Inspector Chester Campbell arrived late that evening in Birmingham. As he sat in the back of the hackney, he looked around at the filth of the city. It didn't shock him that Birmingham was very similar to Belfast. He would clean this city like he did Belfast, and once he did, people would thank him for it.
In his lap sat the files of the three men they sent him here to investigate. He'd already sent his spy to secure her position. His boss, Winston Churchill, ordered him to find out who and why the crate of guns didn't arrive in Libya, as promised. It would be catastrophic if the guns fell into the wrong hands.
He would find who did it and bring them to justice, no matter what.
A sudden knock on his window from the driver informing him that this was as far as he would go. Campbell peered out the window again to see into the darkness of the slums of Small Heath. He had a small army of men coming in to help bolster the ranks of the local Birmingham police force within the next few days.
Unlike those of the Birmingham police force, they wouldn't be swayed into taking bribes and turning their heads at the crime that was committed daily in this city. They would knock on doors, arresting the Communists, ending the strikes at the BSA and helping him find the guns.
And when he found the guns, someone would hang and Chester Campbell would stand there and watch with grim satisfaction.
Exiting the hackney, he carried his bag close to him as he walked the rest of the way toward the small one-bedroom flat they gave him to stay during his time in Birmingham. As he closed the door to the small flat, he sighed, resting his hand over his chest as he finally felt safe.
He sat the files down on the small kitchen table and headed off to bed. Tomorrow, he would begin his search.
Polly sat alone in the church, contemplating everything that happened since her nephews returned home from France. Her thoughts drifted to the family meeting they had a few nights ago and the way Thomas did his best to avoid certain issues. Issues that she knew concerned the family.
She understood that Pack business was for the men in the family, not the women. No Shelby woman would ever shift. Polly understood this and was ready to make herself scarce when Arthur plowed on and aired secrets that didn't need to be aired. She sighed quietly to herself at her eldest nephew's antics. It didn't surprise her when it was announced that Thomas would take over the family business.
What surprised her was the animosity that seemed to be between Arthur and Thomas. When their father left, Arthur became the leader of the Blinders, taking charge as best he could. He wasn't savvy like Thomas, but with brute strength. Being forced to step down angered him greatly.
The incoming Special from Belfast worried her greatly. In the five years she ran the enterprise, not once did she have to worry about coppers sticking their noses into the family business, but the second her nephews returned home, one showed up. It made little sense to her, but she began to realize that something else was afoot.
Thomas' issue with Maze didn't surprise her either. The younger woman confessed to her weeks ago where she was for the past five years. Polly had shouted at her, then hugged her before she understood Maze was a nurse who was needed. However, Thomas' reaction to Maze's duplicity was unexpected.
He showed no interest in Maze's decisions as long as they knew each other. Polly knew they were close, but this new attitude of Thomas' worried her. He was acting like he actually cared for the young woman.
The doors to the church opened, and she could hear footsteps approaching her. Polly didn't move or turn to look because she knew those footsteps belonged to Thomas. She felt his hand brush her back as he stepped into a pew and sat down behind her.
He huffed loudly, taking his seat. "I've got ten minutes. What do you want?"
She said nothing for a second, but lowered her rosary and turned around to look at him. "I know something is going on that you're not telling," she began, eyeing him speculatively.
Thomas paused, not looking at her, and contemplated on what he should tell her. He knew Polly was smart and could keep a secret. He trusted her more than he trusted his own brothers in a situation like this.
Thomas sighed and looked at her once more before he told her.
"A man came to me asking me to acquire four motor bikes from the BSA factory. It was supposed to be an easy retrieval, but I suspect my men found the gin still and grabbed the wrong crate." he paused before look at her before continuing. "Curly came to me and took me to Charlie Strong's to see the merchandise. When we opened it…." he inhaled, "we found twenty-five Lewis Machine guns, 10,000 rounds of ammunition, fifty semi-automatic rifles, and two hundred pistols with shells."
"Jesus…" Polly breathed, turning away from him for a second before looking back. "Tell me you threw them in the cut or left them where the coppers can find them?"
Thomas didn't reply as quickly as she wanted him to. She wanted him to tell her they threw them out. Left them for the coppers to find anonymously, but she could tell there was something cooking in that brain of his. Something she would not like.
"They're in the stables, out of the rain," he answered finally.
Panic flooded her as the implications of what happened settled. If they caught him either selling them or the coppers found out, Thomas would hang for stealing the guns. The pieces fell together as she sat there. That's why there was a copper from Belfast coming to Birmingham. Anger flooded her hearing that he didn't do the right thing.
Fury swept through her as she turned around in the pew and landed blow after blow on his shoulder. He deserved to be hit for the idiotic way he handled this. He should have tossed them the second he opened the crate. Once she finished venting her anger, she twisted her body and sat down hard in the pew.
"Is this the reason for the cop from Belfast?" she demanded, refusing to look at him.
"Maybe... maybe not." he answered, looking at the back of her head.
"Thomas," she leaned close to him, turning her body around to glare at him. "You're a robber, a bookmaker, and a fighting man. You're not a fool. You sell these guns to anyone, you... will… hang. Tell Charlie to dump them tonight."
"No," he whispered. "He won't do it under a full moon."
"Get rid of the guns, Tommy or you'll hang." she snapped, rising from the pew and walking out, leaving him alone.
Thomas sat on a fallen log and toed his boot off. There was a calmness in the woods that he found peaceful since the war ended. Setting his boots to the side, he sighed, placing his hands on his thighs. Behind him, he heard a dozen or more footsteps coming closer to him. A small fire blazed in front of him, keeping him warm from the frigid January cold.
He heard the Pack coming from behind him, their loud voices echoing around the woods.
Thomas shifted uncomfortably on the log and reached to remove his coat and his waistcoat. Neatly, he set them down on the log beside his boots.
"All right, Tommy...you brought us out here in the fucking cold," Arthur said, coming to sit down on the log.
"I need to run," Thomas said quietly, not looking at his brother. He stood and unfastened his trousers, letting them fall to his bare feet.
He could hear the rest of the Pack undressing, dropping their clothes where they stood. The moon would rise in a few brief minutes. Inhaling heavily, the scent of the woods invading his senses, Thomas turned his head toward the moon. He hated it with a passion. He hated the curse but understood what it meant and he knew he couldn't avoid it.
He could feel his Pack behind him. All fifty men. Before the war, there had been sixty but ten perished. He rubbed the back of his head and crouched down to grab a cigarette from his trousers. He lit it quickly and inhaled. This would be the first run of the year.
As the moon rose, he felt the pull of the curse impact him hard. It started at the base of his spine and travelled until he felt it in his brain. He dropped the cigarette in the grass and bent at the waist as pain seared through him. Thomas gasped for air as his body began to shift. No matter how many times he changed from his first shift until he went to war, it always hurt. Though the pain lessened, the more he shifted.
"Fuck, this hurts," he gasped, falling to his knees. He could barely hear Arthur and John swear as the curse took hold.
His body trembled against the change, wishing it wouldn't happen. He could feel the wolf close to the surface of his skin as he took one more gasp of air and released the beast within.
Thomas let out a whimper, the pain rollicking around his joints and his muscles. Laying on the cold ground, he waited for the pain to pass. He rose on four legs a few minutes later, shaking his head. His amber eyes shifted toward the moon, seeing it hang in the night sky. His senses went into overload as the world around him sharpened. He took a step toward the fire; the warmth spreading around his body.
It had been four years since his last shift. It was going to take a few minutes to assimilate into his wolf form. He walked around the fire, keeping close to stay warm. His amber eyes looked around at the forest, the urge to run pushing at him.
He turned his head around to look behind him to see the entire Pack change into their wolf form. They stood waiting restlessly for their leader to start the run. Turning back, he saw the wolf shapes of Arthur and John. Each was waiting for him as well. Though, through the link he shared with the Pack, he could feel Arthur's discontent with him.
Howling at the full moon, Thomas sprinted off, leading the Pack. They would hunt, run and eventually wear themselves out. As he ran through the woods, his Pack followed closely behind him to protect their Alpha. He stopped at the top of a hill and howled again. For the first time in years, he felt free.
Thomas groaned as he awoke the next morning. His body screamed in pain as he rolled to his side. Falling onto his back again, he slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the light from the gas lamp before shutting his eyes again. He laid there in the bed for a few minutes, remembering the night before. His first shift in four years was excruciating.
The run hadn't been all bad, but he didn't expect the morning after to be hellish. Opening his eyes again, he looked around the room and noticed he wasn't in his own bed and he was nearly naked. Wincing, he rose to a sitting position, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel the pain in his head throb behind his eyes.
Swinging his legs over the bed slowly, he pushed himself up to a standing position and searched around the room for his clothes. He found them sitting neatly in a chair, his boots sitting underneath it. Grunting, he pushed down the pain and slowly dressed for the day.
Before he left the room, he stopped at the washbasin. Pouring the lukewarm water into the basin, he grabbed the wash cloth beside it and dunked it into the water before wringing it out. He didn't have time for a proper wash. Finding the bar of soap that was sitting beside the washbasin, he dunked it into the water before washing his hands and arms before moving onto his face.
Feeling slightly better, his stomach growled loudly, reminding him he needed to eat. He left his old room and walked downstairs to the kitchen. He could smell the aroma of breakfast as he walked down the stairs. Following the smell of food, he stopped at the doorway of the kitchen to see his family sitting around the table.
Polly saw him first and rose to make him a plate of food. While her back was turned, Thomas sat down heavily in the chair and tilted his head back to sigh. He mumbled his thanks to her when she sat a plate in front of him. His stomach churned at the sight of the eggs, sausages, and the bread. He picked up his fork and poked at the eggs.
"You look like shit," Arthur said, looking at Thomas over the rim of his cup of tea.
Thomas stared at him pointedly.
"Not like you look any better," Ada muttered, coming into the kitchen. Thomas watched as she walked across the kitchen to cut a thick slice of bread and grabbed the jam before sitting down.
"You need to eat regardless if you look like shit," Polly spoke up, lowering her cup of tea and picking at a thick slice of bread, but abandoned it for the sliced tomatoes.
"How did we get here?" Thomas asked, finally taking a bite after receiving a glare from Polly.
"Stumbled in around four o'clock. Ada and I put the three of you to bed," Polly answered.
"Thanks, Aunt Pol," Arthur said, pushing his empty plate away.
She hummed a little under her breath, but turned to look at Thomas. Polly could see the darkness under his eyes from the lack of sleep the night before. She would suggest they take the day and rest, but she knew her nephews would fight her suggestion.
Thomas pushed the empty plate away from him and stood up. He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time before fixing his waistcoat. "I need to leave," Thomas said, pushing his chair in.
"Where you going?" Arthur asked.
"Yea," John agreed, looking at his older brother.
"There are always things to do," Thomas replied evasively.
That night, a light rain drizzled over Birmingham, coating the buildings and cars with a light sheen. Thomas took the car into the main part of the city for dinner. Since the war ended, there were three new restaurants in Birmingham. The owners seemed to borrow the idea from the French when they came home from the war.
His body still ached from last night's shift. He didn't know if it was from the lack of shifting for four years or his resistance to doing it. Once he left Polly's, he stopped by the Garrison to speak to Harry, then walked to Charlie's to speak to Curly about the horse he used for fixing Billy Kimber's race.
As he stepped outside the Plate House, a small public eating house that served steak and potatoes, he looked around and took a walk. He hadn't gone far when he saw Maze stepping out of the picture house with a man attached to her arm. Thomas narrowed his eyes, seeing her smile up at the man. He stood there, frozen, her eyes flickering toward him as she walked past him. It irritated him she knew he was there, but ignored him.
Following them, he caught up with the couple in seconds. Thomas reached out, grabbing her by the elbow to stop her. He spun her around, pulling her roughly away from her date.
"What do you think you're doing?" Maze hissed, jerking her arm from him.
"Who's he?" Thomas asked, ignoring her question.
"None of your bus-," she began, agitated.
"David Cowly," her date spoke up, clearly not understanding Maze's agitation.
"Oh," Thomas replied, looking the man over. He turned to Maze. "Where did you meet him?"
She glared at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "It's still none of your business, Thomas."
"I work with Maze," David spoke up, looking between them. "Who are you?"
"Thomas Shelby."
Maze sighed, seeing her date's face pale. Apparently, he did know who the Shelby's were.
"Having a good time?" Thomas asked.
"I was," Maze muttered under her breath.
His nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed at her. Thomas said nothing but glared at her. He would catch hell if he forced her to go home and abandoned her date. Looking at David, he didn't like how the man looked at Maze nor himself. Though it pleased him that David seemed to know exactly who Thomas was.
Maybe the prick would make this their only date.
"Look at the time," Maze said, glancing at her wristwatch. "Our picture will start shortly."
"Going to the picture house?" Thomas asked.
Maze sighed at his intolerable behavior. "Why does it matter to you?"
"Just want to know what you're doing," Thomas answered, ignoring David.
Maze scratched her forehead, thinking, "I seem to recall, Thomas, that you weren't my boss." She looped her arm into David's. "We're leaving."
He scowled as she gave her date a tug toward the picture house. Thomas watched them walk inside, Maze giving him a glare before she disappeared. Shoving his hands in his coat, he thought about going into the picture house, just to watch them. He didn't like her being on a date, having another man on her arm that wasn't himself. Thomas paused his step, wondering where that line of thinking stemmed from. Though he never took her anywhere, nor offered her a date.
Her date said he worked with Maze. He knew she worked at the First Southern General Hospital since her arrival from France. Maybe this was where this David Cowly worked. He didn't seem like the soldier type. Thomas knew it would be highhanded, but he would ask around about this man before he'd let Maze go on another date.
As he walked back to his car, he wanted to turn around but didn't want to have a public scene. Starting the engine a few minutes later, Thomas left, ignoring the way the wolf howled in his head.
Arthur Shelby left his house late that evening after spending most of his day at the Betting House, monitoring the horse that Thomas chose for the upcoming race. It unnerved him that his own brother went behind his back to fix a fucking race using Billy Kimber's racetrack.
His relationship with his younger brother, Thomas, changed dramatically since their return from the war. Arthur didn't expect to live through it, but made it back to the shores of England with barely an injury during the four years. Arthur assumed that once they returned, he would keep his position as head of the family and leader of the Blinders.
Somehow, Arthur lost his positions within a matter of weeks. Thomas explained he had a plan for the family. Something to do with making more money and becoming legitimate, he assumed. He never understood the real reason. The dull roar of anger lingered in the back of his mind as the wolf snarled at the loss of power.
If he'd been a different man, he would have been all right with Thomas taking over the Blinders, but his own brother, the Alpha, hadn't called a Pack meeting nor accepted the responsibilities that were thrusted upon him almost a decade ago. When Arthur turned twenty-one, he prayed he would be the first to shift and become the Alpha.
When he didn't, he left Birmingham for a week, binge drinking and whoring in London. Eventually, their father and Thomas travelled to London to drag him back home. Home was where he belonged, even if he would not be Alpha. It became a sore spot for the next few years until Thomas shifted, taking the Alpha title from him.
Although, he realized as he walked down the street, lost in his own mind, not being in charge left him plenty of time to do whatever he wanted. Tommy was busy doing who knows fucking what, leaving Arthur to take the family car to the picture house. On his way there, he found two lovely women who he asked to accompany him.
Entering the foyer of Penny Crush cinema, Arthur tucked one girl under each arm. As they walked up the steps and into the foyer of the cinema. He led the ladies up the steps, hearing the repeated, "I'm sorry Mr. Shelby" as the patrons stepped aside, letting him and his dates pass.
There was something that Arthur found he craved. People stepping aside and letting him pass. The power the Shelby's had over the city gave him a high like no other.
"Right," he commented, turning his head slightly to let the ladies pass him. "This way."
"See ladies," he continued as they walked into an empty cinema. "When you're with a Blinder, you don't have to queue."
They quickly found their seats, taking the middle three of row ten. "Now," Arthur said, sitting down as one girl sat on each side of him, "I want a blowjob from the both of you before they let the normal people in."
The girls giggled, looking at each other in amusement, but neither would deny a Shelby something when they asked for it. Before the girls could lean over to unfasten his trousers, Arthur felt strong hands jerk him out of his chair.
"Who the fuck are you?" Arthur demanded hotly. "Don't you know who I fucking am?!"
He fought like a wild animal to break free from the grip of the two men who hauled him out of the empty cinema and into the foyer, where people stopped to watch the scene before them. Arthur finally got a good look at two men and cursed seeing it was coppers.
They dragged him outside and toward a black truck with double doors. Two more coppers stood waiting for Arthur Shelby and opened the doors as the two hauling him threw him inside. The doors closed quickly before it began moving a few minutes later. Arthur didn't know what they were taking him in for, but he understood when no one answered him it would not be good.
Half an hour later, Arthur was tied to a chair, sitting alone in a small room. His back faced away from the long hallway as they dragged him down. He looked at the brick wall surrounding him and waited.
He didn't have to wait long. With his keen hearing, he could hear footsteps approaching. There was more than one set and he hardened his body to prepare itself for whatever they had planned. Arthur looked up and saw who it was before the first copper landed a heavy blow to the side of his head.
That started a round of beating him senseless as they tied him up in the chair. Arthur jerked his head back and forth, mostly trying to keep it lowered so they didn't mangle his face. He shot his leg out to kick one copper when that backfired. Pain seared up his leg when one copper kicked his knee.
He felt his hair being pulled tightly, jerking his head back, his face exposed to the coppers as each of them punched his face hard enough to break skin. When he felt like he couldn't take another heavy blow, he heard a voice behind them.
"Gentlemen, I think that's enough."
The coppers stood back, waiting for their next round of beating Arthur senseless. The one that spoke walked around to face him. Glaring up at him, Arthur realized this was the Special from Belfast.
"Mr. Arthur Shelby, the leader of the Peaky Blinders," the man said, walking around in a circle, forcing Arthur to follow him.
Arthur glared at him, but said nothing. Whatever this was, Thomas was going to be yelled at later.
"Let me introduce myself. I am Chester Campbell, Chief Inspector from Belfast," Campbell said, slowing his step to a stop in front of Arthur. For a moment, nothing else was said as Campbell looked over at Arthur, trying to determine how to handle this.
Arthur glared at him, unsure of what to come next, when Campbell raised his fist and punched him in the face, knocking Arthur back into his chair further. He coughed harshly as pain seared in his head. He, like Thomas and John, could hear the wolf snarling….wishing to break free and destroy the Inspector.
"Now, I am going to ask you a few questions and I want you to tell me the truth," Campbell said, stepping back from Arthur.
Arthur coughed, spitting blood onto his suit. He twisted his arms behind him, trying to break free. He knew if he could, there wasn't anything he could do to defend himself except to fight. The coppers cleaned him of his gun, knife, and hat.
"There is a rumor there was a robbery at the beginning of the year, Mr. Shelby," Campbell said quietly.
"What robbery?" Arthur asked, turning to look at Campbell. "I don't know about a fucking robbery."
That wasn't the answer Campbell was looking for. Quickly, a copper used a knife to cut the bindings, leaving Arthur's arms loose. Campbell reached around and twisted Arthur's arm hard until he heard a quiet popping noise. Arthur screamed from the rush of pain.
"I will ask you again, what do you know about a robbery?" Campbell whispered, letting go of Arthur's dislocated arm.
"I still don't know what you're talking about!" Arthur shouted, growing angrier at the interrogation.
With a deft movement of his hand, Campbell grabbed two of Arthur's fingers and jerked them, dislocating them from their joints. Grunting in pain again, Arthur vowed this asshole was going to die soon.
Campbell jerked him upright, forcing Arthur to look at him in the eye. "You know, after being on the force for over thirty years, I can tell when someone is telling the truth." Campbell paused, looking Arthur over, and gazed into the man's eyes. "I believe you're telling the truth. You don't know about the robbery."
"I told you I fucking didn't!" Arthur spat, glaring at Campbell. "I'm not fucking lying!"
"I know you're not lying. But you know someone who does," Campbell goaded.
This stopped Arthur short. He knew many people who robbed from others. It could be any of them.
"You need to understand something, Mr. Shelby. It's well within my power to have your family executed before the end of the year." Campbell paused, watching Arthur's expression before continuing, "However, if you help me, I'll help you." Campbell said quietly before walking away from Arthur, letting the man stew over the Inspector's words.
Two coppers roughly jerked Arthur from his chair and dragged him through the police station until they were outside. Dropping him like yesterday's refuse, Arthur laid there for a minute before gathering himself to his feet. He squinted against the bright sunlight of the morning and cursed as he realized he'd been in the cell for hours, though it seemed like minutes.
Stumbling, he made his way toward Polly's where he could hopefully find Thomas and ask him the burning question that plagued his mind since the Inspector asked.
Two days later, Chester Campbell climbed the steps to the Birmingham Museum and Arts Gallery. His purpose there wasn't to walk around and admire the many artworks, statues and antiques. Nay, it was to speak privately to his spy. He figured it was a place that no Shelby would ever step into, making it a good place to talk.
Entering the room that exhibited Classical Roman sculptures and artwork, he stood waiting patiently for his spy. As he waited, he glanced over at the sculpture in front of him, slightly impressed with the artist's work.
He heard her heels before he saw her. "Are you in position?"
Grace stepped out from her hiding spot and looked at Campbell. "I am, sir."
"First impressions?"
"I'm quite shocked at how these people live," she said, disgusted by the job they forced her to take on.
"Yes, their lewd and criminal ways churn my stomach, keep me up at night as well," Chester said, following her to another room.
"It strikes me that Arthur isn't the leader of the Blinders," Grace spoke quietly, walking around as if observing the sculptures in front of her, "But I think it's the other one, Thomas, that you're looking for."
"Are you for certain that Thomas is the leader?" Chester noted, hearing how she spoke about them.
Grace nodded her head sharply at her superior. "I am uncertain, but the possibility is great." Grace assured him confidently. "I will still help take down the Blinders. We will find what we were sent here for."
"But you're worried," Chester spoke, seeing Grace's face falter.
"Whatever you're looking for can't fall into the hands of the IRA," she brought up.
"You must not let personal issues cloud your judgement," he chastised gently.
"They won't," she reassured him.
Chester, understanding where she was coming from based on her life experiences with gangs and the IRA, sought to soothe her, "Your father would be very proud of you."
Those words struck a chord in Grace as Chester walked off, leaving her to her assignment and her thoughts.
