"You're the one who said you wanted to do business with me?"
About half an hour later, a middle-aged man wearing a suit, with a scar on his face and a somewhat weathered expression, stormed into the tavern with a few subordinates. He walked straight over and sat down grandly across from Lindon Schneider, looking at him as he spoke.
Yes, it was Lindon—not Josh.
At this moment, Josh was standing behind Lindon in the role of an assistant.
This kind of matter involving dealings with gangs was more suitable for an old fox like Lindon. Moreover, smuggling was ultimately a gray business, and it was naturally best for Josh not to take the front stage.
"You're Thomas Shelby?" Lindon looked the man up and down and asked.
"That's right. My friends call me Tommy. Aren't you going to introduce yourself, sir?" The man confirmed his identity with a smile and then asked Lindon.
"I've got some goods—quite a large quantity—so I need a reliable partner!" Lindon replied in an arrogant and commanding tone.
"Then you've come to the right place. In all of Britain, if you want someone who can distribute goods across the country, you won't find a second beyond the Shelby family…But one thing must be clear—we don't touch powder!" Tommy smiled faintly.
"The Razor Gang" was what outsiders called them, but like most gangs, they referred to themselves by their boss' surname.
Tommy didn't mind Lindon's arrogance. He was a smart man and understood that the global situation was already quite clear—America's rise was unstoppable.
And after getting beaten up badly by the little mustached man, Britain no longer had the glory of its old empire days.
The flamboyant presence of American soldiers throughout major British cities was proof enough of that.
"Naturally, we don't deal in that harmful stuff either. In fact, the goods we're moving are urgently needed across all of Britain—even all of continental Europe," Lindon nodded, then looked at Josh.
Josh promptly lifted a box by his feet and placed it on the table, then opened it.
The contents were simple: several packs of various brands of cigarettes, some loose tobacco, and a few cans of tinned meat.
In fact, Josh had prepared far more goods than these, but these were the types that couldn't be sold openly.
Strictly speaking, only the cigarettes were truly unsuitable for open sale. The canned meat would normally be fine—unless it was this kind of "dinosaur meat"…
Seeing the items in the box, Tommy was quite surprised. He had assumed the Americans wanted them to sell sensitive materials, but cigarettes and canned meat… he hadn't expected that at all.
In peacetime, tobacco might be considered slightly sensitive. But during wartime, for a Britain that had long since begun selling off its belongings, it didn't even count as sensitive.
Currently, Britain's situation was such that any useful supplies you could bring in were considered legal. Smuggling wasn't even a concept anymore—they didn't even collect taxes on it.
"I don't quite understand…Goods like these, sir, you could easily sell through the trading companies. There's no need to come to us!"
Although tempted by the deal, Tommy hesitated due to uncertainty about Lindon's background. As a gang boss with decades of experience, he didn't believe in windfalls falling from the sky.
Could it be…there's something wrong with these goods?
"Mr. Shelby, you're overthinking it…You can try the goods yourself and decide. I guarantee all of it is just like these samples—top quality!"
Lindon, sensing Tommy's concerns, smiled slightly and didn't directly mention any conditions. Instead, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a can of meat, gesturing for Tommy to try them.
Tommy glanced at one of his subordinates, who didn't hesitate—he picked up the can and immediately began eating the meat with his hands.
After just one bite, his eyes lit up, and he started wolfing it down.
Seeing this, smiles crept across the faces of Lindon, Josh, and the others.
In truth, the taste of these canned meats—identical to U.S. military rations—was very average, even quite poor: overly salty and greasy. Without heating, an ordinary person would have trouble swallowing them.
The fact that the man devoured it so eagerly could only mean one thing: he hadn't tasted anything oily or meaty in a long time.
Watching his subordinate behave so disgracefully, Tommy's cheek twitched. He discreetly kicked the man under the table.
Over the past few years, Britain had been in terrible shape, and even those in the underworld weren't doing much better. Going hungry was a common occurrence.
But to behave like this in front of guests was still quite shameful.
Yet even after being kicked, the man showed no intention of putting down the can. He cleaned out the entire one-pound tin and even licked the inside for leftovers.
Around them, the other Razor Gang members were practically drooling.
"Heh, country bumpkin. I'm sorry to have embarrassed myself in front of such distinguished guests," Tommy gave a slightly awkward but polite smile toward Lindon.
"Mr. Shelby, no need to be so modest. Britain is simply going through its most difficult time. As the war situation becomes clearer, I believe all of this will soon pass," Lindon replied, politely raising the other party's status.
"As for your earlier concerns, Mr. Shelby, the truth is simple. My boss is not looking for a one-off deal—he wants to establish a partnership that will remain stable even after the war ends."
As soon as Lindon said this, Shelby immediately understood.
Yes, at this stage, anything could sell in Britain—nothing was really illegal but once the war ended, everything would change.
Canned meat would quickly lose its value. Tobacco might retain some worth, but once the British government recovered, illicit cigarettes would become a prime target for crackdown.
So if someone wanted to continue selling illicit cigarettes or other contraband long-term in Britain or Europe, the best choice was indeed to partner with a strong gang.
"I was too suspicious! The Shelby family would be very happy to take this deal. When can we get the goods…and about the payment…" Shelby's face showed a hint of embarrassment at the mention of money.
These days, even landlords don't have surplus grain. Prices in Britain had skyrocketed. If Josh's group brought too much, even the Razor Gang—the largest gang in the UK—might not be able to pay in full upfront.
"That's easy. We can deliver the goods first. As for payment, we also accept goods in kind—gold, jewels, land—all acceptable, as long as they're clean!" Lindon replied with a smile.
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