The Rise of Britain’s Mafia King

Chapter 3: Horse Racing

The tender, juicy steaks were served at the table. In the waitress’s astonished gaze, Mouse devoured the two-pound steak like a hungry wolf that hadn't eaten for days, shoving it into his mouth with bread, chewing in big bites.

Across from him, Arthur was much more elegant, carefully cutting the steak, rolling it in thick black pepper sauce, and then using his silver fork to bring a piece to his mouth.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry; it’s just that the chefs in Britain were so poor. The meat hadn’t been marinated at all, and the bread was so hard it resembled a dried-up old tree root.

One could only say, as expected of Britain. Whether past or future, cooking was always terrible. The only dish that could be considered decent was fish and chips.

“How’s the thing I asked you to handle?” Arthur asked.

“Mmm… Urghhh…”

Mouse tried to speak but could only make strange noises with his mouth full of meat. After washing it down with a large mug of beer, he wiped his mouth and pulled out a large package.

“Arthur, why did we spend so much money on this? It doesn’t look worth the price at all.”

Arthur didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he took the bundle of horse medicine wrapped in white cloth, weighed it in his hand, and asked, “How effective is it?”

Mouse confidently patted his chest, assuring, “Don’t worry, Arthur. I saw that old guy with the Southern accent use it. Just one small packet, and although the horse looks fine on the surface, once it starts running, it can’t even walk without trembling.”

Arthur nodded with satisfaction. He was about to praise the job but then saw that Mouse seemed to be holding something back. He gestured for him to continue.

Seeing that Arthur already knew, Mouse decided to come clean. “Arthur, since we just got here and don’t have any weapons for self-defense, we bought two guns from the old man.”

After making sure no one was looking, Mouse pulled out a black cloth and revealed two brand-new Webley MKVI revolvers and two bundles of oil-paper-wrapped bullets, neatly stacked together.

Mouse couldn’t wait to pick up one of the guns, expertly disassembling it to apply gun oil, carefully calibrating it before handing it to Arthur.

The cool sensation of the gun in his hands felt unfamiliar, but at the same time, there was a strange sense of familiarity. As his right hand slid over the cylinder, the clicking sound told him almost instinctively how to use it.

After loading the gun with bullets, Mouse let out a satisfied burp, finishing the last bit of bread dipped in the gravy from the steak. He then asked, “Arthur, where do we go next? Are we heading to that racetrack?”

Arthur observed the situation carefully, saying, “I’ve looked around. There aren’t many guards, but the ones who are there have decent weapons. We can’t just storm in and grab the horses. I suggest we wait until midnight. One shot, one guard, and we’ll be done in half an hour.”

Mouse took a drag from his cigarette, acting like a ruthless bandit with a bit of swagger but enough skill to back it up.

“Stop! Who said we’re going to rob the place? The task is simple. We just put the medicine in the food bowls of the first nine horses. Unless it’s absolutely necessary, we can’t kill anyone. By the way, are there any police guarding the place?” Arthur asked, glancing over the betting information on the Birmingham Daily.

The biggest odds were on the tenth horse in tomorrow’s first race. If it came in first, the payout could reach 10-to-1. If they bet correctly, a thousand pounds could become ten thousand. After subtracting the system’s required five thousand, the remaining five thousand would be more than enough to fund some small business ventures.

Of course, the risk was high, and the reward came with its own dangers. Horse racing, being a popular industry in Britain, was monopolized by local gangs. If they tried to interfere with them, they’d have to be prepared for retaliation.

Mouse lowered his head, seemingly lost in thought, before answering, “I asked around in the Chinese district. The place is guarded by a local gang called… the Duke’s Gang. Didn’t see any cops around.”

Arthur glanced at the clock hanging in the restaurant doorway. It was 5 PM. By the time they walked there, it would be dark.

“Arthur, it’s getting late. These foreigners are getting lazy. You won’t even need to lift a finger; I can handle them all in no time,” Mouse said with confidence as he crouched in the dark bushes near the racetrack, casually chatting.

Arthur, keeping a careful watch on the racetrack from a distance, observed the few guards who were so tired they had grouped together to smoke and play cards at the entrance. When the time seemed right, he silently stood and gave orders.

“Create a distraction to draw them over here. Remember, no killing unless absolutely necessary.”

Mouse nodded, and before Arthur could walk far, two loud gunshots echoed through the small forest.

The drowsy guards were immediately startled awake, reaching for their handguns and slowly advancing toward Mouse’s position.

Arthur, taking advantage of the commotion, crouched low and silently moved to their side. With the experience gained from years of battle, he moved quickly and quietly, easily bypassing the guards.

Once they were far enough away, Arthur pushed open a wooden door, carefully avoiding making any sound. Thanks to his physical prowess, the entire operation went faster than expected.

He crept into the stable, where the fresh smell of hay and manure hit him immediately. Lighting an oil lamp, he saw ten strong and muscular horses chewing on the grass. It was clear that the Duke’s Gang had invested a lot in these horses.

Even though Arthur wasn’t an expert in horses, he could tell that their smooth coats were worth a fortune.

After carefully adding the medicine to the food bowls marked 1 to 9, he made sure the horses ate it mixed with their feed. Only then did he return to the door and, peeking through a small crack in the wood, observed the outside situation.

The Duke’s Gang members, armed with various handguns, were still combing the bushes. The gunshots had made them more alert, and they weren’t certain if the person responsible had fled yet.

Arthur waited patiently, wiping away his footprints, and after confirming that there were no traces left, he opened the door and slipped out swiftly.

As he made his way down the road, he saw a familiar figure standing by a street sign, smoking a cigarette.

When the figure saw Arthur, he quickly called out, “Arthur, those guys didn’t catch you, did they?”

As Arthur approached, he realized Mouse was holding two rabbits in his hands.

Arthur asked, “Where did you get these rabbits?”

Mouse grinned, extinguishing his cigarette with his finger. “Well, since we were waiting, I figured I’d catch a couple of rabbits from the woods for a snack. They’re not as fat as the ones we caught at the Somme, but they’ll do for a little taste.”