Chapter 12
Polly's fury at the fall out resulting from John and Arthur's meeting with Vincente Changretta shook the Shelby brothers to their boots. They had seldom seen her so angry. Few in the inner circle escaped her wrath for she also blamed Lizzie for causing the problem in the first place and Tommy for leaving the problem up to John to resolve.
'How could you have been so bloody stupid', she raged at John. 'Angel's never been anything more than long streak of piss and now thanks to you he's storming all over Nechells Green telling everyone he's going to kill himself a Shelby.'
Outraged and humiliated by her response John refused to back down.
'We run this town,' he stormed. 'Hell we run the whole fucking country. Why do we need to be worried over some Nechells Green eyeties?'
For once Arthur found himself on the side of quiet reason as he, thanks to input from his ex-Quaker wife, was counselling John to apologise in order to avoid rebellion amongst the families that paid the Shelby's tribute. To avoid coming to blows he had sent his suggestion via Polly. However, this only served to irritate John more particularly as he perceived Linda's hand in the suggestion. For her part Polly was arguing for compromise.
'Lizzie's going to sort things out with Angel', she said. 'You don't have to do anything - no apology, no grovelling, nothing. Lizzie's just going to tell him that it's over and then everyone can back down without losing face. Just leave this for the women to sort out.' It was the worst argument she could have employed.
'No. I'm not going back down in front of some bloody eyeties', John roared back. 'If they want some, then let them come. We'll grind them in to the floor!'
The evening of the Shelby Foundation dinner started well. Everything was in hand downstairs: the band were playing; and the staff were already on hand to serve drinks and canapes. As they dressed for the event Arabella had taken her husband's unresisting hand and curled it against a slight bulge in her lower abdomen. Meeting his eye she had smiled softly. Immediately catching on Tommy had pulled her in for a deep and lingering kiss. Their marriage seemed to have finally received the ultimate seal of approval and they celebrated in the traditional Shelby manner. Who cared if they were late to their own party!
Downstairs the house was full of the great and the good of Birmingham society. They were drinking, laughing, dancing, and most importantly donating money all in aid of the school that Arabella was hoping to establish. Even the mayor had agreed to attend which had provided an official seal of respectability to the whole event. Arabella was hoping to make an absolute killing in aid of a good cause that night
Tommy and Arabella were dancing – or at least they were trying too. Neither of them were very good at the steps at the best of times, and the frequent brushing of their bodies against one another was proving a constant distraction. They could hardly wait for the evening to be over. Because they were so wrapped up in each other they did not notice when the sea of dancers parted to reveal a young man holding a gun. As people in the crowed spotted the weapon there were exclamations of fear and shouted warnings. Looking up Tommy saw the assassin closing in; Changretta's doing no doubt. As he drew near the man seemed to become confused looking rapidly left and right between Tommy and Arabella as if trying two chose which one of them he was going to shoot. It was Arabella that seemed to be the final focus of his ire though.
'Thieving puttana!' he hissed. 'I'm going to take back what's mine.'
She looked back at him in confusion and then in dawning horror, finally recognising the man she had robbed in the mahjong den all those months before. She put one protective hand up to cover her locket and the other dropped to her bag. Tommy lunged for at the assassin trying to take him down but from that distance he couldn't do more than distract him for a moment. With a sick feeling in his stomach, Tommy realise that he had done no more than postpone the inevitable.
There were two shots in quick succession followed by a shocked silence. The assassin looked at Tommy quizzically as if someone had told him a tall tale which he didn't quite believe. He coughed softly and from the corner of his mouth a small trickle of blood began to run. He dropped the gun and fell to his knees in a single movement. He was no longer a danger to anyone there.
Unsure what had happened Tommy turned to his wife in confusion and he saw her standing stock-still a pistol hanging limply from her right hand. A bright rosette of blood red was blooming in her stomach. He ran forward to catch her before she collapsed.
Then all hell broke loose.
What do you think? Should Tommy's Wicked Lady live or die?