Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings in "Peaky Blinders". They all belong to Steven Knight and the other creators/writers of the show.
"Rise and shine, Jane! Time to greet the day! Or afternoon, in your case."
Jane stirred from her sleep, the afternoon sun blinding her. Stuffing her face into the pillow, she groaned as Vivian marched around the room. Her body ached. She felt heavy and weak. It was times like these she regretted fighting. She groaned as she lifted herself into a sitting position. She stretched out her arms and legs, feeling the soreness in them. Last night must've been rougher than she remembered. Vivian fixed tea in the corner, most likely left there by Mrs. Phillips. Jane wasn't surprised by the sight either. The leggy, red-haired woman turned around and grinned at her.
"Ah, there's a face only a mother could love," Vivian jested. She came to the bed and handed her a cup of tea. "Fighting again last night?"
"I was," she said, sipping her tea. "He was a lot stronger than he looked."
She recalled the boy from last night. Standing in the middle of dozens of shouting men, Jane would've bet she'd knock him out with a single punch. However, he proved to be quite a formidable opponent. The boy got in a few good swings before Jane finally straddled him on the ground. She used her weight and height over to counteract the tall boy's lanky form. He left the ring far worse off than her. A purple bruise on her jaw line and a cut eyebrow, she figured her money was worth it.
"But you beat him, eh?" she asked.
"Of course," she said.
"Why do you fight, Jane? There are so many other things you're good at," Vivian said. She stood up from the bed and walked over to a box full of letters. "I mean, look at all these cases. You couldn't find a single one that interested you?"
"No," she answered, finishing her tea cup. "They're all boring."
Vivian sighed. She picked up one of the letters and opened it as Jane climbed out of bed. "Look at this one," she said, "Mrs. Winston says her husband has gone missing along with some of her heirlooms-"
"-Ran off with the maid; took the jewels with him to pay off loan sharks," Jane answered. She pulled off her nightdress and snapped on her undergarments. "That one is pretty obvious, I think."
Vivian opened up another letter, "Ah, Gemma Tildon says she found her cat dead in her backyard. Last time she saw him, she says, he was sitting on the front porch railing. She wants to know what you think-"
"-It was her father," she said. When Vivian stared bemused, she said, "Cat wandered off into the street and he ran it over. He put it in the backyard to make it seem natural." She slipped on a chemise and looked through her closet for a dress. "I don't see where's the mystery. Though, I suppose the tire tracks on his body raised some questions."
"James from Yorkshire says one of his mates went missing after a game of poker at-"
"-He was in debt and he wouldn't pay up," she picked out the silk lavender one.
"Mira writes that someone has stolen crates of rum and gin from her tavern. She doesn't know who's doing it."
"She lives on 34th?"
"She does."
"Montague Boys," she said. Taking out stockings from her drawer, she began rolling one up her leg. "They steal alcohol from local pubs and sell them overseas." Slipping on the other one, Jane clipped them to her garter belts. She grunted at Vivian, "These are all boring, Vivian! Boring, boring, boring!"
"Yoo hoo! Ms. Dawes? Are you decent?" a voice said from outside the door.
"Come in, Mrs. Phillips," Vivian said, opening the door.
Jane put on her dress and fixed it before Mrs. Phillips could see. The stout, old woman looked about the room and tsked. "You need to tidy up this room, Jane," she told her, setting down a tray of sandwiches and biscuits. "I don't know how you find anything in this mess."
"Neither do I," Vivian added.
"It's not a mess," Jane reasoned, "It's a collection, Mum."
Vivian snorted while Mrs. Phillips kissed her cheek. She examined the injury and frowned. "Oh dear," she said, "You were out in the rings again?"
"I was," she answered.
"I have some mugwort in my cabinet," she said, "It'll clear that right up."
Vivian chuckled, "Are you her mother or her landlady, Mrs. Phillips?"
"It isn't my fault she behaves like a child," she threw a look back at Jane who only grinned. "I'm only looking out for my only tenant."
"Because if I was ever beaten to death in the ring," Jane said, "Who would pay my rent?"
Vivian held back her laugh and picked up her hat. "Well, I'm heading off," Vivian said. She fixed her auburn curls and straightened her dress. "Mr. Specter is expecting me back at three o'clock before his meeting."
Jane sighed, "Vivian, when are you going to see that you can be more than just some slimy prat's secretary? You're an intelligent, clever woman. You should strive for something greater." Vivian paused for a moment. Jane saw the hope in her eyes. "You always wanted to be a doctor like your dad," Jane said, "Why not go for it? You're not too old. You could get into any university you wanted and become the best in whatever field you chose."
"How very modern of you to think," Vivian said. "Not all of us can be private detectives, Jane. Some of us have people to feed."
"James would be proud that his mother became a doctor," Jane said.
"Jane," she sighed, "Don't…" She made for the door, "Stop the fighting. Find a case."
"You can't just find a case, Viv. It comes to you."
"Then let's hope one comes to you soon."
Jane finished dressing and started on her breakfast. She rifled through some of the letters at her armchair. Mrs. Phillips brought up more of them from the letterbox. Most of them were missing pets or stolen jewelry. She occasionally caught one that might be of interest but ended up solving it by the end of the letter. She wrote replies to most of them before dinner. Jane didn't understand why people didn't go to the police with their petty problems. The police might blunder through their cases, but they could at least get the job done. She died for something more challenging. The people who visited her during the day weren't much better.
'I think my husband is cheating on me.' "He is."
'My dad went missing and I don't know where he's gone.' "He left your family."
'I met this wonderful bloke a few days ago and things got intimate between us. My friends say he ditched me, but I don't think that's true.' "It is and you're stupid for thinking otherwise."
She played Beethoven to keep her mind from the boredom, yet that failed. Mrs. Phillips assured her the rut would end soon. Murders and disappearances happen in London every day. One could even be happening as they spoke, she said. Jane was bound to find one soon. Jane wished that were true as she read Nietzsche. She couldn't have been any more bored before someone knocked on her door.
"Come in," she called from her armchair.
In walked a stocky man wearing a blue suit. From his well groomed hair and professional attire, she could tell he was an officer of some kind. She assumed policeman from the scuffed boots he wore. He nervously hung his hat in his hands, tapping his foot in place as he looked at her. He was a client with another problem.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes," he said, "My name's Anthony Moss. I'm a Sergeant over in Birmingham. I got it from a friend that you're the one to see about, um, difficult cases."
"How difficult?"
"Baffling."
"Have a seat, Sergeant Moss." He took a seat in front of her and gulped. "Drink?" she asked, standing up and making her way towards the liquor cabinet.
"Please," he nodded.
She poured him a scotch as she asked, "Tell me about your case, Sergeant."
"Before I begin, I want you to know I work in Small Heath. I don't know if you've ever heard of its reputation-"
"-I did hear some unsavory characters do live there." She handed him his drink and took up her own.
"They do," he said. He drained his drink in one shot. "So, it's not uncommon to see beatings, rapings, disappearances, robberies and murders. We even have a gang problem. There isn't much in Small Heath that surprises me, Ms. Dawes."
"Well, something must've if it's brought you here."
"Indeed. It's this string of murders that have been going on. We've found three different women found in back alleys around town. Their bodies cut open, parts of them missing, and no evidence to go on," he shuddered. "It's unnatural, Miss. Like I said, murder isn't new to me, but I've never seen anything like this. Alright, we sometimes find a prostitute who displeased a customer or didn't pay her pimp. But, it was never this terrible."
"If your town is so used to crime, haven't you considered that it could be one of the regular criminals?"
"No," he shook his head. "They don't do things like this. They might beat or cut people, but if they kill someone it's direct. This isn't direct. I even asked Tommy Shelby if he had an idea, but he said it had nothing to do with him or the Peaky Blinders."
"Peaky Blinders," she said nodding, "I've heard of them."
"Then you know they aren't insane. Whoever is doing this is insane, Miss. We have no real leads. We aren't well equipped like other police stations. If I want any chance at stopping this, I need someone like you. The only links I can find is their profession and how he killed them. It reminds me of Jack the Ripper, but it can't be. That was ages ago. He'd be dead by now, wouldn't he?"
"He would," she said. "He definitely would."
A copycat lurking about in a slum? It was a perfect cure for boredom.