NEW CHAPTERS COMING SOON.
Small Heath, Birmingham, was an unsafe place to be. Men stumbling drunk out of pubs, whores there waiting for them on the side of the street, with gang fights happening around the corner. Unsafe for young girls... but not i...
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• • •
"You better run."
• • •
A few days had passed, yet the rumors were still buzzing around the streets of Birmingham. The whole gang of Peaky Blinders was after Harry after giving them the slip the other night. Tension was high, yet Harry was still sneaking around to avoid the gang.
Walking down the cobbled street, Harry stopped to take out a cigarette from her pocket, lighting it up with a flick of the lighter. Taking a few drags, she continued walking, turning down an alleyway.
Harry stopped dead in her tracks as she saw two police officers at the far end of the alleyway. Quickly spinning around, ready to run as fast as she could, she came face to face with an older man, a pipe between his lips and a bowler hat perched on his head. The new inspector - Harry, had heard rumors of one who had come over from Belfast.
Outnumbered five to one, she raised her hands to show she had no weapons in the hopes they would go easy on her but with a quick nod from the Inspector, one of the officers from behind battered Harry over the head hard with his baton, causing Harry's vision to blur as she stumbled to the floor, fighting for consciousness. Two officers grabbed Harry roughly under her arms, pulling her up and dragging her out of the alleyway and through the streets, shoes scuffing along the cobbles.
• • •
Coming back into consciousness, Harry was dragged through the Police department; it was dangerously quiet, middle of the night with no witnesses causing Harry's breath to hitch in her throat as she realized just how much danger she was in. Never trust coppers, she had remembered Lee telling her, and he was right.
Being dragged further into the department, they took her down some steps into a secluded tiled room with minimal furnishing apart from a chair in the middle of the room. Harry was plonked into the chair as her hands were handcuffed behind her.
Vision still blurry, one of the officers stepped in front of her, reeling his arm back before forcing it into Harry's face and stomach multiple times. Coughing on the blood in her mouth, she thought for her head to stop spinning. She needed to stay sharp if she was going to get out of here, she thought, licking the blood coming from her split lip.
After a while, the officers left, leaving her alone in the cold room. A few minutes had passed when footsteps echoed down the stone steps.
"Well, well," a voice broke the silence causing Harry to raise her face to meet the inspectors.
"Harry Spring. Nothing more than an orphan boy, I've been told." The inspector stated with a smug tone. He enjoys the power, Harry concluded, trying to read his face.
"Until I heard about a little robbery at the Shelby residence. I normally wouldn't bat an eyelid at a petty crime like that, but what you stole, now that intrigues me." Harry watched the man as he paced in front of him.
"You see, what you don't realize is what you took plays a part in a much bigger robbery of national interest." He paused, relighting his pipe before taking a couple of puffs. Harry had no idea what he was going on about; she never looked inside the diary.
"Do you know what they do to petty criminals where I'm from in Ireland? They take a butcher's knife to those hands which won't keep to themselves." His tone shifted; he sounded reckless, as if he would do anything to get what he wanted.
"Now, I'm no betting man Mr. Spring, but I presume you'd rather keep your hands? So why don't you tell me where that book is." Starring at Harry, awaiting her answer. What was she to do? How could she tell him she no longer had the diary, that would be that, and she would be either killed or chucked into a cell to rot for the rest of her life.
'BRING, BRING!" Quite literally saved by the bell, the Inspector let out a sigh, turned around, and walked towards the phone on the far wall.
~Inspector Campbell's POV~
"Inspector Campbell speaking," I spoke with frustration; I was just about to get answers from the little street rat until I was interrupted. My thoughts were paused as a familiar voice replied down the line.
"I hear you have a young boy in custody."
"Ah, Mr. Churchill, um, yes, Sir, we are one step closer to getting answers, I do believe." replying with a positive tone in the hopes the phone call would be quick.
"I do hope you are questioning him differently from how you would if you were in Belfast?" He spoke in code. What he meant was, were these answers forced out from the boy or given willingly? I thought back to the blood-smudged face of the boy. Obviously, my silence was a good enough answer.
"Are you quite mad, Mr. Campbell! We do not need tomorrow's headline to read 'Inspector beats child to a pulp'! Goodnight, Mr. Campbell!" The phone line went dead, causing me to let out a sigh.
The pressure was on to find these guns. I must get the answers, I thought, turning round only to find an empty chair; handcuffs placed upon the seat, but no boy in sight...
