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The boy began patting him down when he entered the bakery. Tommy resisted the urge to scoff when the hare by the taller boys side started thumping the concrete floor in an attempt to get Mercy off his shoulder.
"Put him down, Ollie, put him down mate. He's only little."
The first thing Tommy noticed about Alfie Solomons was that the rumours were true, the man didn't appear to have a daemon. Mercy scanned the area around Solomons and whispered in his ear that she could see nothing.
The possibility of a man with his reputation with a small, easily hidden daemon, was about as likely as a Gypsy having a dog.
The second thing that he noticed, was the he was quite broad. The tales of brutality that followed the Londoner could be seen in his gait and frame.
As Tommy was sat in front of Solomons, he caught something else strange about him. He had no trouble with addressing Mercy. Most men would avoid even looking at his daemon, as a sign of respect, and because apparently her unyeilding black stare is quite unnerving.
"Well, I've heard very bad, bad, bad, things about you Birmingham people. Cuz you're all Gypsies, right?
"Can tell what with the bird for a daemon. Tell me, love, do you speak or do you let Mister Shelby here do it for you?" The man said.
Tommy couldn't quite tell if he wanted Mercy to actually answer or not. Just that he wanted to know her reaction.
"I came to talk business, Mister Solomons." Which was enough of an answer as any.
"Most Jews have a large array of daemons, but you lot, always birds, yeah." He seemed to drop the subject when Tommy didn't answer the not question.
When Solomons pulled out the whiskey bottle, Mercy whispered into his ear that she could hear the clicking of claws against the wooden floors. Tommy kept his eyes on Solomons as Mercy did another security sweep.
If Solomons noticed her fidgeting, he didn't acknowledge it other than a glance.
As the conversation tread into more dangerous waters, both Tommy and Mercy could hear a thump thump thump on the floor from under the desk.
A barely there snarl when Solomons uttered the word 'wop'. It told Tommy that he was on the right track, and that he had to have care with how he pushed ahead in the proceedings
Tommy leant on the table, and Mercy hopped off his shoulder to land on the ash tray. Solomons hardly looked at her, which is how Tommy knew he had his attention.
"I know you keep your gun in the drawer beside the whiskey, I know you offer a deal or death. Probably don't even need the gun with that tiger of yours."
Tommy knew it was the wrong thing to say almost immediately after he said it, but he could hardly take it back. Why would Solomons need to check if the gun was in there if he didn't regularly keep it there. What happened to treading carefully?
Mercy froze when the gun was positioned in front of Tommy's face. A strange thing for her to do. She was a flighty thing, hopping around and relying information to Tommy when she found something interesting. Anything note worthy. She didn't freeze, except for this very moment, and Tommy knew it was because she had seen it too. Solomons would shoot them, there was no doubt about that, this was his territory, and Tommy was indeed alone. It was all up to him.
Adrenaline pumped at concerning speed through his body, he was losing his control, his edge. This caused the cut inside his nostril to open. His ears rung as the warm blood spilt from his nose, which was embarrassing. He didn't want his last moments to be one of weakness.
Solomons watched him as the gun wavered around for a second, and Tommy didn't look away. Show no fear in the eye of death.
The gun was set down just as jerkily as it was taken out, and Mercy flew back to his shoulder as he wiped his nose. He didn't touch the rag that was thrown onto the table, no need to now that he had control of his body again.
After he had told Solomons his plan and they had shaken on it, the man once again pulled out the bottle of whisky. Tommy accepted this time.
Mercy flitted from one shoulder to the other, expelling the excess energy, even though the danger hasn't passed. It was one of the things he couldn't rely on with his daemon, her stillness. He lit up a cigarette and she calmed slightly.
"Always found bird daemons unnerving, you know, what with being able to surprise you from above. A man sent his little sparrow at me, hit me in the back of the head, knocked off my hat. That was when I learned that if you kill the daemon first, the human still dies."
Solomons didn't sound threatening as he told Tommy this, only reminiscent, eyes distenced as he remembered. He had also stopped talking directly to Mercy, which also helped her calm. Tommy wondered if he did it on purpose, and if she was that crystalline.
He downed the whiskey and stood, shaking Solomons hand. Before he left he couldn't help but ask, even if it did have a chance of getting him killed. Most things did in this business.
"Was I right then?"
Alfie tilted his head and gave him an over exaggerated raise of his brows.
"Your daemon."
A near imperceptible smile could be seen behind Solomons beard. His eyes glinted in usually unseen mischief. But Tommy was looking.
"See for yourself, mate."
Mercy let out an undignified squawk as she looked at something over his shoulder.
A mountain lion was spread long on the sofa, head hanging over the arm rest. It's golden brown eyes were gazing at them lazily in a manic boredom.
"Ari, get yourself straightened up you great lump." Solomons admonished. Tommy kept his eyes on the lounging cougar.
The cat, Ari, gave the human a pointed up and down look, tail swishing in slight agitation. Solomons slouched further into his chair.
"Ari?" Tommy looked at Solomons with as blank an expression as he always had. Mercy was perfectly still as she glared at the other daemon, except for the opening and closing of her beak, soundless save the crisp snap.
"You are aware of the concept of names, aren't you Tommy? Is it a Gypsy thing, having silent and nameless daemons?"
"She has a name."
"Well? Go on then, don't leave me hanging, on the edge of my seat, ain't I."
"Mercy." Tommy stated, Mercy chirping in shock at him.
He didn't usually tell people her name, especially the people he worked with. Whores were lucky if he whispered it during sex to get her to stop cawing.
"Mercy, eh? Bit ironic innit, considering the man she's attached to." Solomons said, smirking.
Mercy squawked indignantly as Tommy opened the door and left the office.
***
"The hell you think you're playing at, Tommy." Mercy exclaimed, loud as she liked now they were driving alone.
"Playing his game." He said as he smoked.
"And what game would that be, boy?"
"If you haven't figured it out then there's no point in telling you."
Once again the raven squawked with indignation, only this time she pecked him on the ear in punishment. He huffed and flicked his cigarette at her.
She moved to the other side of the car and didn't speak to him the entire ride back to Birmingham.
***
Alfie sat reading through his documents when a great handsome brute jumped up onto his desk.
"Now, I've told you not to do that." He reminded his daemon.
Ari huffed, "Dangerous game your playing, Alfie. Smart, the both of them."
Alfie scoffed at his daemons deep booming growl, much like his own. If he didn't think Alfie knew that Tommy Shelby was either going to be his greatest rivel or most useful friend and quite possibly lover, perhaps all the above, he had another thing coming.
Strange relationship with his bird daemon notwithstanding.