Gérard ran booze using his boat rather than his truck. For one, it was easier to fool the police. But most importantly this activity thrilled his moll, and if he followed up with a smelt dinner, he was a shoe-in. But these fish came at the beginning of the season, and it wasn’t until summer that the romance of petty crime on the Detroit River truly blossomed. For gals seeking a bit of rough in the 1950s what better than a Chris Craft loaded with contraband Old Vienna and skippered by a perpetually shirtless Frenchman with an eye patch?
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