Chapter Text
There was nothing in life Tommy Shelby hated more than baking. Well, Alfie Solomons was a close second right now, but the feelings of hatred and kinship between them shifted as fast and as often as light falling on a forest floor.
Right now all of Tommy's hatred was focused on the dough sticking to his hands and drying under his fingernails. It felt like blood caking his skin. He much preferred the blood.
He kneaded the dough furiously. In front of him Alfie was whistling offkey, flour caked hair sticking in every direction. His cane was propped up against the counter beside him.
The other bakers, oblivious to the fact that two of the most dangerous people of Britain were between them, chattered excitedly to one another. Their endless plapper was nerve-racking. His hands itched for a cigarette. Smoking was forbidden in the tent, the producers had said. He couldn't remember the last time someone forbade him a smoke when he wanted one. He was Thomas Shelby, no one forbade him anything. He felt his eyelid twitch.
He and Polly had discussed this mission greatly. It was best if he was here himself, even though everything in him longed to run out of the fucking tent and keep fucking running. The cameras were annoying him and the pointless questions of the presenters tested his patience.
Polly and him had spent weeks in the kitchen, going over recipe after recipe. Of course they had made sure to gather intelligence on this season of the show. Tommy already knew all the technical challenges and he had perfected them as well as he could. He was sure that Alfie had done so as well.
Nonetheless, baking was easy. It was like chemistry or politics. Some ingredients worked well together and others didn't, there was a logic to everything and Tommy could appreciate that. When he was younger he used to bake with his mother. She would teach him all the small tricks and let him eat the leftover cake batter. When she died he had stopped baking. It was better this way. His hands weren't made for baking. They were made for killing. They were made for cutting bullets out of squirming men, for firing machine guns until the magazine was empty. They weren't made to create. They were made to destroy. They weren't made for delicate things. They were made to choke and punch and for holding cigarette after cigarette until one day hopefully fucking lung cancer would take him out, if a bullet wasn't first.
At the table beside him someone cursed. "Too much water, how can it be too much water?"
Tommy's men had tampered with the kitchen equipment of everyone of his opponents except Alfies. He had been sure that Alfie would have his men do the same thing so Tommy had waited until the last minute to swap his equipment with Alfies. It wasn't crucial that he reached the finals but this was still a competition and Tommy was nothing if not competitive.
"Bakers you are halfway through!" One of the presenters announced. A hectic flurry began in the tent. Only him and Alfie remained calm. Tommy suspected that Alfie was secretly enjoying this.
Tommy slapped the dough on the worktop and formed a neat loaf out of it. As soon as it was in the oven he stepped outside for a smoke.
The weather was annoyingly good. Sun shone down on the green park, no cloud in sight. A light breeze ruffled the treetops around them. He lit his cigarette. The sharp smell of smoke drowned out the scent of flowers around him. Tommy dragged the smoke into his lungs, holding it as long as he could.
"Bread week, right?"
Tommy pressed his eyes closed. Why wasn't he granted a single minute of calm in this god forsaken show? His body tingled with the need to turn around and punch Alfie square in his smug face. But he still remembered the barrel of Alfie's gun pressed against the side of his head, his own gun leveled at Alfie's face. They had called a shaky truce. Killing each other would bring more problems than solutions and if Tommy was honest he preferred Alfie alive. Not that he would ever say that out loud. He even had trouble thinking that in the safe space of his own mind.
Alfie talked on when Tommy made no move to answer. "You know why I prefer bread to cake? You couldn't feed a whole people with cake, could you? With bread tho, Moses knew about the importance of bread, let it rain down to be gathered or whatever he did, who knows what he did. I am giving my people bread too, right. Have been a baker my whole life, yes? So the question, you know the question we are all asking, the whole fucking universe is asking right now, what the fuck, right and I can't stress this enough, what the fuck is Tommy Shelby still doing here? See as we are all in agreement that he isn't a fucking baker."
Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You aren't either."
"Of course I am! Stands right there in my passport: Alfie Solomons, baker, will shoot your fucking face off if you keep interfering with his plans."
"Shut up. You are giving me a headache." They've had this conversation in various forms many times over the last few days, even though they both knew exactly why they were here.
"I am giving you a headache? Means I've nestled myself in, right? Right there." Alfie poked the side of his head with his index finger. "And I am feeling right at home there, giving you a headache, having you wonder over my next steps. It's a dance, isn't it? And I bet I am a better dancer, you are too stiff to dance."
Tommy took another drag of his cigarette. This wasn't how he had imagined his summer. No in his imagination he sat in his office pouring over incoming mail and brooding over long past calls. In his imagination the company and the family were settled, no longer in need for one Tommy Shelby to guide them. In his imagination he had one foot already in his grave, just a short step away from his dead wife.
"I bet I dance better than you", he said even though that's not what he wanted to say. No, what he wanted to say was nothing. But Alfie had a way of always snaking a response out of him. That's how they worked, dancing around each other, always an eye out for a potential backstab. Still, Alfie was probably the best friend he'd ever had and wasn't that sad?
He let the cigarette fall to the ground, stomped it out and shouldered his way past Alfie back inside.
The inside smelled intensely of bread and sweat. It was an awful smell, reminded him of Alfie. It was too bright, everything was pastel colored, as if the 1950s had vomited their way into the white tent.
He stepped back to his work station and started to prepare the dip they were supposed to serve with the bread. What a colossal waste of time. When he came back from Afghanistan to take over the family business that's not what he had seen in his future, five years down the line. Not that he had seen much of a future anyways.
"Is your bread rising?" The women from the workstation behind him asked. Tommy felt his eyelid twitch again.
"It appears to be." God he wanted to push her face down into her fucking bread until she choked on bread crumbs.
"I don't know what I did wrong."
"Oh dear." Alfie came up beside the woman, Tommy always forgot her name, and squatted down to peer into her oven. "It seems like your yeast did not activate right."
"The yeast? But I did everything right!"
"Maybe it was bad yeast, happens sometimes." He shrugged and got up, pushing down on his cane. He gave Tommy a wink when the woman wasn't looking. So he knew then what Tommy's men had done. It did not come as a big surprise but was annoying nonetheless. Tommy of course knew exactly what Alfie's men had done as well, like calibrating the scales wrong.
Tommy took his bread out of the oven. It was a beautiful loaf, decorated with herbs and cuttings of flowers. He hated it down to his core. In front of him Alfie rolled his shirt sleeves up to take his own loaf out. The muscles of his arms tensed and the tendons jumped. Tommy averted his attention back to his stupid dip and his useless bread.
Soon the time was over and the judges went around to assess their bread, poking and sniffing and finally tasting, chattering on and on in the cameras. Tommy turned the sound down in his head.. Alfie chatted right back at them with big gestures, the cane in his hand snapping through the air. Paul Hollywood stretched his hand out to shake Alfie's and it was treated like a fucking biblical experience as if the pope himself had shook Alfie's hand and Alfie acted all suprised and touched and Tommy wanted to vomit. His eyelid twitched again, there was hopefully no camera aimed at his face right now. When the judges reached his table he went through all the motions expected of him, while his mind was already far away planning the steps of any potential situation coming his way in the next ten years.
He got no handshake. And that was fine.
It was fine!
Really who wanted a stupid handshake anyway?
"Got any closer?" Pollys voice asked through his phone. Tommy groaned and leaned back in the armchair. A half smoked cigarette was dangling from his hand. Smoking was forbidden in the hotel rooms but Tommy did not care. They could try to drag him out of the damned hotel, he longed for a fight.
"What do you think? Of course not. This is a waste of time."
Polly chuckled. Tommy took a drag of his cigarette and watched as the smoke collected under the ceiling. He had disassembled the fire alarm the seconds he had entered this room. He nearly wished he hadn't.
"And Solomons?"
Tommy groaned again. "Doing whatever the fuck it is he is doing. I am not convinced that he isn't here just for the pleasure of baking. Who knows what's going on in his head? Lost his bloody mind."
"Many people would say that about you too."
"And they would be right, wouldn't they?" he murmured. "I'll call you back when I have something." He disconnected the call before she could start asking after his feelings. She really needed to be put back in line, only that Tommy wasn't suicidal enough to try that. Polly Grey did what she wanted, he respected that, and if she wanted to ask how you feel she would and there was nothing to be done about it. So Tommy avoided it as best as he could.
He took the glass he had filled to the brim with whiskey, a bit excessive maybe but there was nobody here to see and by God he needed it, and took a big gulp. The whiskey burned down his throat and collected warm in the pit of his stomach. Tomorrow, he needed to find a solution tomorrow. He wasn't sure how much more of this circus show he could stomach before he would snap, he was only a breath away of bashing the head of a cameraman in with one of the big ass microphones or sticking one of the presenters into the oven until their skin was crisp. His whole body tingled. No this wasn't good. This whole mission had been a stupid idea. He had too much time alone, too much time to think. He needed a fight. He needed adrenalin, something to keep the memories at bay, to make him feel alive. Baking only made him feel more dead, the feeling of dough under his hands like a head beaten to pulp, oil dripping over his hands like blood. He took another gulp of whiskey and then some, tried to flush them down, the unwanted thoughts. How he could just climb over the barrier of his balcony and be gone, how he was a bad man, doing bad bad things, how he had no chance at redemption and no right to remorse, how baking was against his nature because it was too pure. And Tommy, Tommy wasn't pure. In the midst of exploding bombs and bullets ripping holes into innocent people he had lost the pure, smiling boy, who had dreamt of making the world a better place. In his place now stood the shell of a man and every day he wondered how much further until the shell would collapse into itself and only nothingness would remain. But then his head would say "only one more job" and he would agree "only one more job" and on they went, on and on and on like a carousel with broken breaks.
The knock on his door came like a blessing. He took his glass and the smoldering rest of his cigarette with him. He did not bother to check who it was knocking on his door at this hour. Maybe someone came to kill him. He wasn't sure if he would put up much of a fight.
The door swung open and on the other side waited Alfie Solomons with a wide smile that should turn Tommy's bones into a frightened goo, but made his stomach tighten instead.
"What do you want?"
"A good evening to you too, mate. How are you, Alfie? Oh I'm fine Tommy, thanks for asking. The leg is bothering me a bit, but you know how it is. You don't? Oh here let me explain it to you…"
Tommy tried to shut the door in Alfie's face but it was blocked by the end of his cane. He sighed and stepped back, allowing Alfie to enter his room, a decision the whiskey made for him because the rest of his brain tried to protest loudly, only to fall on deaf ears.
"Nice room, mines a bit bigger tho’, not that size matters… much."
The eyelid twitch was back with vengeance.
"Again what do you want? I don't have the whole evening."
Alfie turned around in the middle of the room. The room suddenly seemed much too small.
"I actually think you have. What were you doing before I came here, hm? Drowning in self-pity, drinking the feelings away? Balcony door is closed tight, hm?" Alfie stepped over to rip the door open. "It's a fine evening, this. Should let some air in. It's stuffy in here."
Tommy tried not to let the surprise show on his face. How was Alfie always able to read him? As if all of his thoughts were just laid out there for Alfie to shuffle through. "Alfie…", he said with a warning undertone that hopefully brought the point across.
"Fine, fine, no need to be so fucking rude. Did your mother not teach you any manners?"
"The point, Alfie." Another gulp from his glass, there was no way in hell that he was surviving this conversation sober. He was already hanging on by a thread, he just wasn't sure what would happen if the thread ripped. With Alfie he was never sure where they were heading, he wasn't sure if he was ready to find out. Being attracted to guys was one thing, nobody cared that he was bi, but being attracted to Alfie? That was a totally different thing and not entirely sane either.
"Right, right let me think…" Alfie's hand came up to stroke his beard, the rings on his fingers glinting in the light of the hotel room. Tommy imagined how his hand would feel on his face instead and put the glass down. He definitely had too much to drink already.
"Ah yes I came here, at a totally reasonable hour if you ask me, to talk about the elephant in the room right, as people so nicely put it, the elephant being that we are after the same thing."
"And what are you going to do about it? Kill me, eh?" Tommy's gun hung together with his suit jacket over the back of a chair, all the way at the other end of the room. If Alfie wanted to shoot him, Tommy had no other choice than to beg for his life and there was nothing in the world that could make him beg.
Alfie snorted. "What? No. Thought about it, didn't I, but it would do no good to spray your beautifully broken brain all over the cheap carpet. No, I am proposing a cooperation. We work together, we share the pot, 60/40 for me because it was my idea, obviously." Alfie stretched his hand out.
Tommy stared down at it and then back up at his face."60/40 for me because I have to put up with your fucking bullshit."
Alfie snorted amused. "But because we are such good friends, let's say 50/50 shall we?"
Tommy took his hand. Alfie's hand was bigger than his, his calloused palm scratching over Tommy's skin. They shook on it, maybe a little bit longer than strictly necessary but who was there to see?
"Are you going to betray me at some point?" Tommy asked once the hand shaking was over.
"Haven't decided yet."
"Great. Just great." Tommy lit another cigarette. Alfies eyes hung on his lips for a second before they snapped back up to his eyes, the game they had been playing for years. He wondered how much longer it would take until one of them grew tired of it. They both knew about the tension between them, that it felt like it could explode at any given moment, there was no point in denying it, Tommy was only human after all. He never thought about indulging in it though, mainly because nothing good could come out of it. Nothing good ever happened to his lovers. He thought about Grace and shuddered, her dead face staring at the ceiling, blue eyes cold and lifeless.
"Let's talk strategy then", Alfie said.
Tommy settled back into his armchair, preparing himself for a long, long night.
The show-stopper challenge, what a waste of time and resources. Tommy hated it even more than the rest of the baking. It took so much more effort, what right had bread to take up so much space? It was only fucking bread. His arms were burrowed elbow deep in dough, while different substances bubbled on the stove top. In front of him Alfie was kneading his dough with strong hands, rings carefully lined up at the end of his table. The muscles in his shoulders strained with every move.
Between them cameramen strutted like peacocks and microphones hung from the ceiling. Cables were taped to the floor everywhere, covered by workstations and decorations. Hidden in plain sight the organs of a whole organization, it would be so easy. Cut the cable, cut the sound, one moment of peace. Cut the cable, have them scramble to search for the problem and solve it. But wars were never won by cutting arteries. No, if you wanted to win the war and escape the hellhole you were stuck in you had to blow up the whole fucking thing. And that would be fucking easy too, wouldn't it? A hand grenade hidden in some unsuspecting corner, a remote-controlled bomb he could activate at any given minute.
"Looking like someone contemplating murder over there, Tommy," Alfie snickered.
Tommy's head shot up. Alfie had half turned to him, the loose collar of his shirt revealing part of his wide chest and one collarbone. For one second Tommy had the absurd urge to stick his tongue out. He settled on rolling his eyes instead. Tommy loosened his tie a little bit. The other contestants were confused by his decision to wear neatly tailored suits to bake every day, but there was no way in hell he would step into the public without a suit on. They were his armor, his protection. Who needed breastplates and chainmail when a good suit could do the trick. People took a good look at him and deemed him out of their league. They saw the neatly polished shoes and stayed clear of him. A man dressed like this clearly had no time for their pointless small talk or unwanted advances. He was safe. With the suit he was safe, except from Alfie obviously, but there was nothing in the world that could protect you from Alfie if he was set on annoying you.
The camera crew moved back to workstation number one. Tommy followed them with his eyes, while he was still kneading his dough. There at workstation number one stood the reason he and Alfie both were here. The woman was middle aged with short, grey hair and oval shaped glasses. She looked like a nice, normal woman but since her husband had died she was the biggest exporter of rum, gin, whiskey and other liquor in Britain and that of course was a big fucking thorn in Tommy's side. The problem was that the woman was better protected than the queen herself. Mary however had a passion for baking and that's why they were all here. Because while the baking was filmed her security had to wait outside the tent. They surrounded it like guards, yes, but they could only peak in through the windows. And that's why it hadn't been enough to send someone in as crew, they needed to be able to move more freely, to build a friendly relationship to the other contestants like it was tradition in the show. They needed to get close to her and a woman like her did not get close to the crew. Tommy wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to do with her. He was sure that Alfie would just kill her and seize her business with force but there had to be a better and more silent way. And now that he and Alfie, probably, hopefully, most likely, were a team he could do something without fearing Alfie would find him out. Over the last days he had pondered possible approaches at his workstation, all of them depending on the fact that Alfie would leave the tent for a few minutes which of course he never did. Now they had a fully formed plan between them they could act on and fast, so they could leave this stupid show behind. The problem was that Tommy wasn't a very likable or very charming person. He knew how to make people afraid of him. He knew how to make them attracted to him, that wasn't hard because he was an attractive person by default and bluntness could go a long way, but he just couldn't make friends, not since he came back at least. So Alfie had to befriend her and hopefully get them an invitation to her home, of course he could go alone but Tommy would make sure that Alfie needed him there as well.
So that's why, when her oven door broke off a few minutes later, Alfie was by her side instantly, assessing the damage and patting her back soothingly. Something in Tommy clenched at the sight of Alfie's broad hand on her back, but he swallowed it down, down, down. He waited for Alfie to wave him over, when he did, Tommy left his station without a glance for his work in progress. He of course was a gentlemen who would put others' distress over his own success, at least in this scenario.
"Would you take a look at that, Tommy?" Alfie asked in a voice that was much too normal for him. It was disgusting.
"Of course." Tommy bent down and waved one of the crew members away, who had arrived at last to assess the damage.
"Tommy worked in maintenance for a while, so you know." Alfie talked on. "He'll have your oven fixed in no time."
Yeah of course he would, because he was the one who had disassembled it in the first place. All the parts he needed were still right there.
"Oh so you know each other?"
Tommy clattered with the parts a little bit to make it believable.
"Yeah we are partners."
Tommy hit the first thing of Alfie’s he could reach, what would be his right shoe, but it was already too late.
"Oh, I didn't know they let couples compete, how long have you been together?"
The eyelid twitch again.
Alfie momentarily seemed at a loss for words. Tommy hit his shoe again.
Alfie grunted something unrecognizable. Another hit against his shoe.
"Nah they said it would be fine, you know us competing even though we are a couple." The words seemed to get stuck in Alfie's throat. At least he was uncomfortable, the least thing he could do. "Have been together a few years now."
"Three and a half", Tommy added from his spot on the floor, the time they had been doing business together. He decided that this conversation was best be ended, before Alfie could reveal that they had a child together or whatever else his big mouth could produce. He placed the parts back where they belonged and stood up.
"Your oven should be fine now." He opened and closed the door for emphasis.
"Oh thank you both!" She gave Alfie a hug, annoying, and patted Tommy on his arm, also annoying.
"If you'll excuse us." He grabbed Alfie by the arm and dragged him back to their workstations. He pushed Alfie back against his counter, thought about how violent that would look to the cameras and placed his hands on Alfies hips instead. He leaned in, close enough to feel Alfie's breath on his face.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?", he whispered furiously into his ear. One of the cameras zoomed in on them. He'd have to burn the footage before it ever reached the public eye. "Do you have trouble thinking? Partners, yes? I'll show you fucking partners if you keep messing up."
Alfie pushed back against him until they were chest to chest. Tommy could feel his heartbeat. For a moment he imagined taking one of the cooking knives and ramming it right through Alfie's ribcage, right here in front of the cameras. Then his mind registered how close they were and that his hands were still on Alfie's hips and he imagined a whole other kind of ramming, which was fine because then Alfie started talking again and his fantasy snarled in disgust.
"Could you imagine that not all of us earthly people are blessed with your otherworldly intellect? Just forgot for a moment there right, just forgot that partner has a different meaning to this herd of mindless sheep back there. So cut an old man some slack, hm?"
"Ah fuck off, whatever. It doesn't matter.". He ripped his hands off Alfie's hips like bandaids and turned to his own workstation. The thing was it did matter. Somehow it did, Tommy just wasn't sure why. He did not care what this damned women was thinking of him, in a few days she wouldn't matter to the world anymore. He did not care what the film crew thought of him or what the cameras were seeing, but still… but still it did matter.
He went back to his dough and punched the ever loving daylights out of it. His bread went in the oven too late, which was part of the plan, because didn't they show compassion by helping her and risking their own bakes for it?
His mind was still reeling, going over the plan again and again, Alfie's body under his hands, not enough sleep, Alfie in his hotel room opening the balcony doors wide because he just knew that Tommy thought about jumping, bread dough everywhere, sticking to his hands like muddy blood, the heat of the oven like fire on his skin. Sand. Sand grating his skin bloody, pushing its ways through the cracks in his clothing. The gun in his hand heavy. Sweat dripping down his side. Gunshots somewhere behind him. Sand burning in his eyes. Blood caking his hands like a second skin. His friend dying somewhere behind him in the sand. Running. Out of breath. Heat. Explosions. People running in front of him. The gun in his hands shooting salve after salve. Sand. Sand crunching under his shoes. Throwing someone to the ground, punching and punching until their head turns to pulp, brain mass under his hands like dough. The smell of blood sticking to the roof of his mouth. Ash coating his uniform. Running again. And sand. Sand on his skin. Sand on his uniform. Sand in his hair. Sand in his mouth. No point in running from the sand. It'll get you, it'll always get you.
"Tommy, mate, you still with me, yes?"
God he had to get the sand off. It was everywhere! He tried to get it out of his eyes but his hands were so sticky. It had to be the blood. There was still blood on his hands. His chest tightened. How was he supposed to get the sand off when his hands were still bloody?
"Yeah mate, let's not do that here, right?" A hand grabbed his arm and dragged him away. Tommy went willingly. Maybe the hand was taking him to a shower. He needed to get the sand off. It was everywhere. He could taste it between his teeth.
The sudden sunlight shocked him out of his memory as fast as it had sucked him in. He blinked against the light.
"Take your hands off me," he snarled, but when Alfie let his hand fall back to his side, Tommy's own hand shot out of its own accord to cling to Alfie's sleeve. His heart was beating too fast and his vision was swimming.
"You alright mate?"
"Shut up."
He was shaking. God he was shaking and sweating and tears burned in his eyes like sand. He swallowed, felt the memory trying to drag him back in. Normally he would have a drink now, but there was no drinking allowed in the tent.
"Tell me something", he said, hating how thin his voice was, hated how he still clung to Alfie's sleeve like a lifeline.
"There once was this city, called Babel or something, and the people there thought to themselves 'yeah let's build a really big tower so we can reach heaven and then we'll be Babel the city with a bloody tall tower' yes, that they thought, so they started building this big fucking tower, but then God saw this and he wasn't happy about it, was he? Why the fuck would they try and reach heaven? That's not for mere mortals, he thought and because he was God, right, he changed all their languages so they couldn't understand each other anymore, and apparently they had been too stupid to make a blueprint of the tower because they stopped building the tower then, not being able to communicate anymore… "
Aflies' voice washed over him like warm honey. Tommy hated that it worked but it did, Alfie's mindless talking anchoring him to the present.
"Okay, fine. Fine." He dried his eyes on his shirt sleeve, slowly letting go of Alfie. "Right, fine," he repeated and then more quietly: "Thank you."
"Of course, happens to the best of us."
Tommy wasn't so sure about that. He looked up, over Alfie's shoulder, only to see a camera directed at them. Fury build in him, accompanied by shame and dread. Alfie followed his line of sight and growled, a deep sound that made Tommy's body twitch. "You there, come here." Alfie said in a voice that left no room for discussion. The cameraman came. Alfie's cane shot up, the curved handle hooked behind the neck of the man and dragged him closer, until he was face to face with Alfie.
"Now what are you doing here, hm? Thought you could just film a private moment? Has nobody told you that you are only here to film the fucking baking in there?"
The cameramen trembled. Tommy crossed his arms over his chest.
"I am sorry, I didn't think…"
"No you clearly didn't, did you? So I'll tell you… what was your name again?"
"M-Mark."
"I'll tell you what's about to happen now, Mark, yes? I'll take the memory card, see." Alfie opened the memory card slot of the camera and took the card out. "And I'll give it to my friend here, because that was his very private moment." He threw the card to Tommy. Tommy catched it and let it vanish in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He would destroy it later. "And now you'll go back to your boss and tell him that you need a new memory card and you won't breeze a word of this conversation to anyone, because if you do, if you do right, I'll bake your fingers into my next cake and use your teeth as decoration. Are we understood?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"Very well, off you go then." Alfie lowered his cane. The cameraman scrambled off instantly, legs and hands shaking. Tommy looked after him. A lump formed in his throat. He didn't think that anybody had ever protected him the way Alfie just did. Normally Tommy was the one doing the protecting, the one spitting threats when someone as much as breathed wrong in the direction of his family.
"Alright?" Alfie asked softly. And Tommy wanted to rip himself open in front of him, he wanted to show him all the broken pieces and demand to be put back together, he wanted to crawl into Alfie's arms and let himself be held until he couldn't feel the shards anymore. He wanted to cry into the crook of his neck. He wanted to mount him like a horse and ride him until everything else was forgotten, until there was no room left for thoughts.
Instead he lit a cigarette with shaking hands and nodded once.
"Good, yeah, good." Alfie patted his shoulder and went back inside, leaning heavy on his cane. Tommy watched him leave, the cigarette burning between his fingers. He had the feeling that he should be ashamed, that it should bother him that Alfie just saw him break apart, but he didn't and that worried him much more.
He smoked his cigarette and went back to his bread.
Mary won Starbaker this time and she beamed happily at Tommy and Alfie, just as planned.
Tommy went back to his hotel room exhausted but still found no sleep. He spent the night drinking Whiskey and staring out of the open balcony doors.