The Peaky Blinders AU

Mr. Zhang was a nervous wreck of a man. The traditional red sheets were flapping away with the low breeze, as Zhang travelled frantically past the stalls through Chinatown. It was tucked away in the most foreign and dark corner of Small Heath, and only white-folk seeking illegal and cheap services entered the area. Mr. Zhang was looking for his niece, the one who could speak to horses. Many said she was gifted, and that a girl born in the year of the horse was bound to be as interesting as she was. Zhang was running a cold sweat as his nerves got the best of him, he was afraid of the Peaky Blinders far more than he was afraid of the Triad, the Chinese gang that ran the underground in the east of Small Heath. Eve Chen was sitting by a stall next to a prostitute eating a steamed bean-paste bao, as she engaged the prostitute in quiet conversation.

“Get up, quick!” Zhang shook her slightly, as his elevated Cantonese twang shocked the pair of them. The prostitute, Chin, picked herself up off her stool and bowed her head slightly before she walked off with her steamed bun in hand.

“What is it, uncle?” Eve spoke casually as she tore the bit of bun she had in her hand in half and popped it into her mouth. She wasn’t planning on moving, even as she watched her uncle jitter under a pressure she didn’t care to know of.

“Those Peaky Blinders,” he started waving his hands in front of him frantically, catching Eve’s fleeting attention. “They need someone to cast a spell on a horse, for the races.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Eve asked him with an incredulous look on her slim face.

“I need you to whisper a few things, and blow this at it.” Zhang handed her a purple velvet pouch full of red powder.

“Why would you volunteer me for a job like this? How do I know this powder is safe?” She hummed at him, annoyed that she was being forced into something she hadn’t negotiated herself. “I have other things to do, uncle. You have to stop doing this.”

“I’ll give you half of the pay, just–quickly he’s calling for us.” Eve could use the spare cash, and she knew the Peaky Blinders would pay well for these kinds of tricks. She stood up from her stool and wiped her hands of quickly on her thick trousers and clapped them together.

“Alright then, half!” She shouted the last word, pointing her finger at her uncle. He was good at skimming money, he was the owner of the brothel after all, and Chin didn’t get paid nearly as much as she should.

“Okay! Okay!” Zhang’s nervousness aroused interest in Eve, she knew the Peaky Blinders were bad to get into business with, but she’d never seen him act this way before.

Eve followed her uncle down several streets and alleys until they reached a slum, where they stood waiting just a ways away from the motor company. A man dressed smartly in grey and a peaky hat sat on a dark horse as it trotted closer to them. A shiver ran down Eve’s spine; he was one of the devils her friends spoke of. She changed her posture into something more defiant as the horse stopped directly in front of them. Eve stared intently at the man in the peaky hat.

“Sir, this is her,” her uncle sounded carefully.

“You’re the girl who tells fortunes?” It wasn’t much of a question, but the man’s bored look and arrogant demeanour made Eve want to roll her eyes, but she knew better.

“Only for the right price,” Eve spoke out of turn. She knew her uncle would yell at her later, but she tested the waters between herself and the Peaky Blinder devil. His face was unmoving, unbothered as if he hadn’t heard what she had said. But he reached into his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper, Eve suspected that it had her half of the pay.

As her uncle stood next to her again, he nudged her lightly. Eve stepped toward the horse, placing her hand gingerly against its chin. She began her false spell on the horse.

“Oh poor beautiful creature,” Eve pulled the purple pouch from beneath her jumper and poured the red powder in her hands. She wasn’t much of an actress, but she knew that all the people hiding behind unfinished walls and peeking through windows would believe anything they saw one of the Peaky Blinders doing. Eve continued to coo at the horse, receiving an awkward look from her uncle. She blew at the powder in her hand and a cloud of red drifted close to the dark horse’s muzzle. The horse shuffled its hooves, as the Blinder that sat upon it tried to control the sudden movement. She looked back at her uncle, and then at the Blinder. She knew that most wouldn’t dare look them in the eye long enough, but there she was, staring at him carefully as if she were able to read his mind. But there was nothing readable about him. Her uncle pulled her away, and they began to walk back to Chinatown, leaving the horse and the Blinder behind.

The horse began to trot, making way to leave the slum. “The horse’s name is Monaghan Boy,” Thomas Shelby said, clear and cunningly. “Kempton–three o’clock–Monday, you ladies have a bet yourselves, but don’t tell anyone else.” The lower class began to leave their hiding places as Tommy and Monaghan Boy took their leave.

“That’s a bad idea, I’m tellin’ you, Finn.”

Finn Shelby had lit a cigarette he nicked off his brother John with the embers from the dying fire in the dining room, but his best friend Chadda, who had taken to being called Sam, knew much better than he. She was mostly entertained with his antics to appear more like his older brothers, but she also knew the right times for when and where he should act this way. They were inside the house, and just a door away John was working and so was Polly. Chadda wasn’t good at speaking on behalf of her friend’s behaviour, especially not against the Shelby’s; she’d learned that from her own parents.

“No one’s here–I’ll just take a bit and I’ll give it to you,” Finn said nonchalantly as he attempted to balance the burning cigarette between his fingers, the way he had seen his brothers do it.

“What about the smell?” Chadda could already smell the smoke. She used her hand to wave it away from her face as Finn took a weak puff.

“The whole house smells like it already, Sam.”

He was right, all of Birmingham smelled of awful grey nicotine-smoke. Chadda hesitated but snatched the cigarette from Finn’s hand to inhale a bit of smoke. She placed the cigarette between her lips and coughed as the warmth of it travelled down her mouth. She couldn’t help the disgusted look on her face as she tried to calm her chest from choking as she passed it back to Finn, and then a laugh erupted from both Finn and Chadda at the sudden rebellion they shared. Finn took one last drag before footsteps sounded near the door. He moved quicker than Chadda had seen him before as he tossed the cigarette at the fire, but he missed by a margin. Tommy was the one to open the door, catching them like deer under headlights.

“Finn?” Tommy sounded, but he looked at Chadda more expectantly as he reached them by the fireplace. Finn did as he always had done, he changed the subject to something Tommy might be more interested in.

“Arthur’s mad as hell,” Finn said, turning toward his brother who stood by the fire, the two watched as he picked up the cigarette Finn had thrown terribly against the brick frame, relieved that he’d only given them a look before tossing it into the flames. Tommy made it clear that he had noticed what the pair of them were doing, they were both ten years old, and Tommy expected better of them.

“What does a ten-year-old know about hell, eh?” Tommy bumped the back of his peaky hat to Finn’s head in a chastising manner as a fleeting smile passed through his handsome face. He ruffled Chadda’s hair then, causing her hair to fall out of her braid slightly.

“I’m eleven Sunday,” Finn protested, as Tommy’s fingers grazed his chin affectionately.

“Polly’s going to have Sam looking out for you, Finn, if you don’t straighten out.” Tommy still had that ghost of a smile on his face as Chadda stared quizzically at him. Finn didn’t mention once that she had engaged in the secret cigarette smoking either, she knew that she owed him and that he would probably ask for lemon sherbet sweets once they stepped out for the day.

Tommy was used to the hustle and bustle of the betting shop. John was writing up the numbers while the rest of the men were taking bets and making up plans for the future scoreboards. They were fixing the races, on Tommy’s orders, and against Arthur’s.

Arthur called Tommy into his office. Arthur was cross with him and he knew exactly why. The entire betting shop knew why, and so did most of Small Heath. Tommy closed the door as he walked in, he settled himself against the wall so he could look out the window as Arthur poured himself a drink and sat at his desk.

“You were seen doin’ the powder trick, down at Garrison Courts,” Arthur started, a stern look on his face. The war had done a number on Arthur, being undermined especially by his brother did not sit well with him, and now that the entire betting shop was working against his and Polly’s orders, he thought it was about time that they stopped the power struggle between them.  

“Times are hard.” Tommy looked out the window nonchalantly. “People need a reason to lay a bet.” It was that bored look on Tommy’s face that always unsettled Arthur; he was fine seeing Tommy hand it out to other people, but not to him.

“There was a Chinese—” Arthur started, but Tommy was quick to interrupt him.

“A washerwoman says she’s a witch.” Tommy shrugged his shoulders. “It helps them believe.”

“We don’t mess with Chinese.” Arthur leaned into his desk, his voice more aggressive than before.

“Look at the book—” Tommy started, but it was Arthur’s turn to interrupt.

“Chinese have cutters of their own.” Arthur was fed up with him. Arthur had always known there was an air of confidence in Tommy. He’d grown up with him after all, but after he’d gotten some money into his pockets, his greed and arrogance were undefiable, and Arthur was made to deal with it, even though he didn’t want to deal with it. Somehow, Arthur always felt like second-best next to Tommy and that was what irked him most.

“We agreed, Arthur. I’m taking charge of drumming up new money.” It was true; they had agreed to it, but Tommy was being reckless. They already had the entirety of Small Heath, and they were in no place to expand their criminal enterprise borders.

“What if Monaghan Boy wins, Tommy? You fixing races now?” Arthur rubbed his hands together, feeling the coolness of his rings against his skin, and the roughness from the hard labour he had once been accustomed to. “Do you have permission from Billy Kimber to be fixing races, mm?” Arthur hummed. It was meant to be rude, but Tommy didn’t care much. “What’s got into you? You think we can take on the Chinese and Billy Kimber.” Arthur was furious, Tommy knew well enough that they couldn’t take on both gangs. “Billy’s got a bloody army!”

“I think, Arthur. That’s what I do.” Tommy paused sizing up Arthur. “I think. So that you don’t have to.” The fight for dominance among the two brothers had been clear since they arrived in Birmingham after the war. Tommy was walking out of the room as Arthur continued his speech, making sure that he would get the last word between them.

“There’s news from Belfast.” His tone was calm, clear, and less threatening than before, but Tommy didn’t care much still. He already knew the news; he didn’t need someone else to tell him, let alone his brother who was always two steps behind him. Tommy exited the office, his hands in his pockets, as he continued to ignore Arthur’s words.

“I’m calling a family council tonight at 8 o’clock. I want all of us there.” Arthur was shouting as he followed Tommy to the threshold of his office. “You hear me?” He shouted after him, but Tommy was already gone. “There’s trouble coming.”

The Marxist Club of East Birmingham didn’t have more than a hundred members, and still only half of them were active. Freddie Thorne, their ringleader, was leading the congregation of men and women outside the motor factory. Freddie Thorne had the charm and tenacity of a leader, it showed in the way he spoke to the people. They were all waiting for him to speak, as the crowd chattered away about the poor working conditions they suffered in the last few weeks.

“All right, shut up now. Shut up.” Freddie waved his hand at the crowd, easing them to a calm so that he could speak. “Comrades, we’re here today to take a vote on strike action.” The crowd cheered in agreement. The strike had been long coming.

“But before we have a show of hands for that, let's have a show of hands from all those who fought in France.” Several men raised their fists in the crowd that had assembled and some of the women began to clap their hands to honour their bravery. “How about a show of hands, for the women who contributed to the war effort? You Munitionettes?” Several of the women in the crowd raised their hands too, including Jessie Eden, who headed the women’s effort to recruit women to the Marxist Club. She was stood next to Sienna, a thin woman that managed to get herself into the tightest of places. Freddie had once spent a night in jail with her, and Jessie had to bail them out. It was safe to say that they were all friendly with each other, so a new face always stuck out in the crowd. Sienna had noticed the mystery woman first.  

“Now, who reaps the rewards? Is it you?” The spoils of war had mostly gone to the rich and hadn’t affected the working class significantly. All of Great Britain had fallen into an economic recession. The crowd began to chant angrily because they sure weren’t the ones rewarded for all the hard work they had offered their country during the war.

“Who then, do they stand among us?” The crowd chanted ‘no’ again at Freddie’s question.

“Do they sit at home comfortable with a full belly, while you scrape to find enough to put shoes on your children’s feet!” Freddie always knew what to say to rile up the Marxist Club. “And what is the reward they offer you for your sacrifices made? A fucking cut in your wages. That is your reward. Raise a hand, all those who want to strike.” That was all they needed to spread the word for a strike, it was that quick thanks to Freddie Thorne. A discussion on dates and times ensued while others convened to speak of other things.

Jessie approached the new member first, with Sienna in tow. Jessie outstretched her hand as she reached the new girl with soft brown hair and blue eyes. “I’m Jessie, this is Sienna,” She started.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Astrid, but I prefer Marie.” Jessie and Sienna stared at Marie far longer than Marie found comfortable. “I’m loyal to the cause, I can assure you that.”

“Of course you are.” Sienna grinned at her. “Will you be at the next meeting?”

“I hope so,” Marie answered, slightly overwhelmed with their politeness.

“C’mon girls, we can’t be here long.” It was Freddie who had interrupted them, as he tried to get them to move.

“Wait, wait!” Sienna answered, her finger stabbing Freddie harshly in the chest. Jessie already knew where this was going; she had heard Sienna mention the rumours about Freddie. Marie stood awkwardly as she watched Freddie being interrogated by a woman much smaller than he. “Someone told me you’re seeing the Shelby girl, Ada her name was, right?” Sienna looked at Jessie for confirmation. “You do know the Shelbys are like royalty, and when has royalty or anyone like Shelbys with their economic proficiency ever been okay with our cause?”

“You don’t have to concern yourself with me,” Freddie said with a chastising tone. Freddie and Sienna had been good friends for a while, and she knew that Thomas Shelby and Freddie had once been friends, but had a falling out over political differences.

“Will your romance with her affect the cause?” Jessie added, her arms were folded in front of her chest, looking at Freddie accusingly.

“No, I know what I’m doing, alright?” Freddie answered. He hated being pestered this way, but he knew why they were doing it. Jessie hooked her arm into Marie’s and dragged her off, Freddie and Sienna close behind them as they left the motor factory. The Communists would keep quiet that day.

Finn, Isaiah and Chadda sat by the door, passing a bag of sweets between them as they willed their ears to listen in on the family meeting happening just behind it.  Finn peered through the crack in the door as Arthur cleared his throat to begin his speech.

“Right, I’ve called this family meeting because I’ve got some very important news. Scudboat and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night. They were buying a stallion to cover their mares. They were in a pub on Shank Hill Road yesterday, and in that pub, there was a copper handing out these.” The group of them heard the ruffling of sheets of papers, as Isaiah adjusted himself to rest his back against the door, he was far more interested in the sweets than the conversation on either side.  

Chadda smacked Isaiah’s arm as he rustled the bag loudly. She wasn’t looking at him, but the gesture was one that meant for him to stop making so much noise, they didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping.

Finn and Chadda missed some of the conversation, when they pressed their ears back against the door. “To clean up the city, Ada. – He’s the Chief Inspector. The last four years he’s been clearing the IRA out of Belfast.” It was Tommy’s familiar deep voice they heard, Chadda noticed the dissatisfied look on Finn’s face as realized he had missed some of the conversation.

“How do you know so bloody much?” It was Arthur, he sounded annoyed. Finn moved swiftly to grab a lemon sherbet sweetie doing his best not to let his ear leave the door.

“‘Cause I asked the coppers on our payroll.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you.” Chadda never understood how Tommy could be so nice to her and Finn, and so hostile with everyone else. Tommy was a man at war with himself.

“So, why send him to Birmingham?” Polly said.

“There’s been all these bloody strikes at the BSA, and at the Austin Works lately. Now the papers are talking about sedition. And revolution. I reckon it’s a communist he’s after.” Finn’s ears perked up at the word ‘communist’ he’d heard his brothers tossing the word around, and Finn had heard that Tommy’s old friend Freddie Thorne was a communist too, though he didn’t exactly know what a communist was.

“So this copper is gonna leave us alone, right?” The group of kids were interrupted when a door from the opposite end of the gambling den shut, their hearts leaped in their chests. Marcas McGenniskin was sauntering in with his own bag of sweets in his hand outstretched to the trio congregated at the door to the private meeting room, he was Isaiah’s age just twelve, but he always seemed as young as Finn and Chadda with his antics.

“I brought snacks!” The trio shushed Marcas harshly, as he realized what they were doing. They were ready to run if necessary.

“There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him. Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night.” Marcas exaggeratedly tiptoed to get to the door. He pressed his ear against it to join his friends.

“Yeah, but we ain’t IRA. We bloody fought for the King. Well, anyway, we’re Peaky Blinders. We’re not scared of coppers.” John was raising his voice, the kids knew that the room on the other side of the door was getting heated.

“He’s right.”

“If they come for us, we’ll cut them a smile each.” The four were immune to the violence, they could walk out on watery lane and they would see anyone getting into a fight, and it wasn’t always the Peaky Blinders that were waving their caps and throwing their fists. Finn raised an eyebrow at his friends.

“So, Arthur, is that it?” The sound of Tommy’s passive voice didn’t match Arthur and John’s expressive voices.

“What do you think Aunt Pol?”

“This family does everything open. You have nothing more to say to this meeting, Thomas?”

“No. Nothing that’s women’s business.” Chadda pursed her lips in annoyance as Tommy spoke.

“This whole bloody enterprise was women’s business while you boys were away at war. What’s changed?”

“We came back.” A sudden movement on the other side of the door caused the four children to sprint out of the gambling den and into the street. The sun was already setting. They busied themselves by shoving more sweets into their mouths and skipping down the street. The conversation they had overheard hadn’t even completely settled in their heads.

A knock on the front door of Polly’s home on Watery Lane stopped her from lighting her cigarette. Polly knew who it was. She was expecting someone to visit that evening. Polly moved toward the door from where she had been sitting in the sitting room in the front of the house.

“Hello dear,” Polly said as she opened the door, but she didn’t even glance at her visitor. Polly moved back into the sitting room to sit down and light her cigarette.

“How’ve you been Pol?”

Polly took the chance to look at her visitor. Her name was Mary Geneviève, she was the only self-made woman Polly knew to have come out of Small Heath.

“You know, I’ve been alright. There’s a new copper in town.”

Mary set down her briefcase and straightened out her pretty navy blue skirt before she sat down next to Polly.

“Are they on your nephew’s case?”

Mary moved her wavy dark hair behind her shoulder as she moved to open her case. She was mainly there on business, but she had always enjoyed Polly’s company and her cynical attitude. Mary found it a challenge to amuse Polly, so it was far more satisfying when Polly was comfortable with her than when Mary worked with anyone else.

“Tommy says they’re after Communists.”

Mary moved the briefcase closer to Polly so that she could peer inside, to pick her choosing.

“This one’s new,” Mary interrupted, pointing to a section in the briefcase for Polly to see. “You’re nephews, they have business with Communists?” Polly took the item out the bag and pressed it against her nose to take a whiff of the item’s scent.

“No, they don’t. Well, not that I know of. Tommy rarely tells me anything these days. Arthur still knows who he’s talking to, but John’s been acting up. It’s probably because of the kids.” Polly put the item back into the briefcase.

“I’ll take my regular and I want a few boxes of the new one. What’s it called?” Mary shut the briefcase, pulling a fountain pen and a notepad out of her handbag.

“Hibiscus tea, it’s the name of a flower. They were taken from one of the new American colonies, Hawaii I believe. They’ve gotten rather popular the last few months. Twenty for the regular, how much do you want of the new?” Mary began to scribble numbers into her notepad.

“Five’s fine for now. So, the business is going well?” Polly took a drag of her cigarette as she eyed Mary out of the corner of her eye.

“Better than ever, actually.”

“Glad to hear it.” Polly’s expression didn’t appear so. “When can I expect a delivery?” Polly asked.

“Two days tops.” Mary moved her hair behind her shoulders again, the olive-tone of her skin shining against the light of the fire.

“I’m sure the boys will have business to do with you someday, so don’t go travelling the world again.” Polly joked, but she wasn't laughing. She let out a huff of air before she brought her cigarette back to her lips. Mary was packing up already, her order in hand. She had only ever made visits to her most esteemed customers, the ones with lots of money to spend. The rest of them had to go to the shop or the warehouses, but Polly was special; she now had money and she was an old friend.

“I’ll do my best not to, but what do bookmakers so heavily invested in gambling have to do with the tea business?” Mary inquired as she picked herself up off the couch and pulled her handbag and briefcase up as well.

“They’ll do anything they can to get their hands on more money.” Polly rubbed her fingers together in an effort to show Mary that business in the Shelby family meant business.

“Are your nephews planning to put me out of business?” Mary stiffened slightly at the sudden hostility of the conversation before she relaxed her shoulders. “I can’t be moved, y’know?”

“I know that well enough,” Polly answered her, a crooked smile on her face. Mary gave her one in return, they knew each other well, they were similar when it came to conducting business. They said their goodbyes then and Mary walked out onto the street, taking a seat in a motor cab and driving away in the night.

As the working day began, the ashes from the coal factory began to float over Garrison Lane like snow. Marcas McGenniskin was kicking the dirt path in front of him as he made his way to look for his father at the Garrison Pub. He had eaten his breakfast, put on clean clothes and walked with his hands in his pockets to the pub his father cherished more than anything. They made do with what they could, as the Garrison could have saved their family from poverty, but they were still mere working class citizens after they paid the Peaky Blinders their dues for being in their territory and for providing protection. Marcas’ dad had once said that it was all worth it because they still had their pub and they could still put bread on their table. But Marcas was just a boy, after all, he’d never worried much about money.