Page 49 of Scammed

“Yep. But what a wonderful year for you, brother. One a long time coming.” Marcel stared off toward the river. He watched as the rain began and the trees swayed with her force.

“What if he doesn’t come to Caicos, Nine? What if he doesn’t follow the map, and this is all for naught.” Nine gripped his shoulder, squeezing.

“One thing life has taught me, Marcel. The bad guys are always predictable. He wants that treasure desperately. The copy that Ela and the others made is exceptional, and he won’t know the difference. Everything about it was designed to ensure authenticity. The wax we used, the oils, the paper, all of it.

“That man is going to be so excited just to open the letter and read where the treasure is located. He won’t have time to examine anything too closely. Even if he did, by some million to one shot, if he decided to really investigate it all, we’ll have it covered here. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Nine,” he said, letting out a long slow breath. “I feel better already.”

“Keep your focus, brother. We’ll be there with you. All the way.”

Marcel walked toward Amy, taking his seat beside her as they shared their meal. They laughed and talked, held hands, and kissed. All the while, the rest of the seniors watched them carefully.

“He’s a capable man,” said Nine to Gaspar. “He’s strong, he’s smart, but he’s also two hundred years out of his element. He’s not completely lost simply because he’s been exposed to everything here. But I worry what will happen in the moment.”

“At the range, he proved to be effective,” said Rafe. “He’s a great shot.”

“I know. I saw him. But you and I both know that shooting at a range and shooting a man are two different things. Our weapons fire so much faster than anything he’s ever touched.”

“He’s been shooting almost every day, Nine,” said Antoine. “What are you worried about?”

“Her,” he said, pointing to Amy. “If something were to happen to him, I’m not sure she wouldn’t try to harm herself again. It would be an enormous loss for her.”

“Then we won’t let anything happen to him,” said Gaspar. “We’ll make certain of it. Even if Couvillion is able to hire a crew, they’ll be amateurs at best. We’ve handled men far more skilled than him.”

“What if he possesses some sort of magic? Even your parents weren’t sure about him, only that he is evil. We can fight a lot of things, but magic isn’t one of them,” said Nine, more concerned than ever.

“We’ll find a way, old friend,” said Gaspar, gripping his forearm. Nine nodded at the other men.

“We always do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Jacques Couvillion was finally alone in the Garden District home that he’d lived in for nearly forty years. The deal he’d made with the witch was one that he didn’t quite comprehend at the time. He’d be able to come back and exact revenge, but he’d be given only forty years each time.

Whatever physical form he was in, tall, handsome, ugly, fat, thin, or whatever was his fate, would die at the age of sixty. He would arrive again at the age of twenty and die at the age of sixty. Forty years is all he had each time. Somehow, his body came to life at the age of twenty, with all the knowledge of what had happened the previous three score. It gave him the opportunity to continue and try to exact revenge.

Of course, it had taken a while for him. Sometimes, he would reappear and not remember. Something that foolish old witch would need to answer for one day. There were two periods in a row in the 1800s where he remembered nothing. He was suddenly in front of his home, thinking about making some tea and wondering where he’d been.

When he woke in the mid-1900s, he discovered that the Robicheauxs were alive and well in the area but lived much further from the city. He had a hard time getting to them and had all but written off that they had any wealth at all, considering the way they lived.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have a nice home. They did. It was their ancestral home. But they lived frugally. No fancy cars. No fancy expenses. Their children attended local schools, and the father still worked every day at his occupation.

Then again, Jacques was oblivious to the knowledge of oil and gas. It took the late 1900s to bring that knowledge to him. Now, he was here again, trying to find the treasure that had belonged to him.

The Robicheauxs seemed to have a golden halo above them. Everything they touched turned to gold. Everything was good luck for them. He’d risked his neck stealing those jewels. Placing them in the crate, he hoped that the customs officers would search the cargo in London or New Orleans.

Instead, he watched as Marcel conversed with them as old friends. They looked at a few things being loaded onto the ship but completely ignored the small crate. If he could get to them and make them understand that he was carrying the stolen jewels, Robicheaux’s name would be ruined. His reputation destroyed.

They laughed at him. They actually laughed. How would this man know of such things?

“You, Jacques Couvillion? How would you know what a good man like Marcel Robicheaux has done? You can’t even sail a ship into port during a storm. I’ll take my chances with Robicheaux and his good name,” laughed the guard.

He set off a day behind him. His ship was smaller, faster. In no time, he would catch him and find a way to sink the ship and find the treasure. It would need to be shallow waters. As they rounded the coast of Florida, he attempted to get to him but was cut off by the myriad of vessels arriving from the south.

Then the storm started. The winds were picking up his small boat and tossing it side to side. Nothing seemed to bother Robicheaux and his ship. Finally, headed north in the Gulf, they were nearing New Orleans.

No doubt Robicheaux would dock his ship near his family’s home, unloading personal cargo there first. The waters were shallow, so if Couvillion was able to sink his vessel, he would be able to dive for the cargo at a later time.

---