The Beer Run
(A short story prelude to Vigilante Patsy)
It's Thursday morning, a large beer truck pulls up to the curb and squeaks to a halt, once a week the same driver and helper make a delivery to the small basement level grocery store on Fort Street in Montreal. It's 1969. The Habs are hot and the Expos are not. The weekend is coming and there will be thirsty people seeking out that sweet golden liquid.
Inside the store is a respected businessman. He is a short Jewish man with grey hair and walks with a limp. He is the owner of this humble little grocery store. The jagged tattoo on his arm informs us he is a holocaust survivor. Sometimes his wife helps him out with the store, but today she is not there the owner had to hire out.
The grocery store boy/man let's say, whose name is Mickey, is in his early twenties with long sideburns and curly red hair. He's wearing plaid bellbottom pants with a large collared shirt buttoned halfway up. He works part-time in some of the grocery stores in the area. He is a professional thief. Mickey does not care that the owner and his wife are about to become another victim of his crime spree.
Jumping out of the Labatt truck are two uniformed French guys sporting ponytails, It's a tell tale sign that they are a couple of Québécois as they say in Montreal. Now this Labatt driver, Jacques and his helper have been delivering beer for a while they are in good shape and let's just say that heavy lifting is not a problem. The two men get right to work and open the sliding doors that roll into the roof of their truck. The rattling noise from the metal casters is enough to wake the dead but this no longer has any effect on the delivery men and they could not give a shit who it awakes. After the last door is up, the driver removes his metal encased note pad hanging on a hook. Filled with beer orders he opens it and finds the order for the Fort street grocery store.
The store owner meets him at the bottom of the stairs, the least amount of steps that he walks lessens the pain in his foot. The driver understands and descends the ten steps and shows him the size of the order. He checks the bill to make sure everything is kosher as they say and then takes a seat on an old pub style chair that has been sitting out in the weather for as long as he has owned the store.
Opening up and slipping a wooden door wedge under the large oak framed door filled with thick diamond grooved glass is the professional thief Mickey. Mickey has also opened and wedged a small twenty four inch door that leads to a dingy storage room reserved for beer storage. This is all the work he will do for now.
The two experienced deliverymen strategically carry six cases of two-four's as if they were filled with empties. The method to this, one under each arm and two held together by the strength of their hand clamping the two cases together by the handles, three on each side. In the late sixties beer cases were built to last they were re-used and took a beating from being thrown around. The use of a hand truck would have taken longer due to the amount of steps the men had to navigate. They both came to the conclusion and said to themselves,
"Fuck that, it's easier to carry the cases down than to bounce a hand truck down the steps."
As the men pile the cases outside the narrow door opening they glance over at the lad working for the store owner, although they do not know his name they have seen him around. They begin to converse in French, so Mickey does not understand them.
"He doesn't work too hard this guy." Jacques says to his helper.
"No, I think he's waiting for something"
"Yeah, he's waiting but for what."
"Not sure but maybe he's waiting for an opportunity."
Jacques continues the conversation, "What opportunity do you think he is waiting for?"
"I'm not sure but it might have to do with the trouble we've been getting into at the brewery every other morning concerning the disappearance of beer stock in the last few months," the helper suggests.
"Oh yeah, how do you figure that?" Jacques answers, wondering what the helper knows that he does not.
"I find it a bit too coincidental that a few of the complaints we've been getting come from the same beer stores that this fucker happens to work at, it might be worth it to keep an eye on him."
"Sounds good to me," Jacque answers a little irritated, "I'll make a few calls and have someone track what the hell he's up too."
The two men finish the delivery and the owner sighs the bill after checking to make sure all of his order is there. Mickey closes the doors looking at the two delivery men and senses that they do not like him, he's right. Heading into the back storage room to see what's there Mickey begins to work out where he can make a case or more disappear, this is not a problem for Mickey he has been doing it for a about a year and he's been doing it in every store that he works at. Mickey does not realize it but he has been stealing beer not only from the stores but from a couple of heavy-duty bikers as well.
Later in the day and when a suitable opportunity presents itself, Mickey unhooks the storm window and easily slips the cases through. Waiting on the other side is his friend Mike Flannigan. Now Mike and Mickey have a little scam going and free beer makes it run nicely. It's an after-hour's bar and someone has to keep the beer flowing when the pubs close, these two hooligans have decided they are the ones to do it.
The bikers do not approve and Jacques decides to spend the dime. A phone rings in a biker-bar on Pie-IX Street near Notre Dame in the east end of Montreal, Jacques explains to the bar owner on the other end of the line that a store helper is up to no good with their beer deliveries and request that someone take a trip to the west end to confirm the scam. Moments later, a car leaves the east end bar parking lot with a driver who would rather be riding a bike.
It takes a few weeks but the bikers have pieced together what Mickey and Mike Flannigan have been up to, a meeting has been arranged to deal with the problem.
In a private restaurant booth on Notre Dame Street the beer truck driver, his helper and the bar owner have a discussion while being served breakfast by a bare breasted waitress in a packed restaurant occupied only by men, they talk.
"This shit has to stop," the owner says.
"I know what do you want us to do?" Jacques asks looking at the waitress walking by.
"This guy Flannigan he's running a blind pig right?" says the owner.
"Yep," Jacques answers back.
"Let's keep him running it and take him for half the earnings. If he and his grocery boy disagree make them understand. You could use the grocery boy to reinforce the message don't touch Flannigan. We can use him long term." The owner instructs them as he sips his coffee.
"You sure you want to cut into their business. The Irish are not going to like it." Jacques reminds the owner.
"Fuck them!" the owner yells slamming his coffee cup on the table, vibrating every dish on it. The restaurant becomes eerily quiet. There's not a rattling dish or a murmur of conversation to be heard.
The owner leans in now calmly, like his emotions are controlled by an on-off switch. "Flannigan and Mickey have been profiting off our beer for more than a year now. Are we supposed to bend over and take it? Recoup what we can from Flannigan and the Irish will just have to eat it, if they don't like that someone will have to eat some lead." The sound of the restaurant returns to its normal Hustle and bustle, none of the patrons want to be caught listening to the conversation.
A few days after that meeting, Jacques and his helper are on St Patrick Street. It's an industrial area in Point st Charles, not far from Charlie's tavern where Mike Flannigan works as a bartender for Big Mel, the Irish boss. When they see Mike and Mickey they stop only a few feet in front of them and jump out of their van. Mickey recognizes the two of them and takes off leaving Mike behind. Making his way through a red bricked laneway in behind the Redpath Sugar mill he is heading to the canal the helper is right on his ass.
Jacques looks at Mike and tells him, "Get in the van or this will not turn out well for you When we catch your friend you will understand what I'm talking about so get in the fucking van or you will be found floating face down in the fucking canal, I promise you that."
Mike, not being much of a fighter steps in the opening of the van's sliding door and turns back and says, "What the fuck is going on, I don't even know you fucking Peppers. What's this about? You Frenchmen aren't even allowed on this street. Do you know who runs this area? It's Big Mel, He'll be dealing with you.
Jacques large hand nails Mike in the face. Mike hits the side of the van and lays on the floor dripping blood, the solid punch rings in his ears. Mike realizes that Jacques does not care who runs things, he does not care in the least what anyone thinks. Mike stays silent on the floor as the sliding door shuts.
The helper is in good shape and Mickey is running out of gas but quick. It does not take long for him to catch up and grab Mickey by the color of his jacket. With one single circular motion the helper flings him into the brick wall. Mickey is in pain but unlike Mike he likes to mix it up, he stands and the helper realizes he has to go toe to toe with this one.
Mickey's training in boxing has him at an advantage quickly. He lands a combo on the helper that stuns him. Again, Mickey lands another combo with a few punches to the solar plexus, the helper is gasping for air and the final kick to the balls stops him from breathing altogether.
Lying on the ground Mickey leans on him with his knee, and says "Bikers, what's so fucking tough about you fucking guys?" Adding more pressure Mickey draws the life out of the helper. Mickey can see the blood vessels breaking in his eyes. The helper's red-blue color almost entertains Mickey, he has killed before.
"Hey beer boy," Mickey turns to see Jacques with a gun in his hands. While still on the helper's chest, Jacques moves to the front of the two men and Mickey follows without a word. Jacques can see that his friend is dead. With a cold stare and without any hesitation the Labatt driver squeezes the trigger and blows the fuck out of Mickey's red head, the Labatt driver has killed as well.
Cleaning the gun with the tail of his shirt, Jacques then takes a knee and places the gun in the helper’s hand, he then heads back to Mike and the van as fast as he possible can.
Driving the van at a normal pace, Jacques explains to mike in clear and easy to understand words,
"You and I are going into business together. Half goes to my boss, the other half goes to me or I will kill every one of your family members, doing you last are we in business?"
"For sure we're in business," Mike Flannigan answers in complete fear, "We're in business."