The Hanging Noose

Seven

The next morning, Dottie had woken up with a headache. A raging headache.
She had reluctantly showered, and brushed her hair before getting ready for the day. She applied minimal makeup, and left her hair free, which Micheal raises an eyebrow too. She elbowed his side when he suggested to her that she was hung over.

Dottie had expected to go to the museum, however Polly had announced they needed to go to Small Heath before. She had drove quickly as silence filled the car. When she parked the car and let Dottie and Micheal in to the house, she forbid both of them from following her any further. John was behind Polly, smiling with a toothpick half in his mouth. He had locked a set of double doors behind him, leaving Dottie and Micheal on a small old couch.

"Your head hurting you?" Micheal asks, looking at the older girl.

"I feel like shit," Dottie groans.

"You look like shit."

Dottie snaps her eyes up to Micheal. "You arse. Thanks for that."

Micheal shrugs, "only the truth."

"I can't remember most of last night," Dottie admits, frowning slightly, "I remember throwing up, and loosing Tommy."

"Tommy came back holding you, you was sound asleep."

"Oh." Dottie replies, "there was this man as well."

Micheal raises an eyebrow, "Dots," he says in a low voice, "we've had this chat."

"No, a real man, Micheal. I can't remember his name, he helped me find Tommy."

Micheal doesn't respond, instead she shakes his head, "Dots, we've had this chat. You can't keep doing this. He wasn't real."

Dottie nods, "sorry."

Not even a hundred feet away, Polly stands in the Shelby betting den sign her hands on her hips.

"This had better be good to interrupt my holiday." She states, an unimpressed look on her face.

"Where's the kids?"

"In the back room. I only brought them because afterwards we're going to the museum." Polly replies.

John takes the toothpick out of his mouth. "Micheal wanted to come in and say hello but—"

"Shut up, John." Barks Polly, ignoring his presence. "There is nothing of interest to Michael in this room. Tommy, get on with it."

Nodding, Tommy starts to speak. "Last night, one of our men had his throat cut in Winson Green. This morning, I had a telegram to say it was Sabini who ordered it."

Arthur grunts, "and it says here that Thomas Shelby's next."

"If our men think we can't look after them in prison, they'll not work for us. Sabini knows that. So we need to get the Green sorted out. Scudboat, you and one of the boys. Break a couple of windows and get yourselves arrested. I'll have our coppers get you into the Green and you can find the bastards who did it."

A man called Scudboat nods, a small smile playing on his lips, "instead of breaking a window, can we pinch a car?"

A small amount of laughter irrupts in the den.

"What?"

"Everybody else is getting a bloody car. I'm still on a donkey."

Tommy sighs, rolling his eyes. "All right, just get yourselves fսck¡ng arrested, it doesn't matter how. And before you all laugh, a boy is dead. He was just a kid. We'll start a fund for his family, Pol."

"Agreed. So is that it? Can I go now?"

"Well, as company treasurer, I need your permission to spend a thousand guineas."

Raising her eyebrow, Polly responds, "on what?"

"On a horse." Tommy answers simply.

"A thousand guineas on a horse?"

"That's right." Tommy confirms, nodding his head slightly. He continues to stare at Polly, knowing she won't agree so easily.

"When was this decided?"

"You've been busy with Michael and Dottie," Tommy replies.

Polly scoffs, staring hard at her nephew. "Oh, my God. So, in the absence of common sense, you boys have had an idea."

"Polly, there's a thoroughbred quarter-Arab filly up for auction at the Doncaster Blood Stock."

"What do we want with a thousand-guinea horse?"

Tommy sighs, pressing his hands in to his pockets. "When we make our move on Sabini's racing pitches, any men we get into the betting enclosure will be lifted by Sabini's police. A good racehorse is a passport to the owner's enclosure. We'll be in there with all the toffs. Coppers won't know where to look. Yeah, the Epsom Derby, Pol. We'll be drinking with the bloody King."

Spinning her head round to John and Arthur, Polly scoffs again. "The Derby? Did he say the Derby?"

"That's right. For the last ten years Sabini's made it his race. If we're going to take him down, might as well make it there as a symbol." Tommy answers, squaring his chest.

Polly turns her head back round to Tommy. "Did you come up with this idea in a pub by any chance?"

"Pol... a good racehorse is an investment, like property. We need to diversify the portfolio." He argues back, his eyes burning in to Polly's.

"So when is this sale?"

"Tomorrow."

Arthur grunts, leaning back in his chair, "and Tommy's had a death threat so we'll have to go with him for protection."

"So, you're going to close up the shop, go out on a piss-up and blow one thousand guineas on a horse that's not even whole Arab."

A large man giggles, "Quarter Arab is better! Quarter Arab, it means—"

"Curly, shut up." Polly barks, not sparing the man, Curly, a glance. She turns her head when she hears the creaking of the double doors opening. She clenched her jaw when she sees Micheal and Dottie, she turns to John. "I thought I told you to lock that door."

"He did. I used the key on the nail. Look, I've been listening. I want to go with them." Micheal respond making Polly look back at him.

Polly scoffs once more, glaring at Tommy. "You see?"

Micheal looks at Dottie for a split second before he speaks. "I love horses. I could even help."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Polly stares at Micheal. "Over my dead body."

Dottie steps forward, "It'll be all right, Mum." She says softly, as if she's trying to appeal to the soft mothering spot inside Polly, or avoid any pain from her hangover.

"We've both been to loads of horse auctions before with our uncle. They're very respectable. People bring their butlers." Micheal continues.

"Yeah, and their posh wives!"

"And their mistresses."

"Let them come, Polly."

Tommy nods, "we'll go there, buy a horse, come back. I'll drop them back at the house in Sutton before it gets dark."

Polly shakes her head, "no. fսck¡ng no."

Micheal stares at Polly for a second before he marches off. Dottie tilts her head at Polly before following.

Tommy nods again, saying, "all right, that's it. Back to work. Come on!"

Polly continues to look at the door where her children stood not two minutes prior when John stands next to her.

"Aunt Pol, when I was Michael's age, I'd killed a hundred men and seen a thousand die." He stops speaking for a second before he continues.
"If you want to scare those kids away for ever, carry on how you're going. If you want them to stay, let them come."