The Garrison stood proudly in the depth of night. The streetlights shone welcoming the drunks and the ones who merely were looking for more excitement. Another night in the depths of Brimingham. The smells of liquor, smoke, and sex. Lately, the pub had been struggling, only a little bit, but with it being run by Arthur Shelby.

Inside was anticipation, the whispers of men and women alike. It was rumoured that one of the best performers in the business. There were no bright house lights, no stages, no curtains. The smells seemed richer than any other night, the liqour didn't feel cheap, the men were dressed in their finest suits which sadly weren't much. The women had their best perfumes on and their brightest lipstick colour on.

In The Garrison wasn't only filled with mere workers and housewives. Brothers, the brothers who practically owned the pub, Arthur Shelby Jr. guzzling down liqour better than any professional liqour, Thomas Shelby merely smoking and watching every corner of the pub and glaring at anyone who did too much, and John Shelby sitting there and looking at some of the pretty women.