A dreaded bummy day so we’ll meet you at the cemetery gates. Tommoi rolls up to the Digbeth Kid’s funeral to get slapped by a long line of Deritend residents like the hysterical woman in Airplane. It’s fun for a while getting smacked about like Lindsey Buckingham’s live-in lover but in the end he bungs them a few quid to stop. There’s always something and the next always something is a meeting with Campballs and those two pro-Treaty Micks who blew up the Garrison. There’s another anti-Treaty chump they want iced and so happy were they with his last murder they’ve decide to hire him again. Who says you can’t trust gypsy labour?
Tommoi has a few misgivings about the gig though. He privately tells Campballs that the smart mouthed Mick Donal Henry is a spy for the Irregulars, reporting back to his Guinness and rabbit stewing brethren. Tommoi will do the murder if they kill Henry. Well, if it means more dead Irishmen then Campballs is definitely down with that.
Down in Camden Town Arthur leads an army of Jews into the Italian Gomorrah of Sabini’s jazz club. In a terrifying display of Jew rage they force many of the punters into loans with unfavourable repayment rates, replace the calzone with chicken soup and matzah balls and write “We did this!” on the idolatrous crucifix hanging over the stage. Talk about a liberty.
In a terrifying display of Jew rage they write “We did this!” on the idolatrous crucifix hanging over the stage.
They announce that the club is under new management and incredibly Arthur doesn’t kill a child in the process. And you know what that means: coke and hookers orgy! Arthur is still getting high on his own supply and despite assurances to the contrary will be doing more gak than peak Stevie Nicks for the remainder of the series.
Back in the world of horse racing May Fitz-Carleton takes Tommoi’s filly away to train. He calls the nag Grace’s Secret and he really wants to let that one go. Grace is happily married in America and she certainly WON’T be coming back any time soon.
As if to confirm this he pays May a visit at her palace plonked in the middle of her 50 billion acre estate. She tells him she’s as lonely as a bastard in her gigantic castle. “Like a fucking lighthouse keeper” she says. They bond over Grace’s Secret and he totally bones her. The toff not the horse – unless things took a dark turn during the night.
Things are definitely taking a dark turn in That London as Sabini and Alfie Solomons meets to see who can put in the most scenery chewing performance of a loose cannon gang boss. Sabini wins of course. Sabini always wins. While they’re there they reach an accord to squash their beef and run the Blinders’ Yam-Yam platoon out of town. This could certainly impact on Tommoi’s new racket exporting single malt Scotch to prohibition quenched Canada. Jews, man. You just can’t leave them alone for a minute.
Even more dangerous for Tommoi is the package that’s just arrived at the Ritz Londung. It’s Secret Agent Grace accompanied by her American husbland. We’ll assume she’s not there for a singing gig. Tommoi crank calls her room pretending to be Dick Gozinya. Thank God he’s kept his dignity.
The verdict: Gomorrah! Gomorrah! I love ya, Gomorrah. You’re always a day awaaaaaaaaaay. ¹
Marks out of 10: 7.5
¹ Fuck you.