MacMillan Wharf

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Twenty-Eight

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Twenty-Eight

   The Governor Bradford is a great place for criminals and law-abiding citizens to grab a beer.

by Richard Gifford

Juicy Freeman lay unconscious at his feet. He felt bad having to hurt him, but the stakes were too high. It wasn’t elegant either. He walked up to Juicy and said “Hi”, then asked him if he’d seen the blimp hovering over the Pilgrim Monument. Of course, there was no blimp and, when Juicy turned around to look for it, he smacked him in the back of the head with a lead-filled leather blackjack. He waited behind the bushes until he was sure Annie was out of sight.

He retrieved the key from under the stone and let himself into the house, just as he had watched Annie do. He looked around to make sure that no one had seen him, closed the door, and sat down at the computer. Ray Charles hissed at him from the other room, but he had bigger concerns on his mind than an unfriendly house cat.

In order to get the $25,000, he would have to deliver both the report and Annie to Angus Black tonight. He had mixed feelings about bringing Annie into this, and possibly getting her killed, but he saw no other way out. Too much had already gone wrong. If he wanted to stay out of jail he needed to make sure that all of his tracks were covered.

He scrolled through the files on the hard drive and came to the same password protected area that Annie encountered. He didn’t see Annie leave with anything in her hands and he hoped that she hadn’t printed the report. He looked around to see if he could see any visual clues as to what the password might be. After nearly a dozen unsuccessful tries he gave up.

Knowing that the longer he stayed in the house the greater the risk he had of being caught, he unplugged the laptop computer and put it inside a shopping bag he found in the kitchen. He would take the laptop back to his place where he could spend more time trying to guess the password, and find the file. If he failed, he could just hand over the entire computer to Angus Black and let him deal with it.

The idea struck him that the laptop would be noticed if it were missing, and that his fingerprints could be found where he had touched objects in the house. Not wanting to take any more chances, he decided to make sure that no evidence was left behind.

He found a large candle in the bathroom and a book of matches. He set the candle on a counter in the kitchen and lit the wick. Making sure that all the windows were closed, he turned on each of the four burners on the gas stove after blowing out the pilot lights. He’d never done anything like this before and he wasn’t sure how long it would take for the gas to ignite, but he wasted no time getting out the door. As he did, Ray Charles sneaked past his feet and ran out into the garden.

Nine lives, there goes one, he thought.

Nervously, he looked up and down the street to see if anyone was watching him. Satisfied that there were no witnesses other than the cat, he pulled the visor of his cap down low and walked away under a brilliant crimson sky.

Briskly, he made his way towards the center of town. Sweat was trickling down the inside of his shirt as he entered the cool darkness of the Governor Bradford tavern. He made his way to the far end of the bar and ordered a beer. With his head down low so that no one could see his face, he quickly downed the pint and ordered another. By the time he’d finished his second beer, the glasses at the bar rattled with the boom of the explosion. Most of the patrons ran to the window or out into the street to see what had happened, but he remained fixed to his seat, clutching the bag tightly. He saw no point in gawking. The threshold had been crossed. There was no looking back.

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