Disclaimer: I do not own Peaky Blinders.
New York City
1922
"You sure you want to put all your eggs in that basket?" the young woman took a drag on her cigarette, raising an eyebrow at the man who stood before her. She looked him over and observed the grunge that was evident on his clothing and the dirt smeared on his face. Clearly he was a working man who, more than likely, was going behind the missus back in order to place a bet with his days wages.
"I'm sure, ma'am. I got a good friend over in Hell's Kitchen who says that Jack Britton ain't got nothin' to lose in this fight. In fact, you'd be fucking stupid if you put your money on Mickey Walker."
"You'd be fucking stupid to waste an entire day's pay on a boxing match," the young woman said, letting out a small laugh, "but who am I to tell you what to do?" She let out a puff of smoke and stuck the cigarette between her teeth, reaching out for the wad of cash the man had grasped in his hand.
"You think the odds are better for Walker?" the man asked, retreating his hand slightly.
"Look, mister, I already told you what I think the odds are. The choice is yours though. But don't come cryin' when you need to pay up and you ain't got the money. You know the rules…and the consequences," the young woman's eyes glittered with malice and a touch of excitement.
"I'm stickin' with Britton then," the man finally said, handing over his wad of cash. The woman counted it quickly, cigarette still smoking between her lips, and made a note in her book.
"Name?" she asked, not looking up.
"Moore, Albert Moore," the man replied, twisting his hands together nervously.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Moore," the young woman smiled, sticking out her hand. Moore hesitantly shook it. "We collect after the event if you lose, and if you win, you can expect to be paid in full no later than tomorrow at midday. Next!"
"Last call, ladies and gents! Place your bets, then be on your way!" a man dressed sharply in a three-piece suit pocketed his gold watch, casting a wary glance around the room where lines of men, and the occasional woman, stood behind the desks of bookmakers. Handfuls of cash were being passed from hand to hand, while names were taken.
Once the last of the betters were gone and the doors were locked for the evening, a collective sigh could be heard throughout the room. The man in the three-piece suit came barreling out of his office, cigar in hand.
"Excellent work today! Excellent work, all of you!" he cried. "There is nothing I love more than the sight of eager betters coming in and working with you fine people!" The man gestured around, before taking out his lighter and igniting the end of the fat cigar.
"Mr. Wilde, you haven't told us who you're betting on tonight!" shouted one of the bookies from his table.
The man turned towards him and smiled broadly, "Now, now, if I've told you once, I've told you all a million times! I don't bet!" With that, the room burst into a roar of laughter and sounds of disbelief, quieting immediately when Mr. Wilde raised his cigar-filled hand.
"Remember, if you want to go to the match tonight, feel free to do so, however, we are not conducting business outside of the gambling house, are we all clear?"
"Yes, sir!" came shouts from all around the room.
"We collect tonight after the match! If you aren't attending, stay close to the gambling house so you can find out who won and check your books. All names of losers need to go to the collectors as soon as possible so they can conduct their business. Other than that, you are free to go!"
As the room began to fill out, the young woman gathering her things when she was approached by a coworker—a rather overzealous young man who exuded confidence, even when he should not.
"Hey, hey Olivia!" he called. The young woman, Olivia, looked up and refrained from rolling her eyes—not him again. "You, uh, you going to the match tonight?"
"No, I'm not, Johnny, I think I've told you that about five fucking times though," she flipped her cigarette case open and pulled out a thin, white stick, rolling it between her fingers.
"Come on, Olivia, you need to get out a little. It ain't good for a woman to be cooped up all day and night. I can show you a good time, you know, take good care of you."
Olivia was about to give him a tongue lashing that would prevent him from asking her on any outings for the next several months, but she was interrupted by Mr. Wilde's presence suddenly lingering between them.
"Mr. Ashby, always good to see you," he acknowledged Johnny, nodding his head. "Miss Caraway, would I be able to speak with you for a moment?"
Johnny nodded, sidling off and out of the doors into the streets of the city. Olivia held her bag tight against herself and nodded, "Of course, Mr. Wilde, what can I do for you?"
"Come to my office, darling," he said, gesturing towards the large oak door which read "Arthur Wilde, Chief Proprietor."
Inside Mr. Wilde's office, Olivia was slightly taken back by the amount of grandeur with which he had decorated the place. A large, mahogany desk sat in the middle of the room, intricate carvings running up and down the sides. Behind the desk sat a plush, velvet chair, and on the corner of the desk was a crystal decanter, filled with a brown liquid that was not legal to possess.
"You have expensive taste, sir," she murmured, more to herself, but Mr. Wilde did not miss a thing.
"When you own the best, you can have the best," he said, leaning back into his chair. "You've been with us for some…months now, how are you liking it here?"
"It's a job, sir," Olivia said. "The pay is decent and mom and I have been able to keep our flat in Turtle Bay, which is good for my sister. You know, consistency is good for them when they're young."
"Please, have a seat," Mr. Wilde said, gesturing to a chair. It was as if he hadn't heard anything she had just said.
"Sir, if you don't mind, I really do need to get home. My sister is there, my mom would've just left for work and she needs someone to be there to watch her."
"Your sister can wait a few minutes. I have a business proposition for you." Mr. Wilde poured himself a glass of the brown liquid and swirled it around in his glass. "You have proven to be quite the addition to our little family here, Ms. Caraway. You're smart, you can add and subtract numbers without using paper and pencil, and you can convince the betters to bet against their favor."
Olivia cast a glance at the clock, it was already 5:15—she really needed to get going. Her foot began to bounce up and down impatiently.
"I'm opening up a new gambling house the East Village, and we are going to need some bookmakers like yourself to help it get started."
"A new one, sir? How are you going to travel from Times Square to the East Village every day? That's a rather far commute."
"There will be a different proprietor there. You see, I've made a rather good deal with a man in Birmingham, England, regarding the export and import of dry gin to…you know…supply the speakeasies that are popping up in the city. And in return, I agreed to help his nephew set up shop here with a gambling house. To get his feet on the ground, so to speak." Mr. Wilde was examining his class closely, swirling the brown liquid continuously before he downed it with one gulp.
"Ms. Caraway, I'm willing to give you a fifty cent raise per head if you are able to embark on this endeavor with me. That's no small amount, my dear."
Olivia did the math in her head. It was true. The earnings would outweigh the possible travel expenses with cabs, and she could use the money to help get ahead on the apartment. The only downfall was having to deal with some strange foreigner who probably had no idea how American life and business worked. Still, how hard could it be to train him?
"Can I have a day to think about it?" Olivia asked, slowly.
"You don't have enough time, he arrives tomorrow on the Monroe. But I suppose if you need one day, I could have him post up here and watch how we do business before he gets thrown to the wolves." Mr. Wilde grinned and sat up abruptly. "Ms. Caraway, I think you'll do wonderfully."
"Sir, if I may, what's this man's name?"
"Michael Gray."