1933
Act five/ season 6
Tommy sat inside the bar in Miquelon, a cup of water in front of him.
"Maybe you should take your water into the hall" the barman suggested. Tommy ignored him.
"Another bottle of whiskey" A man said in French, looking at Tommy.
"You work for the whiskey company, right?" he asked the two. Tommy placed a business card in front of him. "I'm here on private business" he said.
The man picked up the card, using his lighter to burn it. "Where did you learn french?" he asked Tommy.
"In France, yeah i learned a lot of things in France."
"Island is crawling with you fucking commissary men, closing our warehouses down" The man hissed, throwing the card into the ashtray. "Throwing men out of work"
"Jean-Claude leave the man alone" The barman spoke.
"Ten years our boat ran whiskey down the president roads to Boston. Now we have fucking nothing"
"And you sit in front of us and order fucking water, is that meant to be a joke" he asked.
The man bit his tongue.
"No, i ordered water because i no longer drink alcohol of any kind." Tommy corrected.
"Jean-Claude, please. Leave it alone"
"You my friend, are going to drink s toast. You will raise your glass to the poor people of Miquelon whose lives you bastards have destroyed. Drink it" he poured out the water in Tommys glass and poured whiskey into it.
"Drink. You're not leaving this bar until you have raised a toast"
"Okay" Tommy sighed, putting out his cigarette. "Okay, i understand that today of all days you would be angry. But if you had read my card instead of burning it, you would realise this is a misunderstanding. Now i've been very patient given the circumstances but you need to sit down and let me read my newspaper"
He scoffed. "He's a good one, isn't he" he said in French. He smashed the glass and Tommy stood, slashing his face with a knife. A man charged at Tommy and he pulled a gun from his pocket.
"Before this goes any further please let me explain, I will not drink your toast because four years ago i forswore alcohol"
"Fuck" the man hissed, standing, grabbing a piece of broken glass.
"No, don't" he said, pointing and shooting the clock on the wall.
"Since i forswore alcohol, i've become a calmer and more peaceful person." he shrugged. "Sometimes in moments of personal conflict, i can resort to my old ways"
"If this were to happen now, it would indeed be a black day in Miquelon. Now my guests will be arriving shortly, need to prepare the room, show me where?"
They followed the woman into room.
-
"They think we're distillery men here to take our whiskey back" One of Michael's men said when the others ignored them. "We're late, he's always early let's go"
-
Footsteps approached and Micheal and three other men walked in.
"Hello Tommy" Micheal said. "There's a man out there having his face stitched up."
"That was a misunderstanding, hello Micheal" Tommy greeted.
"I wasn't sure what i'd think when i saw you again, Tom," Micheal said. "Oh, yeah? What do you think?" he asked. "Since my mother, passed away four years ago. Tommy and I haven't even spoken."
"Well, we've all been very busy"
"You've been too busy to punish the people who killed her" he looked at Tommy.
"You know, Micheal, when you're dealing with a very powerful enemy, taking revenge sometimes requires time. You have to pick your moment. That moment will come"
Micheal sat down.
"But now we have a business interest in common, and any bad blood will be diluted by time and practical self- interest."
"Well, Tommy, we're all keen to hear what you have to say" He lit a cigarette. "I'm looking forward to working with you again Micheal. You look very well"
"You too"
-
"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"
"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"
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"
"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. "Perhaps we can meet after you've spoken with Uncle Jack then?" Tommy suggested.
"Who i believe if your wife's uncle" he 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"
"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.
"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 Tommy.
"Just understand, Uncle Jack decided everything okay?" Connor said. "And i decide when this meeting is over. So sit down till i say"
"Put some fucking hair on your chest, hm?" the man leaned down, whispering in Tommys ear. "Good boy. Now give us all a poem before we go"
"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.