watery lane

-

It was early in the morning, before the betting started, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to be back in his bed. Perhaps with that woman from the night before, just to sweeten things.

Arthur Shelby couldn't remember the last time a lady had slipped through his fingers like that. She hadn't exactly rejected his advances; she had given him a hard-on, then got up and fought one of the patrons for some reason, winked at him - and just left. Why had she bloody left?

He was sat at the kitchen table, hand clenched by his face, ruminating. Polly was reading her paper across from him, her hair falling in curls about her shoulders, lips pursed with the corners turned up slightly in a demure smile. Every so often, she'd glance up at him, then back at her paper. Her attention didn't go unnoticed by Arthur.

When she peered at him over her paper for the third time, he let his hand fall to the table, and stared at her blankly.

"What, Polly?" he grumbled.

"Nothing at all, Arthur," Polly said, still looking at her paper, her voice light. "It's just that you haven't said a word since you sat down, and I'm trying to figure out why."

Arthur scoffed, and looked away.

Polly glanced back up, and took a harder look at him. Sighing, she set her paper down and leaned forward, bracing one arm on the table and digging for a cigarette in her pocket with the other.

"Arthur. It's not that boxing lad - that Edward Ross - is it?" she asked softly.

For a moment, he didn't reply, only stared at a point on the wall.

The older woman's brow furrowed. "Come on, Arthur. What's troubling you?"

Someone's footsteps suddenly sounded from the other room, and Arthur's eyes flickered up as John walked in.

"What's troubling who?" he said, gnawing on his toothpick like always.

"Something's up with Arthur," Polly answered, leaning back in her chair and striking a match, lighting her cigarette. "He won't speak to me."

"Aw, c'mon, Arthur, talk to your dear brother," John said, leaning against a wall, shifting about restlessly. His tone was a tad too playful for the atmosphere in the room.

The eldest Shelby drew in a sharp breath, and looked back to Polly. "It's just this woman, Pol."

"What woman," Polly replied, looking at her paper once more.

"This Cockney lass, at this pub last night," he said.

Polly's frame stiffened, and John's shifting halted.

Not noticing their alarm, Arthur continued. "She talked with me for a while, and then she just bloody scarpered. I don't fucking get it. She seemed to be interested in me. I mean... " he glanced to Polly, then to John. 

Lowering his voice, he murmured to his brother, "She was acting like some kind of first-rate whore. In a pub. Anyway, she had... a bit of an effect on me." 

John nodded in understanding, smirking, and Polly rolled her eyes.

"Surely that's nothing to be upset about," she said, taking a drag on her cigarette and letting out a thin stream of smoke between pursed lips. 

"That's not it, Pol," he said lowly. "Listen to this. She asked me what there was to do around this place. I mentioned ring fighting. Then... " he started to laugh suddenly, and leaned forwards in his chair, shaking his hand in the air. 

"Then, she fucking got up, and shouted this to everyone in the pub, right."

He stood, scraping his chair across the floor, causing Polly to look up from her paper. John eyed his brother, amused, as he mimicked the woman's movements, spreading her arms wide, striding out with confidence.

"She said this - 'Who wants to make some money?'" He bellowed, and let his arms fall. "Or something like that."

"Fucking hell, what did she do after that?" Pol asked, starting to smile in disbelief.

"Lower your voice, Arthur, it's barely nine," came a voice from the door.

Arthur waved a hand at his other brother who had suddenly appeared in the room. "A million apologies, Tommy."

Tommy Shelby rolled his eyes, and leaned against the door frame. "Who are you talking about?" he said in his rumbling, reserved cadence. He stifled a yawn; the trips up and down from London to Birmingham were beginning to get to him.

"Shh, Tommy." Polly gestured dismissively. at her nephew. "What did she do, Arthur?"

"She fucking got this lad up, and told him if he beat her, she'd give him a couple bob."

"In a fight? Jesus Christ, these London birds are crazy. Was she coked up?" John was beginning to snort from laughter.

Tommy lifted his cigarette and took a drag, eyes narrowing with interest.

"No, just a bit pissed," Arthur laughed.

"Did she beat him?" Polly said.

Arthur stopped laughing. His face changed just a little, his smile turning wistful, almost confused.

"Yeah. Yeah, she did." He sat back down. "And then... she left."

Polly's eyes widened. Her throat bobbed a little, and she spoke again after a moment. "Was he big?"

"He had a few inches on her," Arthur muttered. "His arms were big. Farmer, probably."

John had stopped laughing now, too.

There was a few moments of quiet, when the Shelbys began to grow wary. 

In the quiet, Tommy spoke up.

"A Cockney woman, coming up and starting fights in our territory," he murmured. "Sounds like Sabini is trying to send a message."

Polly muttered something under her breath, and it was Arthur's turn to widen his eyes. 

"Shit," he hissed.

"What did she look like, Arthur?" Tommy asked carefully, moving to stand beside his brother, who looked up to meet his eyes.

"Brown hair, about to here," he said quickly, placing a hand parallel with his collarbone. "Brown eyes. About three inches shorter than me." He paused for a moment. "Looked kind of Russian, now I think about it."

All the while Arthur was speaking, Tommy merely nodded. 

But at his last words, his face shifted a little. There was something familiar about the face his brother had described. Raking through his memories, he searched for a name to match the face. But he found nothing.

Whoever she was, though, she wasn't just some Cockney lass.

Brow furrowed, he stood straighter.

"Wha'?" Arthur said, searching his brother's face.

"Send some men to look for her. Now," Tommy said, his voice soft. But there was an edge to it that made Arthur stand and head for the door without question.

-

It wasn't long before they found her. 

Arthur asked around the pub, seeing if anyone knew where she had went. They narrowed it down to a street, and after further questioning of bystanders, a single house.

Arthur put himself forward to knock on the door, with John beside him, a few muscular Lee lads behind them, in case she should make a run for it.

Without pausing, Arthur banged on the door three times. "Ello? Anyone home?" he bellowed.

After a minute, and a few hushed words behind the door, it opened a crack, and Arthur saw those dark eyes peer through.

"Was it cold without me?" he said softly.

He expected her to slam the door and lock it, in which situation, he would have kicked it down, marched in and grabbed her.

But no such thing happened. She opened the door fully, and gave him a pleasant smile.

"Good morning. Thank you for the drinks last night," she said lightly, resting slim fingers on the door frame.

Arthur frowned. His little line hung in the air awkwardly, and John suppressed a laugh.

"We're taking you to see someone. Get dressed," the latter said, dragging an eye down the woman's silk-cald figure. She had clearly just woken up, and had thrown a thin dressing gown over her slip to cover up.

Arthur cleared his throat. His attention was suddenly drawn to the amount of skin she was showing. Her long, bare, slender legs; slim, toned arms; soft curves of well-sized breasts.

"One moment, then. Would you like some tea while you wait?" she asked, opening the door wider.

"No, thank you, love," Arthur murmured distractedly.

With a nod, she disappeared into the house, door slamming behind her.

Arthur and John exchanged looks.

"I wish they were all like that," Arthur half-laughed.

"What?" John returned. "Co-operative, or fit?"

"Bit of both, John-boy."

-

An hand circling her arm, Arthur led the woman from the pub into The Garrison, John and the Lees filing in behind him.

She glanced around the bar, moderately impressed by it's decoration, nodding slightly. She was acting like there wasn't a large group of men escorting her into a meeting with the king of Small Heath. It was almost like she had known it was going to happen.

"I'm gonna pat you down now, darling," Arthur said once they were fully inside, a smirk growing on his face.

"Enjoy it, darling, it's the first and only chance you'll ever get to touch me," she shot back, smiling falsely, and Arthur's face fell.

After a moment, John let out a snort, to the amusement of the woman. She shot him a sly smile, of which he seemed proud. 

"Shut up, John," Arthur grumbled, and began to feel her arms.

He had been surprised when she had opened the door again. Instead of wearing something that most women these days wore, like a dress with a fancy hat, she was wearing wide-legged pants with a fitted shirt and trench jacket. Clunky ankle boots adorned her feet, little circular glasses obscuring her eyes, her hair falling naturally about her shoulders rather than sculpted into swirls with gel. She seemed to belong to another time, one before jazz and the great cocaine craze.

He moved on to her other arm, clamping his hands down along her sleeves. His eyes flickered over her face as he did so, and she stared back at him with those bloody dark eyes, hardly blinking.

She wasn't particularly beautiful. Pretty, yes. But she was all hard lines and frowns; she was too worn from experience to be the kind of beautiful Arthur liked. But she had some kind of allure. Her behaviour was so unorthodox, her persona so enigmatic, that she practically invited you to look closer.

Moving onto her torso, Arthur considered being overly thorough. But he made himself only check her sides and pockets. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do more.

After running his hands down each leg, he stepped away, declaring her clear. From her, he had drawn four weapons: a pistol in her coat pocket, a shotgun in a holster about her shoulders, a pocket knife in her boot and a tiny dagger inside her sleeve. 

Dumping them all in the arms of a Lee boy, Arthur announced to no-one in particular, "She's clean."

Then, he turned to the woman, and said lowly, "Sit down, love, if you want."

Tilting her head, she gave him a faux smile, much like the one she had given the barman the night before. Then, she pulled out a chair, and took a seat before the table that had been pulled to the middle of the room.

"We're just waiting for our brother," John said, already sat at the other end of the table. He was still looking at the woman up and down.

Raising an eyebrow, she removed her glasses, and nodded. 

With a heavy sigh, Arthur moved to join his brother, and lowered himself into a chair. 

For a moment, the brothers just sat and stared at the woman. Sizing her up. Watching for any sudden movements. Why had she cooperated? Why was she here, starting fights in their city? 

What did she want?

She paid them no heed as they stared. She occupied herself by fiddling with her glasses, eyes lowered.

But then, the sound of a door opening sounded throughout the room.

And just as Tommy Shelby walked into The Garrison, the woman looked up.

They locked eyes.

Her cocky expression faltered. Tommy's eye flickered.

Arthur and John twisted to see their brother, unsure what to expect his reaction to be. But they certainly hadn't expected to see recognition in his eyes.

Eyes still locked, Tommy stood, staring at the woman. His posture was rigid. Any moment, he could explode.

But he simply strode forward, and reached out his hand.

And the woman took it.

"Good to see you again, Miss Mercer," Tommy murmured, shaking her hand once.

"And you, Mr Shelby," she replied, a little dazed.