The Gypsy Beauty

I Got Three.

Scarlett's POV

Tommy had taken me and Alfie Solomon to his new distillery he had brought to make rum. I was quite surprised when he told me about this new business venture but wasn't surprised Alfie was here. "Oh now, the problem, right between rum and gin is that gin leads to melancholy." Alfie begins.

"Whereas rum incites violence and also allows you to be liberated from your self doubt. Now, I hear you're probably more in need of the old rum at the moment rather than gin, Mr Fucking Serious, or are you just making rum and sticking to your dull whiskey? He's still a whiskey man, ain't he, darling?" Alfie asks me and I nod.

"You still a bourbon bird?" He asks and I nod. "See, she has taste." Alfie tells Tommy. "Oh dear, you've got fucking starlings mate. You know what? That shit will rot your pipe work." He adds coming his gun and pointing it at the ceiling. "It alright Alfie. No need. It's alright, I'm going to get a kestrel." Tommy tells him.

"I hear that you've got Italians mate. Have you got a kestrel for them and all?" Alfie asks. "Yes. I'll have a kestrel for them as well." Tommy shad walking further into the distillery. "Well then, everything's confirmed, innit. Yeah. Weakness behind the eyes, don't blink too much, alright?" Alfie says as Tommy pours him a glass of gin and hands him it.

"I know you don't drink the stuff but you've got a good nose." Tommy says. "Nah, the Americans want it sweeter." Alfie says dipping his finger in the liquid, sniffing it. "What have you heard, Alfie?" I question. "Heard a cop got shot, darling. Know who shot him?" Alfie asks. "My kestrel." Tommy replies.

"Right. Oh, upping the stakes, very good." Alfie nods. "What of the social Sicilians?" Tommy questions, wetting the tip of his cigarette before lighting it. "They're still using Sabini for vehicles and places to stay." Alfie informs. "And reinforcements?" I ask as Tommy hands me a glass of water which I take thankfully.

"Ah, they're Sicilians, aren't they? They don't trust nobody and fucked a goat on the morning of their first pubic hair. They've got traditions." Alfie says as I snort to conceal my laugh and drink my water as Alfie eyes me suspiciously. Probably wondering why I'm not drinking.

"How many are here?" Tommy inquires. "Eleven, enough to drop a man who wrapped his balls in an OBE until they fell off." Alfie replies. "The real question is Alfie, which side are you playing for, eh?" Tommy asks. "Fucking hell." Alfie chuckles, pushing himself off the post he was leaning against.

"What kind of world to bring up children where your own mates can ask you that question, eh? Well the truth is Tommy, you're going to be fucking dead soon and then you're starlings, they will peck out your blue eyes, won't they? And the jackdaws, they will steal your gold and your medals and pretty soon it'll be as if you had never even fucking happened mate." Alfie responds as I hear footsteps.

"Tommy, Letty, there are men approaching." Scudboat tells us. "Yeah, let em' pass." Tommy tells him and Scudboat walks out again. "Alright, you tell Darby Sabini from me that if the Italians win, they are not planning on leaving. And after me, it will be him then you. Then the titanic. They're the fucking Mafia Alfie. They've come here, can't believe our coppers are unarmed. They're going to steal their liquor and it's against the law. They've come here and they like what they see. They're coming and they're here to stay." Tommy explains.

"Mr Shelby, Miss Hayes, I've come to talk purse for the fight." Aberama says walking over to us with Bonnie in tow. "Your kestrel, huh? Tommy, darling, when a pikey walks in with hair like that, you've got to ask yourselves, have I made a mistake?" Alfie says to us, looking Aberama up and down. "Who the fuck are you?" Aberama asks. "Who the fuck am I?" Alfie repeats. "Who the fuck is he, Shelby, Hayes?" Aberama questions, looking between me and Tommy. Me and Tommy glance at each other amused.