Alfie
Well, this isn't good.
He heard the screams before he saw the man. The fog was too damn thick to make out much of anything until he was within a few feet of the man, but he saw wasn't good. Thomas Shelby was facing him, a gun jammed to the side of his head, screaming bloody murder.
Alfie decided it probably wouldn't be the best idea to tell the man wife number three had left with the children. He had seen a tall brunette woman holding two small children by the hand, one blonde boy, one dark-haired girl into a car and speeding away as if escaping from the fires of hell. He couldn't say he blamed the woman after hearing about the botched assassination attempt. She probably had put two and two together that Shelby was involved in it somehow. And what a botched job it was. Shelby, standing by Mosley waiting for the shot that would send Mosley toppling to the ground and it never came. Then the riots.
"Thomas! Shalom!" He said, waving his hands in front of his face, trying to get the man's attention. What could be wrong with the expression of peace?
He drew closer, hands raised, trying to get the mans' attention. The scream sounded inhuman, filled with rage.
Tommy
Footsteps crunching on the frozen ground reached his ears. A tall figure in a black cloak cut through the fog. He thought of the scarecrow planted in his field by the Billy Boys. He thought of the grim reaper.
"Shalom Thomas! Shalom!"
"It's all done Tommy," Grace whispered in his ear.
It's time you drown like your gypsy mother. It's time to float down the river on The January with Grace's ghost. It's what you deserve.
That voice was low, breathy, but not Grace's. It was a nagging, pulling voice, tempting him to pull the trigger.
Listen to the voices that you hear.
"IT'S ALL DONE!" He screamed.
"What do you mean it's all done? Alfie's question bounced back to him. It hasn't even started. You didn't kill your man yet." Alfie cupped his large hands over his mouth.
Tommy turned and saw that Grace was gone.
"Think of yer image, Thomas. "Let's keep this between us, between friends. No need for any of our associates to see this yeah?"
We're not fucking friends.
"Don't come any closer!"
"I'm an ally, Thomas. I'm no black cat. Hate the mangy little buggers. Now dogs… Aw shit there he is,"
The bullmastiff bounded past Shelby, appearing as if out of thin air, cut through the fog and barreled towards its master. "He's supposed to think I'm dead. Ah well, he's got my scent. It's all done for now." Tommy watched him rough house with the dog.
"Good Cyril. Good boy. All right Tommy, let's get inside. This cold is bad for the bones and smog isn't good for the lungs. "Put the gun down yeah?"
He could feel it, his resolve slipping, just like it had slipped when he had Alfie's life in his hands on the beach. He lowered the gun, slowly.
"That's it. There we go. It looks warm inside, downright cozy. We'll go in there eh Cyril?"