#//just a little pinch and reblog from a nonny-response I wrote about the possibility of gangsters wedding/dating gangsters

[ronmanmob]

Love in Gangland - a modern!verse short

‘-Ang on a minute.’

That was wise Charlie’s voice picking up where Ronnie’d left off. His youngest brother had just finished explaining to a curious new face why wedding into the police force wouldn’t be in their best interests - even with a view to taking down operations against The Firm - and was mid-way through a deep gulp of Gin & Tonic when a mention doing similar into-

‘Th’Blinders?’

-came down the pipe. Charlie knew of that group. Hell, all of English gangland did, like it likewise knew the name Kray. Lighting himself another cigarette, Kray the Eldest held court with his siblings.

‘They’re them Birmin’am people. ‘Ead’s Shelby. Tom Shelby.’

‘Ee got a second?’ Reg queried.

‘Don’t mattah.’ That was Ron cutting in. ‘We f’ree, we’re top tree in th’Firm. S’only top dogs ‘oo wed top dogs.’

Charlie then, gesturing to Reg. He chuckled softly as he spoke. ‘We’re bowf married though mate, so tha’d leave you stuck wiv ‘im.’

‘Nevah know-’ Reggie chortled into his whiskey. ‘Ee might be yer type, Ron.’ Kray the Younger’s lips tugged into a snaggly grin. ‘Got a picture ‘ov ‘im?’

Luckily, Charlie did. He slid the offering out of his manila work folder and sat it between them on the table. Reg conjured up a sneer; made an offhand comment about the man’s hair cut and ducked back into his Laphroaig. Ronnie though…Ronnie wouldn’t blame a person for becoming a wisp transfixed on the man in the image.

‘Man ‘oo took this died second meetin’ wiv ‘em’ Charlie commented, shaking his head over the whole affair. ‘Ee weren’t one ‘ov ours, bu’ y’know ‘ow th’grapevine goes. Any bit’a foddah’ll make its way souf t’London, then East, t’us.’ He tapped the picture’s top corner for emphasis. ‘Tha’s Shelby. Don’t know fuck all abaht second-in-lines.’

‘Don’t need to’ Ron murmured, appraising the picture still. He took a breath, held it a moment, then let it out in a puff. ‘Ee’s a stunnah ain’t ‘ee.’

Reggie snorted. ‘Not my cuppa, fanks lad.’

‘Not mine eivah’ Charlie snuffled. ‘Bu’ t’each ‘is own.’ He circled back to the point in question then. ‘Y’d ‘av ‘im then Ron?’

‘Might do’ Kray the Younger nodded. ‘Wouldn’t mind showin’ ‘im London. Treat ‘im nice, y’know? Fancy car t’pick us up. Best restaurant. Suite at th’Ritz.’

‘Why th’Ritz?’ Charlie wondered.

‘S’expensive ain’t it’ Ron explained. ‘Plush ‘n-’ most importantly, ‘-ahta East London.’ And thus nowhere near the family seat of power, the family home, the family. Period. ‘So I’d take ‘im there wouldn’t I’ Ronnie went on, expounding happily about this never going to happen date between himself and the head of the Shelby clan. ‘Wine ‘n dine, up t’th room - Presidential Suite too. Nice baf t’gevvah maybe, or a showah, champagne, couple’a kisses ‘n while tha’s ‘appenin’-’

Neither Charlie nor Reg missed how Ron’s expression, once engaged and thoughtful on the picture, had closed down in the space of those last four words.

‘-Ee goes fer a knife ‘ee’s ‘ad in ‘is coat pocket all along. ‘N I bite f’rew ‘is lips ‘as ‘ee swings fer me guts, grab ‘is wrist, break ‘is arm, then ‘is legs ‘n–’ He paused a moment, pushed the picture back towards Charlie who, without needing to look, slipped it back into his work folder.

‘Gangstahs’ Ron went on levelly. ‘Are gangstahs to each ovvah, always. No mattah ‘ow beau’iful y’might fink annovah one is, ‘ow well y’dance rahnd each ovvah t’keep peace enough f’business t’run, they’re always a gangstah first. Y’nevah get past tha’ layer t’th ones beneaf. I–’ His expression pinched a moment. ‘I’d not want t’marry one, bein’ one m’self. I couldn’t. They ain’t people t’me - gangstahs ‘oo ain’t named or workin’ for th’name Kray. They’re weaponry wiv false smiles ‘n dead eyes.’