MacMillan Wharf

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Fifteen

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Fifteen

by Richard Gifford

Angus Black could have been enjoying himself had he not been on a mission to kill a man. He rose early and left the Bangor hotel room before dawn. At 9:30 he parked his car in a garage in downtown Boston across the street from the dock where the Provincetown Fast Ferry departed. He tried to blend in, dressing casually in a baseball hat, dark sunglasses, khaki pants, and a blue Polo shirt. Clutched firmly in his right hand was a Louis Vuitton leather bag containing $5,000 in cash, a change of clothes, and a 9mm Glock pistol. He liked the utility of this gun, as it was lightweight, with a carbon-fiber body, a generous 18-round clip, and a smooth action. The first time he fired it he realized why it had become the sidearm of choice for police departments throughout the United States.

He stood in line at the ticket booth next to the New England Aquarium along with a congregation of Boston’s young gay and lesbian professionals who were on their way to Provincetown for a long weekend of partying. This is certainly a jovial crowd, Angus thought to himself. Too bad my visit is for business, not pleasure.

“One ticket for the 11:00 a.m. boat, please,” Angus said to the young woman inside the Fast Ferry booth.

“One way or round trip?”
“Round trip.”

“$61.95, with the tax. Cash or charge?”

“Cash.” Angus pulled a crisp $100 bill out of the money clip in his pocket.

“Here’s your change, and your ticket. Have a nice weekend.”

“Thanks.”

Angus moved from the ticket counter to the waiting line on the dock. There were already about fifty people milling about, many talking on cell phones and drinking expensive lattes from the Starbucks across the street. Angus surveyed the crowd and the surrounding area trying to get a sense of any security measures that might be in place.

There were cameras atop a nearby hotel as well as on the parking garage where he left his car. These made him a bit uneasy, as they would have a record of him coming and going. Of course, this would only be a problem if he were to become a suspect which he did not intend to be. He would simply act the part of a tourist in town for the weekend, then slip out on the 9:00 a.m. boat the following morning.

What Angus was really on the lookout for was a metal detector. Even though the Glock’s body was composite plastic, there was enough steel inside the barrel and firing mechanism to set off a magnetometer. Seeing none, however, he relaxed for a moment and lit a Dunhill cigarette while he waited to board the boat.

At 10:50, the gate was opened for passengers to board. Many went directly to the bar to get an early start on their weekend frolic. Angus made his way to the bow, where he had a good view of Boston Harbor and Logan International Airport.

Precisely at 11:00 a.m., the dock lines were cast off and the ship’s whistle blew a short, deafening blast. It was a beautiful sunny day and Angus was looking forward to the ninety-minute trip across Cape Cod Bay to Provincetown. He was careful not to let his guard down, as he fully understood the serious nature of his business.

Hopefully, by tomorrow morning, he thought to himself, this whole sordid affair would be over and I could go back to what I really do best, making a profit for myself and my shareholders.
As the ferry passed the Long Point Lighthouse that marked the entrance to Provincetown Harbor, it came parallel to a white lobster boat. Angus made out the name “Lady J” in blue paint on the bow. Some of the passengers on the ferry were waiving to the man and woman on board, trying to get them to wave back or at least smile. They didn’t. They just solemnly stared ahead as they made their way to the opposite side of MacMillan Wharf.

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