Camden End

“Ya chased me fuckin’ bookies off the track after we agreed ya wouldn’t do no such thing,” Alfie Solomons slammed his hand on the table. “Ya a fuckin’ back-stabbin’ Italian wop!”

Sabini held up his hands. “Now, now, Alfie…It’s just business.”

“Jus’ business? Just business? Fuck off!”

A door creaked open and all heads in the room turned. “Alfie, I think you should hear Mister Sabini out.”

The room itself was filled with about five of Sabini’s men and equal amount of Solomons’. The woman who stepped through the door never batted an eye as she approached the table. Every gaze of Sabini’s men--including the mobster himself--was on her, scanning her body for one purpose of another.

She carried a silver tray with fresh bread and tea on it. She set it down on the table and placed the items onto the wooden surface. Everyone on the Italian’s side was still staring at her, a simper on Sabini’s face. The Jews on the other hand were acting as if she hadn’t entered the room; Alfie’s eyes were watching his opponent intensely.

The woman straightened and stepped over to the Jews’ side of the table. “Anything else I can get you boys?” she asked, her accent a strange hybrid of muddled east end London and something thicker.

“Who's this?” Sabini asked, a gloved hand gesturing to the woman.

A smile hidden under Alfie’s beard. “Ah, mm. This be my betrothed,” he said, an arm reaching around her waist, one of his hands resting on her hip. He didn’t offer a name.

“Betrothed?” Sabini smirked as the woman stepped away for the table to leave. “Going soft on us, Alfie?”

The Jew chuckled. “Soft? Fuck off.”

“But a woman-” Sabini started.

The woman whipped her arm around in an instant, flicking a knife free from the leather belt at her waist. With a firm grip, she swung her arm down and sent the knife through the hand of the man closest to her, securing it to the table.

The Italian screamed and jerked, rising from his position and holding his arm. Sabini leaned away from the crying man, staring wide-eyed at the hand stuck to the table surface. His dark eyes traveled to the woman who was glaring at him with the coldest eyes he’d ever seen. And Sabini had seen many sets of cold, dead eyes.

The man was still screaming. The Jews were chuckling to themselves.

“I see,” was all Sabini said.

“Darling...darling,” Solomons said between his laughter. “Let the poor lad go. Sabini’s got the fucking hint, I think.”

The woman gripped the handle of the knife and pulled it free, the man’s whimpers escalating to another scream. He collapsed back in his seat, holding his hand to his chest and muttering insults in Italian. She cleaned the blade with her skirt before sheathing it again and leaving the room.
Sabini didn’t let his eyes leave her until the door had closed. He turned back to Solomons. “Now where’d you find her?”

Solomons grinned. “The slaughterhouse. She’s a butcher.”

“I can absolutely believe that,” Sabini said quite casually.

--

Alfie looked over his books, half moon spectacles held to his eyes as they gazed over the numbers. The door creaked open and heavy footsteps sounded against the wooden walls of his office. She was many things, had many positive attributes, but she was certainly not soft-footed.

“Did you and Sabini come to an agreement?” Alfie’s betrothed asked from the opposing side of the desk.

Alfie dropped the spectacles, which hung from a chain around his neck, and sat back in his chair. “I believe we did,” Alfie responded and looked up at the woman across from him.

Mazel Adelman was her name, though he knew her to use her mother’s name of Lund more than once to avoid provocation if she believed herself to be within German-hating territory. She looked like her mother’s Swedish side though, what with the long blonde hair (she thought the short hair trend of the current times was ugly) and deep blue eyes, square jaw. She was far from the delicate woman that walked London streets. She was broad in the shoulders and hips with muscled arms that put some of Solomons own men to shame. It was an early life of hard farm work in Dorfchemnitz before coming to London and working the floor at the meat packing plant. Both she and her brother, though they didn’t share the same eyes or hair, were nearly identical in face and body shape, built like old Swedes. Broader than a couple of brick shithouses and squarer than warehouses.

They were equally mean too, as Mazel had proudly shown the Italians earlier that day. The war did that to people.

Alfie licked his lips at the memory and went back to looking at his books without another word. Mazel came around the desk and settled on the edge of it, next to his chair so she was still looking down at him.

“Betrothed?” she asked.

Alfie grunted, not looking up from his work as he scribbled away.

Mazel reached out and grabbed his chin so he looked back up at her. She stroked his furry cheek before bending down and kissing him. He kissed her back, short and fierce.

“Du bist mein Mann,” she said against his lips.

“Und bist meine Frau,” Alfie answered before grabbing her and pulling her into his lap.

Mazel smiled at him with the dry, close-lipped simper as she settled into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him harder than before. Alfie used one hand to hold the back of her head, gripping her dirty blonde tresses against her scalp. The other hand slipped beneath her skirt, rough skin running up the smooth surface of her calf, her thigh.

Just as his fingers slid between her thighs, the door opened and Ollie rushed in. He stumbled to a halt and his face visibly reddened when his boss and woman broke their embrace to glare at him.

“Fuckin’ Ollie...What is it?” Alfie growled. Ollie cleared his throat, his jaw working to say something as he gasped for breath. “What the fuck is it, boy? Can’t ya see we’re busy?”

“S-sorry, sir, b-but...The Shelby’s.”

“What about the fuckin’ gypsies?” Alfie was looking begrudgingly at Mazel as she got up from his lap.

“T-they’re at the door,” Ollie finished.

“Should I welcome them?” Mazel asked, fixing her hair.

“Are they lookin’ ready to shoot?” Alfie asked.

“They don’t look happy,” Ollie admitted, “but maybe they’re here to talk.”

Mazel checked the knife at her belt. “I’ve got it,” she said and left Alfie’s office, Ollie on her heels.

They walked through the ‘bakery’ among the barrels of alcohol lining the walls. Ollie rushed ahead of her to grab the door. The heavy wooden door creaked open and in stepped the three oldest Shelby boys and a few of their men. They looked about, bodies tense and eyes flitting to every corner. When they landed on the sturdy blonde woman standing before them with feet apart and arms crossed, they came up short.

“Thomas Shelby,” Mazel purred. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“I’d say the same if I knew who I was addressing,” the leader of the Peaky Blinders said.

Mazel held out a hand and Tommy took it, noting the callouses lining the fingers and palmed. This woman worked hard with her hands. The strength in her grip was surprising, but Tommy’s stone still face didn’t register the mental note.

“Alfie’s waitin’, though I’d like to ask the reason for your visit,” Mazel said.

“It ain’t no concern of yours, bit-” John Shelby, the youngest of the three present brothers, started, but Tommy held up a hand.

Tommy could read they were dealing with someone they would rather not offend. “We need to talk.”

“About?”

“One of our shipping docks was bombed,” Tommy said. “We lost a few men, want to know if…you had anything to do with it.”

“What makes you think that?” Mazel asked.

“We got our bloody reasons! Now let us talk to the man in charge!” Arthur, the oldest brother, quipped.

Mazel’s flat eyes fell on Arthur. His Adam’s apple visibly bobbed. A tense silence fell in the room other than the men bustling about. Mazel turned on her heel, loose cotton skirt twirling at the heels of her work boots, and she lead the way back to Alfie’s office.

The Jew gang leader was waiting for them, right hand resting off the desk, probably with a hand on his gun. Mazel stepped aside and let the men enter.

“Ah, I see you mates have met my woman,” Alfie said, straightening in her seat.

“Got yourself a lady, Mister Solomons?” Tommy asked, taking a seat as his men settled around him.

Alfie snorted. “She ain’t no fuckin’ lady. She’s a woman.”

“I believe a name wasn’t offered for your woman,” Tommy said.

“Oh, mm. Yeah. This is…”

“Mazel Adelman,” she said, allowing her German pronunciation to seep through.

All heads turned, eyes icing over. “Adelman?” Tommy asked. “That’s very...German.”

“Ja, es ist sehr deutsch. Warst du schon mal in Deutschland, Herr Shelby?” Mazel asked, a smirk gracing her thin lips.

“A fucking German,” Arthur growled and looked to Alfie. “You’re fuckin’ a fucking German?”

“She’s a strong Jewish woman,” Alfie clarified with a shrug. “They’re my fuckin’ weakness.”

Tommy and Mazel had not ceased eye contact. “Du hasst die Deutschen,” Mazel continued. “I see it in your eyes.” She turned to Alfie. “Tea?”

“Not right now, darlin’,” Alfie said, his hand having never left his spot. He’d watched the Shelby’s and the way they grew stiller and tenser after the mention of a German in the room with them. If they moved to harm his woman, they’d be cold on the ground before they knew what hit them.

Mazel didn’t leave. She settled her back against the wall, crossed her arms, and waited. She must of felt like something might go amiss or else she would have left Alfie to his business. She didn’t trust the Shelby’s anymore than they trusted her.

--

“I’ve made the arrangements,” Alfie said tersely to Mazel and her brother, Micah.

His right hand rested on his cane, the other stuffed in the pocket of his long, black jacket. The brim of his hat dropped a shadow over his bearded face where psoriasis dried his skin. That and the stiffness were the only outward signs of what was killing him on the inside.

Micah nodded, keeping his eyes averted. He was taller than his sister, with the darker features of their father’s Jewish heritage. But he was just as broadly built with biceps pulling the material of his jacket taunt. “Thank you, Herr Solomons,” he said softly.

“No need to thank me.” Alfie waved off the gratitude with the simplicity in his voice. “Your kin in America will welcome you home and you’ll have a nice, happy little life in the countryside.” He seemed casual about the whole thing, except he was avoiding looking at Mazel altogether.

The expression on her face was that of cold, hard resentment. Blue eyes narrowed in a serpent’s glare. Her jaw was clenched tightly, as were her fists. Micah expected his sister to say something, but when she remained silent, he decided to board the boat on his own and leave she and his boss with final words.

Mazel slowly stepped towards Alfie, her resentful expression wavering. Alfie finally looked at her. Her eyes burned and when she blinked, they began to fill and that’s when she broke her gaze and looked past Alfie to the quiet port beyond.

“Darling…”

“The war,” Mazel uttered. “It took my father’s life and my brother’s mind. It took my mother’s spirit. I didn’t think it could take any more from me,” she said, her voice beginning to waver.

She mustered the courage to face Alfie again, exposing her emotions more than ever before. “I guess even after all this time, the war can still keep takin’.” Alfie said nothing and Mazel knew he wouldn’t. A clean cut, it was supposed to be. It felt more like it was being hacked away with a rusty knife.

“I can’t let you face this alone,” Mazel said.

“I’m not plannin’ on fuckin’ wastin’ away,” said Alfie. “You know that.”

Mazel nodded and a tear fell free from her eye. She brushed it away with the back of her hand. “I know.”

“Go to America, forget about...all of this,” Alfie gestured around them, as in forget about the life he had pulled her into. Or the one she had willingly stepped into.

She shouldn’t feel this way, the cutting edges of a broken heart. She’d built a wall, a callous to say “fuck it” to everyone and everything besides her brother. But she had gotten comfortable living a life with the Camden End gang, with Alfie.

And the action of Alfie sending her away so she couldn’t watch him die from the cancer spreading through his body showed how much those feelings of loyalty were reciprocated. If it was Mazel’s choice, she would stay by his side until the end, but when Alfie’s mind was made up, the deal was done. There was no changing it.

Alfie stuffed his hand back in his pocket again and retracted it, presenting a box to Mazel. “It was me mum’s,” Alfie said as Mazel slowly opened the box. It was a silver brooch with a small ruby in the center. “I ain’t gonna fuckin’ do anythin’ with it, so use that to get your start to the happy American countryside.”

Mazel shut the box and tucked into her own pocket. She wanted to be angry at him for making this all so casual, how it seemed so easy for him. She knew that was the only way he could make her leave; it was the easiest to part ways.

Mazel stepped up and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly to her. Tears leaked from squeezed shut eyes when she felt his free arm snake around her waist.

“Now, now, darlin’. Best not cry over something that can’t be helped,” Alfie said, patting her back.

Mazel pulled away and placed her hands on either side of his face. They shared a long, silent moment, conveying words that neither needed to say because they were already known. This - this sending Mazel away before Alfie’s condition worsened and his imminent death came - was the kindest thing he had probably ever done. Mazel understood, though she wished otherwise.

Mazel’s hands dropped to her sides and she backed away from Alfie. Their gaze only broke when she turned and grabbed her bag from the ground. Without looking back, she walked up the ramp of the boat and disappeared onto its deck. Her head appeared over the side. She did not wave, and neither did he.

Using his cane as a brace, Alfie turned on his heel and walked back down the quiet port.

A thick fog began to roll in.