Animal Instinct | Peaky Blinders [Thomas Shelby]

10 - Bloodbath

Emmett Smith, a thirty year old man with thick, broad shoulders, and an address unknown to the authorities, was standing at the window of his second-floor flat, staring at what was to be his new home.

It was quite ugly, actually. London would've been nicer.

It looked nothing like the pictures. The pictures made Birmingham seem like a charming, beautiful city, but they were taken a decade ago, when the pollution was nonexistent and the population was a tiny fraction of what it is now. Birmingham was not charming nor beautiful. It was dirty and mundane at best.

His flat, on the other hand, was something he could get used to. It was quiet and dark, and the concrete walls sealed him away from the rest of the dreaded city. The only thing he could hear was the bell from the school directly across the street. It went off twice a day - at 8am and 2pm, and Emmett liked to watch the kids pour in and out of the courtyard like tiny ants.  

As the last wave of kids entered the school, Emmett set his binoculars down on the table besides him and picked up his notebook. His thick fingers swiped to a page he had marked with a red ribbon, with a picture of a baby taped in the corner and the little description he had written big in the center of the page  - Blonde, curly hair. Green eyes.

He put the book down and picked up the biggest kitchen knife he had. He ran a finger across the blade. Dull. He ran it through the sharpener a couple times and put it up to his finger. It took off a microscopic piece out of his fingernail. Good.

He took his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and started to polish the blade until the faint red stains on the edge and tip faded completely. He rubbed at the hilt until his fingerprints faded and when it started to look brand new, he wrapped it up in newspaper, taped it up, and shoved it into his waist belt, positioning it towards his groin so it was invisible with the fold of his pants.

He picked up his notebook again and started to write across the next page, but the sound of the front door closing made him go frigid with fear.

The sound of footsteps tapped against the hardwood floor, headed towards the back office where he was hiding. The footsteps were off and uneven, telling him that his intruder had a limp or a cane, or both. Emmett considered resolving the situation peacefully, but he knew there was no story he could give that would explain the bloody mess out in the living room.

Emmett pulled the knife from his thigh and pressed his head up to the door, listening.

"It smells like death in here."

A rush of familiarity flooded Emmett and he pulled the thick door open to see Inspector Campbell standing in the middle of the living room. He wasn't looking at him, and it would've been so easy for Emmett to thrust the knife into his neck. He pictures himself killing Campbell at least ten times a day. He was the one who gave Emmett the misleading pictures and insisted that Birmingham was a beautiful place. The man was insufferable - bossy, arrogant, and annoying. But, for now, Emmett needed him alive.

"Please tell me, for the love of God, that that is not a scalp." He pointed to a corner that was out of Emmett's range of sight, but he knew what Campbell was referring to.

"Inspector, I thought we agreed you would knock," Emmett said in thinly veiled annoyance.

"And I thought we agreed you wouldn't kill people in this flat."

"I hadn't," Emmett stated, walking around his desk towards the tall, crystal-shaped bottle of scotch on the windowsill. He uncapped it and poured himself a glass. "You didn't say the courtyard was off limits."

"That's six. Six women in a week!" Campbell lifted his cane up and slammed it back down on the floorboards in frustration. "The Blinders are all over these attacks. We cannot draw this much attention to ourselves."

"Like the way your blatant attack on the Peaky Blinders is drawing attention?" Emmett stared at him for a second.

"That's different," Campbell stated, his eyes stony. "Your vendetta is personal."

Emmett fell a step back, his eyes sharp and intent on Campbell.

"But you and Thomas Shelby..." He clicked his lips together and shook his head "...Now that seems pretty personal to me. Maybe it has something to do with that pretty Irish girl that betrayed you. What's her name? Grace-something..." He shook his head in feigned ignorance.

"You're way out of line," Campbell growled. Emmett met his glare and smirked, knowing he had hit a nerve.

"No judgement," Emmett said, putting his hands up in silent surrender. "We're a lot alike, you know."

"We're nothing alike," he hissed. "Unlike you, I've moved on."

Emmett have him am unconvinced look and shook his head. He lifted up his glass and chugged down the clear liquid, not stopping to take a breath until he hit the bottom of the glass.

"What is that?" Campbell demanded, his beady eyes intently fixated on Emmett's glass.

Emmett lifted his shoulders up in a half-hearted shrug, before he started to fill his glass back up. "Water."

Campbell walked over and took the glass from Emmett's gloved hands before he could protest. He lifted it up so the rim was brushing his thick, grey mustache, and his nose crinkled in disgust. "You're drinking at eight in the morning? Remind me why I keep you around."

"Because I have information." Emmett grinned and turned towards Campbell. He towered over the Inspector by several inches, and he reached down and pressed the cold glass against Campbell's trachea, pressing down lightly. "My men and I are the eyes and ears of this operation, but don't be foolish and go thinking we'll stick around through this bullshit." He pressed his glass harder against his throat and Campbell's throat bobbed. "You want to keep surveillance on Thomas Shelby - fine. You have you own mission: I have mine. But question my motives again, or interrupt me during hours of business, I will kill you myself."

It was only as Emmett leaned the glass back, did he realize how hard he'd been pushing Campbell's neck. There was a large, red mark on his trachea and Emmett knew it would form a bruise.

The Inspector glared at Emmett, no doubt starting to regret taking him on as a partner, but it was too late in the game now. Campbell had become reliant on Emmett's methods and his information, and Emmett knew it. He could kick Campbell like a puppy and get away with, and Emmett was planning on using that to his advantage.

"You'll regret threatening me," Campbell warned, his hand tightening around his wolf shaped cane. "And for God sakes, clean up this blood bath. You're living in a rental."

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