Page 45 of Scammed

“It’s remarkable,” said Amy, smiling at her. “It looks just like the original. Ela, it’s beautiful. Truly!”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Maybe I have a career in forgery.”

“I don’t think so, babe,” grinned her husband as he kissed her. “I like you not behind bars.”

“What about the wax seal? It was sealed by my ancestor,” said Amy.

“I’ve taken care of that as well,” smiled Ela. “I created the image of the seal, the scrolled ‘B,’ and George was able to recreate it for us. His carving is perfect.” She pressed the seal into the melted wax and then touched a spare piece of paper. What was left was truly remarkable.

“It’s beautiful,” smiled Amy. “I wish we wrote like this today and used wax seals. It’s so refined and elegant. We’re all so used to texting one another we don’t bother to write thank you notes any longer or handwritten messages. I think it’s becoming a lost art, and it makes me sad.

“I used to write handwritten thank you cards to all of my donors. They always remarked at how special that was and how much they loved seeing someone’s handwriting.”

“I agree,” said Ela. “I’ll get this sealed, then Ellie and Ro can place it on the back of the painting and replace the butcher paper and the burlap. We’ll use the same antiquing techniques with the paper and fabric.”

“I guess now we just wait until we have contact information for Couvillion.”

“We have it,” said Trak, walking up to the group. “I’m going to call his cell phone and let him know that I have the painting.”

Angel, Tailor, Bull, Ian, Ghost, and Whiskey nodded at him. They would be going with him to meet with Couvillion. Just to be on the safe side. He held the cell phone out for all to hear the conversation.

“Yeah.”

“Is this Tim James?” asked Trak.

“Who is this?”

“I believe you’re looking for something that I possess. A painting.” There was silence on the other end of the line, then a quickening of breath as someone moved around a room. He heard a door slam, then the squeak of a chair.

“Are you there?” he asked.

“I’m here. How did you know I was looking for a painting?”

“I hear things. My friends and I recently did a job and acquired some, uh, misplaced objects. The painting isn’t my style.”

“How much?” asked Couvillion.

“We were told it’s worth about five thousand dollars. I won’t take less,” said Trak. He could almost hear the giddiness in the man’s voice. He laughed at him. He actually laughed.

“Sure. Five grand it is. How can we make the exchange?”

“Tell me where to meet you. I’m outside of New Orleans now,” said Trak. He could tell that Couvillion was attempting to trace his call, the meters on his phone running left and right, scrambling his location.

“Where in New Orleans?” he asked, obviously frustrated.

“The area. Just tell me where.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you where the Intercoastal Highway and Bayou Bienvenue meet. You can only get there by boat. Make sure the painting is protected.”

“I’ll be there. If you attempt to trick me, I will kill you.” Again, Couvillion laughed, his confidence higher than it should have been.

“I’ll be there.” The call ended, and Trak looked at the others.

“I don’t like him. Let me kill him in the bayou.”

“No can do, big, tall, and scary,” smirked Ghost. “We promised Marcel this one. We’ll give him the painting and get him away from New Orleans and away from Amy. We put West Caicos as the meeting spot. We’ll meet there by jet.”

“But how will you know when a storm might hit?” asked Amy.

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