Chapter 28) Weighing war

.-.-.

One of the last people Tommy expected to see sitting at his hospital bed was Vicente Changretta.

Shocked he stared through his one good eye at the Italian who tipped his fedora hat up respectfully.

His surprise rapidly replaced itself to rage, because the nerve. The fucking nerve.

With a mixture of painkillers and spurring adrenaline Tommy's eye shot through the room, in desperate search for anything that could possible be used as a weapon. The fact that he could barely keep his chin up momentarily wiped itself from his brain.

"Tommy, relax," Arthur's voice ordered him short but steady.

Dumbfounded, he paused his scavengers hunt and tilted his head to the right. His brother sat beside him, strangely calm about the Italian sitting in their middle.

"He's not here to retaliate," Arthur explained, narrowing his eyes at the Godfather of the Italian district, "on the contrary."

The elderly man brought down his hat to his lap. Wiping a silken handkerchief over his thinning hairline, Vicente broadened his shoulders.

"We are all terribly shocked and sorry for my cousin's outrageous behavior. I can ensure you the rest of the family were not in anyway aware of his plans." Vicente nervously stared from one Shelby to the other.

"I'm here to beg for the safety of the rest of my family. We've never had any bad blood between our family or businesses. We've kept on our side, welcomed your men in our restaurants and clubs. I plead to you, mister Shelby," the Italian turned fully to Tommy, clasping his hands together, "that you won't spill unnecessary blood. I have innocent children and grandchildren."

"Do you honestly think we'll let Russo's actions go with a blink of an eye?" Arthur stated coldly, "look what your kind did to my brother." He snapped, extending his arm to Tommy's mangled form.

"If this is about money, I can insure you-" Vicente started but Arthur cut him immediately off.

"-Fuck you and your money, what we want is Russo's head on a stick. You get us have Russo, we'll do the rest. We all know your lot doesn't like to get their hands dirty," Arthur added snarling.

Tommy felt like a passive bystander and couldn't do much more than stare from one gang leader to the other. He was honestly impressed that Arthur wasn't at the Italian's throat by now and although he couldn't mingle into the conversation, he liked where things were going.

"You want no innocent blood on your hands, you deliver us Russo," Arthur stated, giving Tommy a sideway glance. Tommy nodded weakly and quickly stared at Vicente.

The Italian paled and his forehead creased. Giving the two Peaky men a quick once-over he whispered pleadingly. "I can't sell out my blood, not even his. Besides we don't know where he is."

Arthur's nostrils flared and he banged his fist down on the iron cart next to Tommy's bed, shocking both men.

"Bullshit and you know it!" His brother snapped agitated. "Your lot don't know where Russo is? His own fucking family doesn't know where he is? What do you take me for?" With a skillful swifty move he reached for his revolver, alerting the Italian. But instead of aiming at Vicente he took one bullet out and tost it at the Italian's feet.

"That's one bullet, going through one meatball's skull. I haven't named it yet. You decide Changretta between who's eyes it's going to fit. Take it home, place it on your fucking mantelpiece. Look at it everytime you go to bed until you've decided who's name belongs on that bullet. You have one week. And don't worry, you don't have ta return it, we have plenty more."

"Senor Shelby, Arthur," Vicente muttered, probably hoping their personal history might mellow the deadly promise, "we've known eachother since you where a young boy. My wife taught you and your brother's their ABC's-"

"- I'm well aware your family has done us good in the past," Arthur cut in roughly, "and that's the only reason we haven't burned one of your businesses down. But this is the presence. And the fact is that right now my brother is in the fucking hospital because your blood nearly beat the life out of him. You have one week Changretta, to hand over Russo alive. One week."

The last bit of color drained from Changretta's face, flickering his gaze back and forth between the two Blinders, hoping for a shimmer of compassion.

But the determinant stare of Arthur and Tommy's one eyed scowl spoke volumes. The Italian wouldn't be counting on any bit of mercy.

"I promise you, we don't know where he is," Changretta pledged sincere.

"Then stop wasting your valuable time and start searching for him." Arthur advised him darkly, "one week, or we'll use your family for target practise."

The death threat struck a nerve in the Italian. "Do that and we are at war."

"Wouldn't be our first and we came back alive." Arthur retorted. "One week."

An inwards conflict made Vicente Changretta clench his jaw, eyes shifting between the two Blinder devils. When no straw of pity lay in reach, the old Italian stood up and left without a word, leaving the two Blinders in silence, both lost in thoughts.

Arthur leaning forward, elbows supporting on his knees. Hunched, he ran his hands through his slick hair and cleared his throat.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly and sank his hand into his pocket. Pulling a bunch of wrinkled pieces of paper out, Arthur reached for the pencil on the floor. Bluntly his brother pressed the pencil into Tommy's left hand.

"Write Tom. Anything," Arthur's word seemed like an order, but the way he glanced at Tommy made it clear it was a secret plea, "you're my advisor. So advise."

Glacing from his overwrought older brother down to the wrinkled pieces of paper Tommy twined his fingers firmly around the pencil.

With great difficulty Tommy brought the charcoal down on paper and scribbled two almost illegible words.

Good job.

Arthur's eyes beamed with pride when he read the meaningful compliment. His tense bearing eased. Encourage by Tommy's two worded note Arthur started to fill his brother in about all recent progress.

Last night Arthur and John had a meeting in the Chinese district, with the Red Dragon to seal their deal. Arthur had asked John to take Ai along, because he didn't know shit about the Chinese culture.

"With my luck, I'd accidentally insulting their bloody ancestors and fuck the whole thing up." Arthur muttered humored.

The Red Dragon knew about Tommy's whereabouts before Arthur had the chance to pardon on Tommy's behalf. The Chinese kingpin even spoke himself, ordering Arthur to give Tommy his best wishes.

Storage, Tommy scribbled down with chicken tracks.

"Pol has that all covered up. I honestly think she enjoys being in charge of our only semi-legal business." Arthur sniggered.

Previous to Tommy's kidnapping Polly had managed to buy the small bakery Tommy had asked her to. Under a false name. It was located at the end of Bethram Road, close to the Chinese district and far-off from the police station. Polly had also hired a professional baker named Mr Thaddeus Wilkins. The poor old man had been fired from his previous job due to his sore back and inability to perform heavy lifting. The man had been thrilled and near tears when Polly gave him the job, promising that two youngsters would escort him to pick up the flour. All he had to do was sit at the wain while the boys loaded the wagon, and then transport it back to the bakery. Mister Wilkins had two more positive attributes, his eyesight was drastically deteriorating and his wife mentioned he was getting senile. He wouldn't be getting in their way while baking sellibel bread. At the front door of their shop they'd be a believable bakery, while dealing cocaine underneath the counter.

The two youngsters would be Blinders of course, handpicked by Polly herself. They'd be completely informed about their main business and know the full consequence if they'd utter a single word to the coppers. Those three would be operating the bakery and Polly would keep a sharp eye. Once the word was on the street they'd be needing more workers, but this was a good start.

"Polly picked Scudboats kid and Jeremiah's cousin," Arthur informed Tommy, "good strong lads, like their fathers. With a good pair of brains."

All the pieces had fallen into place. Tommy felt a tremendous boost of vanity. A watery smile even dared to creep upon his face.

That was all gratification Arthur needed.

"Congratulations brother, as for today us Shelby's have one semi-legal business. And as for today, the Peaky Blinders are the biggest cocaine dealers of Birmingham."

Arthur took out a small metal box originally used for snuff tobacco, but now filled with a white powdered content.

"Wasn't sure if it's wise to bring this along, but the hell with it, you want a line Tom?"

Oh and did he! Tommy was pretty certain it was against medical advice and hospital policy. But fuck that, a rush -any rush- was more than welcome.

Arthur prepared a line and reached forward to help Tommy snort the powder of the metal lid.
The mixture of cocaine, morphine and the thrill of actually succeeding his master plan gave Tommy an intense euphoria.

Arthur snorted a line and laughed, moral was back at its peak.

Tommy's fingers curled back around the pencil and he wrote: Destroy Amico.

Arthur read the message and knew Tommy was referring to a small Italian restaurant across The Shepherd. A theatrical move, since the word Amico meant friend. But Tommy knew the Italians would be impressed by such dramatic statement. It would get them on their toes to say the least. An actual war was the last thing on Tommy's agenda, but if they wouldn't bend through their knees and give Russo up, death and destruction would be their only answer. And Vicente would know it.

"You're right Tom, we need those Meatballs to know we're serious. If they want a war, they'll be getting it. I'll see to it."

Being patted on his good shoulder his brother got up.

"I gotta get going, Tom. Don't be a handful to those pretty nurses and get well fast. I'd love to show you our bakery. And our dough of course." Winking Arthur waved him off and Tommy caught himself saluting back with a sloppy grin plastered on his face.

One month. He'd been out of the stables for a month. And in that time he'd managed to connect with the Chinese, gain enough wealth to buy a thousand kilo of cocaine and found a semi-legal way to export it.

Of course, he'd also been beaten into a puddle of blood. And if Russo's head wasn't on a stick at the end of the week they would start a bloody war, striving on the wrath of the Italians.

But every few steps forward would mean a possible setback.

They'd simply do what they've always been doing. If some asshole downtrodden them, they'd get back up their feet. Brush their clothes off and shoot the fucker between the eyes.

They were the Shelby's. The fucking Peaky Blinders. And for every Italian that dared to cross them, they'd cut them a smile each.

.-.-.

The cocaine infused morphine rush kept his personal nurse baffled at his heart rate. She'd even rushed in a doctor for a second opinion. It had been quite entertaining to see the hospital staff panic and fuss over his alerting pulse.

What was less entertain where the following blood tests and them changing his fucking catheter. Which, may have been was a plus because he raised hell when the nurse wanted to catheterize him again.

The nurse slammed the pottery down on his iron cart after he nearly punched her in the nose. Self absorbed he blew her a kiss. Victory. Little of his disheveled self esteem restored. At least he was able to take a piss like a human being again.

The evening was a wee-bit of a hell, since he wasn't on good terms with his nurse she 'accidently' forgot to give him a dose of morphine. But he choked through four hours of pain, biting the inside of his cheek, because there was no way in hell that he was going to plead for a fix.

Nightstaff took over and shortly after midnight a new nurse came to his bedside. She noticed the beads of sweat on his forehead and grinding teeth.

Somewhere half past midnight the pain was endurable enough to drift into sleep.

Waking up disoriented by time and place Tommy managed to reach for his chamberpot. Hurling up bile he took a mental note that cocaine, pain and morphine wasn't the greatest combination in history.

A new nurse emptied his chamberpot, wiped off his chin and offered him a fresh glass of water. After changing his IV she got him breakfast, which he decided to eat. Yesterday's revelations stirred up his will to get out of the hospital.

Munching on a piece of toast he carefully examined his face with the fingertips. The swelling seemed to lessen and he gained the use of his right eye as long as he squeezed it wide open.

His right hand, still completely unusable for fighting, writing or driving. But he could use his fingers without sending white hot jolts of pain to through his shoulder. Of course the morphine was a valuable asset to that. Still, the muscles in his right limb felt less tense, as long as he kept his arm relaxed inside the sling.

Overall, he wasn't in the worst state considering Russo's torture.

With his left hand he lifted his sheets and he crawled into a sitting position. Wearing nothing more than a hospital gown made a small shiver ran up his spin.

Careful he swung one leg over the edge of the bed. Shifting in bed was painful, but possible and soon his other foot dangled next to the other.

Now standing, that was going to be like Russian roulette. There was a small change that his feet where strong enough to carry his weight. But there was a much bigger change that his knees would buckle and he'd drop his bare ass next to the bed.

Weighing out his two options he was surprised by his aunt Pol, Arthur and John marching in. Was it visiting hours? That would mean he'd slept for an awfully long time. But then again, he didn't think his family would actually give a rats ass about hospital policy.

"You're up." Polly stated.

'Trying to,'Tommy gave her a sarcastic thumbs up halting his actions. If he was going to drop down his on his bloody ass he'd rather not do that in front of a crowd. Reluctant he scooped his legs back in bed and pulled the sheets up to his belly.

"Arthur ordered four of our men to burn down one of Vicente's restaurants!"

"Burned it to the ground Tom," Arthur informed him proud.

If looks could kill… Polly quickly continued, nostrils flaring up and eyes turning dark, "what the bloody hell Thomas? Vicente came to you to ensure you he had nothing to do with Russo. I believe him, Tom."

"Doesn't matter Polly, that's what I've told you at the house," Arthur grunted, "it's not about good faith. It's about sending a message."

Polly's eyes narrowed and drilled into Tommy's. "You honestly want to start a vendetta over one man?"

Tommy stoically stared back and slowly nodded his head. It wasn't about one man. As Arthur mentioned, it's about sending a message. And this one was quite clear: Don't fuck with the Peaky Blinders. And if their message wouldn't strike enough fear, then yes. An eye for an eye. War.

"Why can't we simply focus on finding Russo?" Polly exclaimed. "He's the root of our evil, not Vicente Changretta and his family."

"Russo is his fucking family!" John retorted back. "Tom and Arthur are right Pol. This is no time to cut those meatballs any slack. We'll burn down every one of 'em pubs, restaurants and shops until that cockroach crawls out."

Polly wanted to respond to John, but Maria turned cautiously around the corner, being Polly new aim.

"Didn't I specifically tell you to stay at the reception until we're done?!" The older lady snapped at the girl.

"I think I know where Russo is," Maria blurted, silencing everyone in the room, "it's rather shocking how easily people forget you're there if you're spending hours and hours reading at a reception," she mentioned casual, "I overheard two nurses gossiping to each other, about an Italian being hospitalised at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital."

"And how are you so sure they were talking about Russo?" Polly rebuked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, how many fat selfabsorved Italians do you know who are hospitalized due to their cock nearly cut off?" Maria responded with a strange mixture of shame and pride.

John and Arthur exchanzed alerted gazes and Polly gasped for air. Queen Elizabeth Hospital was about four miles away from Birmingham's General hospital and if you rushed you'd be there in approximately fifteen minutes.

Tommy's two brother's morphed into bloodhounds, fuming and ready for blood, now that there was a possible location of their prey. Polly noticed the bloodlust in her nephews eyes and took the role of the huntress, leashing her bloodhounds before they could storm into something considerable foolish.

"Wait, we need to think this through!" She commanded, halting two men at the door.

"We can think in the fucking car!" Arthur barked back, "we're not letting him get away!"

Polly stared agitated at the two disappearing backs of John's and Arthur's. Momentarily she seemed uncertain about staying with Tommy or joining her two nephews. She settled with the last, probably worried for another meeting with another director in case Arthur found it necessary to pull his gun on a nurse again. Or having either John and Arthur to commit a execution in plain sight.

"You stay here!" She ordered Maria, pointing at the girl as if she was to blame for it, "and I hope for your sake there is a sign of Russo at Elizabeth's!"

A little edgy Maria plopped down on one of the seats near Tommy's bed.

"I hope there isn't another circumcised fat selfabsorved Italian in Elizabeth," Maria muttered more to herself then to Tommy, knowing Polly's wrath would not to be taken lightly if it turned out she'd be wrong.

Tommy passively been taking in all the action and turmoil around him. Clearly he didn't have a saying over the matter. No-one even bothered to ask him what to do with Maria's possible clue and it bothered him, more than he was able to express. It started to eat him up, he wasn't able to communicate in a degree that people took him serious. Sure Arthur had been at his side, asking for guidance. But in the moment of heath and action his brothers had failed to consider him. And it wasn't like he could do much about it.

"Doctor Rivers, I wake up every morning wishing I didn't," Maria whispered frail and bow her head ashamed as Tommy's head snapped to her side.

Unable to look him in the eyes, Maria took out Tommy's old notebook and placed it purposefully on Tommy's nightstand.

"I've considered eating a bullet more times then I can count," Maria quoted by memory.

Tommy's mouth fell slightly ajar and he froze on the bed. She'd read his notes, he realised horrified.

"I've burned those two pages," Maria managed to say. Was that a simple statement or a silent promise to keep his suicidal thoughts a secret?

Maria's nervous tick started to play up, the girl was fumbling her sleeves, biting her busted lower lip. If she'd get going at it, she'd split it right back open.

Watching her in broad daylight, his speaker seemed different. Changed, but he couldn't put his finger on the specific difference. The henna of her short hair had been washed out, leaving her with a dull copper tint. The cut in her forehead and upper lip stood out to her pale complexion, a painful reminder of Tommy's shortcomings. He should have been able to protect her, he'd given her his word after all. I will try to keep your fragile Catholic soul away from the worst bits that come with the job.

Instead of doing what he'd promised he'd dragged her along through hell. And maybe that was it. The minimal yet noticeable change in her bearing, the constant alertness in her blue doo-eyes. It wasn't one single aspect of change, it was every little detail.

Russo's grudge had taken its toll on her, in more ways than just her physical injuries. Watching one men torture another, it created tiny hair cracks in her soul. Being forced down on her knees as a whore, brought out another part of neither herself nor Tommy thought she'd possess.

She'd drawn blood and from what Tommy had been able to see, she'd cut the bastard good.

And now she had to learn to live with that part of herself, along with the solid realisation of what a human could do to another human. Tommy knew she'd seen bits and piece of his torment and he knew what he'd sounded like. It hadn't been pretty to watch, if he'd been in her place he'd would have tried to look away too, disgusted by the sick game Russo loved to play.

But he'd been at war, he'd seen worse. Much worse. And he was a man. He'd been a survivor, from the moment he could remember.

She came from a completely other world. One he envied, deep down inside. She had a decent upbringing, parental restrictions, safety and love.

Most of which she'd already lost the moment she'd buried her father and brother. Then her childhood house turned into ashes, followed by a disastrous new home in Small Heath, with family that didn't want her. Yes, any kind of hope for her future had desecrated the moment she sat foot in Birmingham.

But up upon their shared dread in Russo's basement Maria managed to see the good in people. She'd even managed to see some good in him. Even after everything he'd done to her.

That was what had changed. She now knew, from first hand experience what life as a Blinder ment. He'd succeeded to corrupt her, which he'd been planning to do since he decided he was going to use her as his personal speaker.

Was it regret he felt in the pit of his stomach? Regret of tagging her along on his path? Leading the life of a cutthroat gangster had been inevitable for him, with a father like his and, well that was it, being violent and wicked was in his genes.

You have your mother's common sense and your father's devilment, it was what Polly use to tell him. What she'd still tell him every once in a while, if he was taking things to far. It was Polly's way of warning him to take a step back, reminding him how much alike his father he could be if he'd undeliberately would push himself to it.

At times it was just easier to be cold and callous. It where his angel and demon, always fighting on his shoulders. His soft side, the part of him that sollomly lived to protect and care, would always demolish under his father's ferocious upbringing. His father literally beat it in to be selfish and remorseless. It was a constant battle inside his head, but the outcome was always the same, a blend of both the angel as the devil; keep his kin safe against all cost.

So, where did that place her then?

Was she something he considered as a mere asset to his goal? Could he live with himself if he'd plainly use her? To everyone around him he'd kept up that act. He'd beaten her uncle senseless to score points, stolen her back from Russo, all because she happened to be his voice. He'd arranged a roof over head, to make sure she'd been cooperative. It was easy to note those for his reasoning.

But didn't he fail to fall asleep when he noticed she'd locked the door on him? Hadn't he been dead-set bringing her family back to Watery Lane in one piece? It wasn't just to seal the deal, it had to do with restoring some balance between the both of them. He needed her to know there was some good left inside of him, not for the sake of her cooperation, but for his sake.

She mattered, Tommy wasn't sure unto what extent, but she mattered. To him. And that realisation left him on edge, because he wasn't sure what to make of it, or what to do with it.

She mattered, because when she'd pulled the gun on herself in the basement, he'd been fully aware she'd done it to save him.

Oddly enough that made him feel worse, because she was holy Mary, the fragile, gullible girl that had been thrown into his lap. She'd done everything in her power to save him, while he'd done everything in his power to damage himself.

For months he'd manage to stay in a constant intoxicated state, with a clear death wise in the back of his mind. He would never blow his brains out, but if he'd got so drunk and died, well that would have been a convenient way out. That would leave his family devastated, but wouldn't burden them with the shame of his suicide. It would be an accident, a very convenient accident.

"I know you don't believe in God, Tommy," Maria carefully continued, "and therefore don't believe in heaven nor hell. But I do. And I don't want you to go to hell."

Tommy understood the deeper meaning behind her words. Taking your own life didn't go well with the Lord Almighty and would cast him far away from heaven and all eternity.

She didn't want him to go to hell, valualling her words he suddenly wondered what he was to her.

As the thought crossed his mind he immediately tangled it, muted it and forced it into the farest corner of his head. He shouldn't linger on a possible maybe or what if, hope was the worst pain. It was easier to simply shut everything and everyone out, it was painful too, but bearable.

There was just things that simply weren't accesebble for him anymore and in spite of his heartache he needed to learn to coop with that.

It was bearable if everything stayed just the way things where, it was easier, endurable and tolerable. He was out of the stables and back with his kin, he'd remain Arthur's adviser and have a loyal voice. And that was all that mattered, those were the few things he needed to maintain.

Be an asset to his family and not lose his fucking mind. Two things, that wasn't much. That should be doable, even for a crippled like him.

He eyed back at here, scanning her face for any possible hints of her thoughts. Her emotions where clear, Polly scared her, Russo fucking scarred her and she wasn't lying about the fact that she didn't want him to commit suicide. Her reasoning behind that though, remained a question, one he rather not ask.

"I got you something else, please do not tell Polly," Maria pressed urgently as by a miracle she took out a package of cigarettes, "there John's I think. I didn't ask, so," uncomfortably she scrunched her nose and flipped the box open, "don't tell him either."

Unskilled she placed a cigarette between her lips and fiddled to lit a match. Smoke drifted from her nostrils as she lit the cigarette. Careful and overly gentle she took the cigarette from her lips and place it between Tommy's. Blowing out the match she nudged both the packages underneath his pillow.

"There's only four left, just so you know." She informed him in secret.

Tommy was taken off guard to say the least, letting the cigarette balance between his lips. Trying to remember when he'd smoked his last cigarette he inhaled deep, thankful for her offer.

So besides a lair, a cheat he'd also turned her into a thief, her father must be turning in his grave. Deprived from nicotine Tommy sucked passionately on his cigarette until he felt a little light headed.

Maria sat aside him, strangely content with him puffing and sighing.

T-a-l-k, Tommy signed with stiffened fingers.

It caught her off guard, she'd been stuck in her own trainwreck of thoughts. Her lips fell slightly ajar, giving the impression of a child being caught in the act.

"About what?" She asked, eyes fluttering everywhere.

A-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, he signed back. The pain started to coach itself back through his system as his morphine level started to wear down. It would take about an hour until his next fix so he could really use some distraction.

"Happy or sad?"

H-a-p-p-y, he choose. In his state he honestly could use a little bit of happiness.

Maria puckered her lips, brows frowning thoughtfully. A genuine smile filled up her face, a humored glance flickering in her eyes.

"I once pushed my brother into a beehive," she confessed, "It was on accident, we didn't know what it was. I lost my balance and David, well he ended up face first in the hive. We had to run across two acres to get rid of all the bees. You should have seen his face!" Reliving the memory Maria sniggered and set back on her seat, feet swinging as another memory bubbled up.

"Me and David once made May piss herself. We made up a tale about our scarecrow, that it came to live at night. After dinner David hid underneath their bunkbed wearing rags and a hollowed out pumpkin over his head. May literally pissed herself when David crawled up from under her bed, the twins screamed so loud dad rushed up with a hammer," Maria giggled while swinging with her legs, "David got backhanded and I had to wash out all the clothes and linen. It was worth it though. That was probably the worst thing I've ever done, back then," she added saddened. Her eyes lost their lively spark momentary, but she must have sensed his need for any kind of cheerfulness and so she continued.

"We used to have pet pig, named Gilbert. I must have mentioned him before. He was the scraniest of scraniest and the youngest. Dad didn't think he'd make it, but the four of us were dead set on keeping him alive. And he lived, like a king in France, we fed him every little crumb we could miss. When Christmas came around dad wanted to slaughter him. We used to have lots of friends and family over during Christmas and Gilbert would be the perfect centerpiece. I don't think I've ever cried so much for an animal, David threatened to run away and the twins held their breath until April fainted." She grinned content.

"We ate pheasants that year, dad shot them himself and Gilbert was granted absolution. It was my first Christmas miracle I think."

Tommy took it all in with a blank face. The adoration of the young woman towards her past and family was beautiful to see, yet bittersweet. If she'd had the choice she'd rather live in the past, that much was clear. She used to live a unworldly, simple life which she'd been more then content with.

And now she sat here happily reminiscing over her youth. With a busted lip and a large cut on her forehead, contently watching her beat up employer illegally smoking a cigarette. If someone would have told her this was her future, she must have laughed and called them silly.

Silly, Tommy snorred, the tip of his lip turning up into a asymmetrical grin, silly, yes that would be her pick of word.

His words would have been fucking nuts, if someone would have told him he'd be grinning at a working class lass, with a busted lip and a cut across her forehead, while laying in a hospital bed. Fucking nuts, if someone would have told him he'd be willingly to sacrifice his life over a gorge girl with no direct value. Fucking nuts, to enjoy her silly collection of happy memories while sucking on a stolen cigarette, with a face the devil wouldn't even spit on.

.-.-.

Sorry for the delay and possible horrible grammar errors. This chapter was completed more than a week ago. But my beta-read seems to have vanished.

I'd like to once more address that English isn't my first language and I have dyslexia. So I am looking for a beta-reader. If I can't find a new one, I won't be posting more chapters and if I will they'll have a degree of grammar error. So please, if you can help me, send me a message!

About the chapter. I like how Arthur and Tommy teamed up during their meeting with Vincente. The next part of the chapter really took a whole other turn then I first intended. But it wrote itself and when I read through it again I didn't want to change any of it. I think it was about time for Tommy to have some thought about his speaker and get a little personal. I like that he doesn't want to open himself up for any possibility, he can't even think of letting someone in. His self loathing towards his handicap is more severe then I intended to do, but it's working rather well.

And Maria, I hope her character development is believable. I really like her, she's so out of place in this world, torn between her upbringing and Tommy's way of life.

Xoxox Nukyster