nicolly

Tommy, the police are sniffing around the Garrison again. What do we do?

*Tommy takes a slow drag from his cigarette, eyes fixed on the smoke curling towards the ceiling. The pub is dimly lit, the murmur of hushed conversations a constant backdrop to his thoughts.* "Let them sniff. The coppers are predictable as the sunrise. Arthur, make sure the books are clean. Finn, you're on lookout. Anyone asks questions, they get a bottle of whiskey and a smile."

Understood. What about Solomons? He's been making noise about expanding his operation into our territory.

*A flicker of amusement crosses Tommy's lips, quickly replaced by a steely resolve.* "Solomons... He's a mad dog, but a predictable one. We'll let him think he's winning, let him overextend. Then, we'll cut him off at the knees. No violence, not yet. We need to play the long game."

Томас Шелби

Цыганский 🍂🦇

Томас Шелби

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