"Ain't it lovely, Tommy Shelby's getting married," Alfie Solomons said, stroking his wild brown beard and looking across his "bakery," watching his spy out of the corner of his eye who had brought him the news of Mr. Shelby's pending nuptials.

"To a rich lady it seems," he mused, pausing to twirl his beard around his fingers. "Isn't that lovely?" he asked, raising his voice. "Tell me you think that's lovely." He smiled encouragingly at the man.

"It's lovely sir."

Alfie swore and banged his large calloused fist against his desk.

""No it's not lovely! Do you think it's lovely that the man who planted a grenade in MY BAKERY is allowed to get married?"

"No sir."

Alfie rolled his eyes upwards. Thomas Shelby, the slaughtered goat had threatened to blow his distillery sky high like the cold reptile he was, was getting married. He raised a hand and rubbed it across his beard again.

He's a bold one. I'll give him that.

Who would have thought the little lad would be getting married, and to a rich girl who lived in a castle. The not so slaughtered goat was doing well for himself.

"Well, nothing to be done but to congratulate him, give him a "good job mate" and to kill his girl," he rattled off. He paused, noticing the nervous expression on the spy's face as he reached for his hammer that he kept propped alongside his desk. Alfie gripped the wood in his hands, squinted, studied it a moment, at the dried blood on the hammer then looked up and grinned at the man, who had turned milk white.

"Won't be needing this today. Won't be doing any killing today, eh?. Best take a walk. Stretch me legs." He noticed the man was still standing there, unsure of what to do. Alfie made his decision for him.

"Off with you! Don't want to see yer godawful face, alright?"

Alfie thoroughly enjoyed the confusion and intimidation his words brought about in his staff. Ending sentences as questions when he wasn't actually asking a question, and all the various rambling ways of speaking never failed to entertain him and keep the lads in line. Little boys needed to tow the line in father Solomons' bakery. Tommy Shelby needed to tow the line, no running off and escaping with his pretty wife and forgetting that he'd tried to outwit Alfie Solomons. No one put Alfie Solomons in that kind of position without paying the price. Escaping punishment would be an obscenity, a sin of biblical proportions. He emerged from his bakery into the grimy, ashen Camden town air and took a big lungful of it in as he began to walk along the cobblestone streets. He loved the smoky air, the noise, the sounds of progress.

Progress. Tommy Shelby was making progress. Winning the races with his horse, winning his woman, winning his support. Alfie toyed with the idea of cutting his winning streak short or encouraging it. Maybe let the lad play himself out before he made his move. Maybe play along. Yes, yes.

Then I'll kill him. Kill his girl. Blow up his entire Goddamn business.

Alfie nodded in agreement, paused, frowned, then shook his head. The longer he let Tommy play, the greater the risk, Tommy would wise up, raise his guard. Best get at him during the honey-moon phase.

But he's a smart man. A good business man. Wouldn't be practical to cut him a head short. Wouldn't be wise.

Maybe he had a soft spot for Tommy Shelby and a little bit of admiration mixed up with the competition. That could be it or the fact that Sabini was up the creek after the Epsom fiasco. He came back to himself when he noticed a little boy watching him curiously, standing stock still his chubby little face gaping as he marveled at the bearlike baker. Alfie gave him a toothy grin, which actually ended up frightening the little mite and sent him running into the arms of a good looking woman who was rushing towards him. Skinny, short brown hair, narrow face, carrying bags from the grocer.

"Karl, I told you not to run off," she said sharply, grabbing the little boy by the shoulder with her free hand and turning him to face her. The little boy craned his neck to look back at him.

"No harm done. Cute little chap," Alfie said. A wary look crossed the woman's face as she met his eyes. To offset the hostility and mistrust Alfie tipped his black hat at her, and gave her a more relaxed smile.

"You have a good day now Miss," he said.

Unfriendly wench.

He studied her for a while.

A familiar looking wench.

Something about her face struck Alfie as familiar, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

He must have been looking rather intently at her because he saw a startled expression cross her face.

"Come on Karl," she said, tugging at the boys arm and struggling to hold the bags of food. Alfie was about to brush the incident aside, and would have if while the woman was walking, the bags hadn't split from the bottom. The contents of the bag splattered all across the street, lettuce heads, cans of soup, loaves of bread. The woman swore and the boy began to cry, a terrible unhappy sight.

"Now, now there," he said, bending down to pick up the scattered food items, most of them soggy and mud stained from the dirt in the street. No need to cry little chap. I own me own bakery… How about I get you some nice loaves straight out of the oven, eh?."

"You don't have to do that," the woman said, sounding startled now and looking embarrassed as she bent down to pick up whatever she could salvage from the mess.

She and the little mite are on their own. Clearly widowed.

"I'm a baker. He pivoted and pointed to his bakery, which actually sold bread on occasion. "I've got white bread, brown bread, all sorts of bread."

"How much?" the woman interjected.

Shrewd.

Alfie rattled off some low numbers, mostly because he was in a generous mood and the site of that crying little chap made his heart sore.

And the woman's not bad looking. Not bad looking at all.

They walked over to the bakery and Alfie made a show of opening the door, shouting for "two white loaves" which were promptly tossed back at him all neat and bundled. He saw the woman reaching for money in her pockets, but he stopped her, shaking his head adamantly.

"Free of charge."

I'm very generous today.

"You said it cost…"

"My treat."

She thanked him without another protest, let Karl eat a piece of the bread, and they were on their way. Alfie tipped his hat to them again, smiled, and reentered the shop. He hung his hat up on it's post.

A refreshing walk. Nothing like a good deed to raise the spirits.

"Damn you all you lazy louts! I'm gone less than a half hour and you've decided to take a holiday! GET BACK TO WORK!