won. Which, knowing these men in front of him as he did, was sure to be long, and bloody, and not at all pleasant. Within the week, he'd probably have pieces of himself nailed up around the town to prove some point.
He let out a breathless laugh as he realized that. He supposed he had always expected it might turn out to be this way at some point. Just not when things had seemed like they were starting to turn around for him. Polly had been right after all. He should have watched himself.
"Just as a sign of good will," Wexford continued, still smirking with a self-satisfied air as he gestured to Tommy's hanging form. "And because we all have our ill feelings toward Mr. Shelby here, I'll give everyone a trial—one blow each so everyone has an opportunity to take their pound of flesh. Just…no mortal wounds. There still needs to be enough of him left to auction to the highest bidder."
The hungry looks on the men's faces became hungrier and Tommy stared them down. He refused to feel trapped, refused to lose his cool. He wasn't in the habit of doing that and he wouldn't start now.
"Well, go on then," he spat. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I'll go first," Sabini said, stepping forward as his man handed him a riding crop. He gripped it tightly as he strode toward Tommy and pressed the butt of the crop up under his chin.
Tommy smirked. "So, Sabini? It's a little easier to get to me when I'm chained up like a slab of dead meat, isn't it?"
The Italian sneered. "When I win the bid, I will enjoy hearing you scream as I have you ripped apart—piece by fucking piece!"
The crop slashed across Tommy's face, cutting him under the eye, which he closed at the last minute. He blinked as blood dripped down his cheek and jaw.
"That's all you have, mate?" Solomons said as he stepped forward next.
Tommy leveled a stare at him. "You too, Alfie?"
Alfie raised his hands in a shrug. "Yeah, see, Tommy, nothing personal. Just…you know how it is, right?"
Tommy shouldn't have expected differently, he supposed. He eyed the man's walking stick, but instead of using that, Alfie simply raised a hand and slapped Tommy across the face, whipping his head to one side.
"That is for crossing us at the races, mate," Alfie told him.
Tommy spat out a gob of blood, raising his head again. "Who's next?" he challenged.
Everyone took a turn; a strike to the ribs, stomach, head…it was more demeaning than anything, though it only exacerbated the injuries he had already collected from the beating Wexford's men had given him. When they had all taken their turn, Tommy swung slightly in his chains, fresh blood dripping from his mouth and nose, his shoulders and ribs in agony. It was becoming increasingly harder to breathe and he tried not to make his weakness known by attempting to find purchase with his feet which were too far off the ground to offer any reprieve.
Wexford came forward, and grabbed Tommy's waistband to stop him swinging. Tommy huffed a breath and glanced down. "Can I get a cigarette?"
Wexford snorted, but nodded to one of his men. "Sure, Mr. Shelby." The goon came over with a cigarette and lighter and handed it to Wexford. The man took them with a small smirk and put the smoke between his own lips, bringing the lighter up.
Tommy watched him as he balefully as he puffed smoke, then pulled the cigarette from between his lips. "Here," Wexford said and reached up toward Tommy with the cigarette. But instead of putting it between his lips, he ground the smoldering tip into the hollow of Tommy's throat.
Tommy jerked and gritted his teeth against a groan, head sagging forward as he tried to shield his neck. Wexford's men laughed as he threw the cigarette to the ground then reached up and grabbed Tommy by a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up again. "Alright, gentlemen! Let's have the bidding start."
Solomons raised a finger. "Three hundred quid."
Wexford laughed. "You're going to have to do better than that, Mr. Solomons."
"One thousand," another man called.
"Fifteen hundred," Sabini said comfortably.
The price went up and up, and Tommy felt a little odd seeing just how much people would pay for the pleasure of killing him.
"Mr. Sabini stands at eight thousand pounds," Wexford said, grabbing a fistful of Tommy's shirt and shaking him back and forth. obviously enjoying this whole ordeal too much. "Will anyone challenge him?"
Tommy gritted his teeth as the swinging put strain on his shoulders and ribs. He couldn't breathe. Darkness started to encroach upon his vision and he viciously pushed it back, refusing to pass out now.
Sabini had the self-satisfied look on his face of a man who won, but it was then that the door to the warehouse crashed open as a truck was run through it, headlights illuminating the dim interior.
Wexford's men rose to meet the intruders, but men poured out of the truck with guns and the glint of razor blades in their caps.
"Stop right there! By order of the Peaky Blinders!"
The familiar voice cut through the chaos and Arthur and John appeared with their own guns as the other Blinders covered them.
"What the fuck is this?" Arthur demanded, taking in the scene. "Tom?"
"Gentlemen…have you come to place a bet yourselves?" Wexford asked with a small smirk. "How much would you pay for your brother's life? I know you have the coffers to afford just about anything."
Tommy caught Arthur's eye and gave a small nod. The older man clenched his jaw with a determined look and squeezed the trigger.
Wexford jerked backwards and fell heavily to the ground, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead, the contents of his skull decorating Tommy's left side.
Wexford's men took too long staring at the scene in shock and the Peaky Blinders moved in and pressed guns to bodies with little room to move.
"It's over," Tommy grunted.
"By order of the Peaky Blinders," Arthur said again and kicked Wexford as the other Blinders disarmed the goons.
Sabini, Alfie and the rest glowered, but began to back out, not having bothered to draw weapons. Tommy had the sudden realization that they had probably been disarmed before they came in due to the nature of the event.
"This isn't the end," Sabini said. "You Shelbys will see your reckoning soon enough. Mark my words."
"Of course we will," Tommy muttered.
Leaving the goons to the boys, John and Arthur hurried to their brother.
"How the hell did you get into this now, Tommy?" Arthur demanded.
Tommy was unable to contain a grunt of pain as Arthur and John grabbed his legs and lifted, unhooking his hands from the meathook then lowered him as carefully as they could to the ground.
It wasn't careful enough though. Tommy's ribs sent sharp stabs of agony through him, and his shoulders and hands were swollen. He was lucky nothing had been pulled out of joint.
"Bloody 'ell, Tom," Arthur murmured as he supported his brother, letting Tommy rest against his chest as John worked the manacles from his bleeding wrists.
"We should have killed them all," their younger brother growled. "They were all here! It would have been the best chance we ever would have gotten!"
"It would have caused more trouble than not," Tommy grunted and hissed as John peeled the manacles from his broken skin. "Fuck."
Arthur rested a gentle hand on his bad shoulder and massaged gently to ease some of the tension he knew was there. "Come on, let's get you 'ome."
They pulled him to his feet, and Tommy staggered before they wrapped their arms around his waist and gripped his elbows and practically carried him back to the car.
"Well, at the end of the day," Tommy grunted. "We get to keep the factory."
Arthur and John glanced at each other and snorted a laugh. John slapped Tommy on the back and his brother cringed, but smiled slightly too.
He looked forward to viewing his new acquisition once he could get out of bed again.