𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃, ⁱˢⁱᵃʰ ʲᵉˢᵘˢ

62

"This projector is a gift from Charlie fucking Chaplin. And he sent it all the way from Hollywood. Now sit down and watch the film" Lizzie shouted as the kids ran about. "Oh god, no, Elizabeth, don't do that you're gonna hurt yourself" Ada scolded, holding the phone.

"Yes, hi is that the bell tavern? If there's a Gypsy there called Johnny Dogs, can you tell him to come and round up his fucking kids" she said. "It's Christmas, time for family"

Lizzie turned off the projected. "Mum i was watching that" Ruby complained.

"Okay, okay" Lizzie clapped her hands together. "We're having this Christmas Party early" she said, "because tomorrow me and Charles and Ruby are going on a big ship to Canada, to be with their dad"

The kids gasped. "But we told Father Christmas about the party and he bought you all presents" she whispered. They all cheered.

" Ada where the fuck is Father Christmas?" Lizzie asked, sitting beside her. "I don't know, he was supposed to be here by now. Where the fuck are you santa?"

Charles ran down the stairs, stopping and pretending to shoot Arthur who lay all doped up. Arthur groaned, pretending to die. "You've got me" he said. "But i've got a gun, you better run" he said, holding up two fingers, falling down the stairs.

-

"Gentlemen today is the last day of Prohibition. But rather than see it as the end of something i believe that for men like us, it can present a new beginning, a new opportunity. An opportunity i would like to share with people i know i can trust"

Florence scoffed.

"For the last 12 years the men on this island, have been making their living from bootlegging whiskey. from navigating the waters and avoiding American border patrols. But now that whiskey is about to become legal, the trade will fall back into the hands of capitalists from New York, Boston and Toronto. But..when one door closes, another opens" he placed a briefcase on the table.

"We can take advantage of the systems that are in place on Miquelon Island. And offer selected boat crews and opportunity to carry on working" Micheal stated.

"But this time with different cargo" Florence nodded.

One of the other men grabbed the envelope on top of the briefcase, using a knife to open it.

"Now it's all over the fucking island" the other spoke.

"This is an island with no morals and no opinions. Just a load of fucking boats with nothing to carry and nowhere to go" Florence sighed.

"Reason why Miquelon was used to run whiskey in the first place, is cause it sits right outside the territorial waters of both America and Canada. Technically it's French territory. The FBI, the RCMP have no jurisdiction."

"Where do you get this stuff?" the man asked. "I've established a supply chain, over the last four years with the associates in Belfast. We decided it was time to break into the American market. That my friend, is the finest opium in the world. Delivered to my warehouse in Liverpool directly from Shanghai." Tommy told them.

"Micheal, when it comes to this shit, you're the expert."

"I trust them" he nodded. "What about the French police" the man asked. "I've been in communication with the Miquelon Prefect de Gendarme. We fought in two of the same battles in France. We consider each other comrades. I have offered my comrade twelve million francs if the boats between Miquelon and Boston keep running."

"We will have to take your proposal to Uncle Jack in Boston." he said. "Uncle Jack" Florence laughed. "Perhaps we can meet after you've spoken with Uncle Jack then?" she suggested.

"Who i believe if your wife's uncle" she finished. "Jack Nelson" Tommy said. Connor, one of the men laughed. "The guy knows things that can get him killed, and he says them out loud"

"I have a high regard for Mr Nelson. He has a history not unlike my own."

"Jack Nelson's past is forgotten" Micheal said. "Not forgotten" Connor said. "Fucking gone"

"No, not gone. Just erased from the records like my own" Tommy nodded. "Give him my regards, will ya"

Florence watched as the cogs turned in her brothers head.

"You haven't touched your drink Tom" he said. "You know since we last left Micheal, well i've become a better man. I now realise that whiskey is just fuel for the loud engines inside your head"

They all laughed. "Catch yourself on" one said.

Florence sighed once more, carefully placed her knife on the table, smacking her lips as she spun it round.

"What is this guy? A fucking poet? Huh?"

"Oh i do read poetry but i don't yet write it." Tommy pointed. "They say the fog is gonna get worse. Better get off this island before it traps us here" he said, standing.

One of them stood in front of Florence and Tommy. "Get out of my way" she said.

"Just understand, Uncle Jack decided everything okay?" Connor said. "And i decide when this meeting is over. So sit down till i say"

"What are we fucking dogs?" Florence whispered, returning to her seat. "Wipe that fucking grin off your face brother" she hissed. He looked at her.

"Put some fucking hair on your chest, hm?" the man leaned down, whispering in Tommys ear. "Good boy" Florence let out a frustrated breath, folding her arms over her chest. "Now give us all a poem before we go"

"Don't be ridiculous. Micheal who are these people, eh?" Florence asked.

"Want to hear a poem? You want to hear a poem? What about you?" they nodded. Tommy sighed. "I was angry with my friend, i told my wrath, my wrath did end, i was angry with my foe, i told it not. My wrath did grow."

Micheal clapped his hands together.

"It's from the Poison Tree by William Blake. You won't have heard of him. Meeting over, oh and by the way, my friend, the police commissioner, told me he'd spoken to hid FBIS liaison officer, and he told me that there is an informant in your organisation in South Boston. I tell you this, in the spirit of corporate hygiene. Here you are Micheal" he said, throwing the bag at him. "Beware the man with a bleeding heart tattoo, with Maria written in red" he whispered.

"Florence," he nodded. Florence patted Michael's shoulder as she walked out.