Page 40 of Scammed

“I can’t do that. I’m done. I won’t fuck with these guys. I enjoy my life too much. You’ve paid me to do what I’ve done. No beef. I’m walking away. Good luck.” Mark left the room walking across the concrete floor, listening as the hackers found a way into whatever non-profit they were calling. He heard the click of Tim’s dress shoes on the floor but didn’t bother to turn around. He should have.

The echo of the firearm had the hackers scrambling beneath their desks, covering their heads. For a moment, Mark thought he’d missed. Then he felt the burn in the center of his back but kept walking. Then another shot rang out.

“No one walks away from me,” said Tim. He looked at the hackers as Mark’s body fell face down on the concrete flooring. “Get him out of here and dump him somewhere. The rest of you, keep calling! There’s money to be made.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As the team met to discuss next steps, Amy sat to the side at a picnic table, staring out over the bayou. She remembered Marcel’s words about the beauty the bayou held, and she smiled, feeling its warmth. She’d lived here her entire life and never thought much about what was surrounding her. That all changed when Marcel spoke in bright colors and flowery illusions about the bayou, their home.

When her phone vibrated, she jumped, unsure of who would be texting her.

“Tina?” she whispered to herself. Staring at the phone, she saw the message that she’d dreaded.

Amy, not sure if you’ve heard, but Mr. Sheffield was murdered sometime this past weekend. His funeral will be held tomorrow at St. Anne’s.

“Why the sad face?” asked Trak, staring at the young woman. She jumped, slightly startled by the sudden intrusion of her thoughts. The dark man gave a smirk, realizing that he needed to proceed with caution.

“My former boss, Mr. Sheffield, he was murdered this past weekend. I ignored all those calls of his.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Trak. “Let me see what the boys can find out.” While Trak went to find out what Code could discover, Amy dug in a bit by searching the internet. What she found made her skin crawl.

“Mr. Paz Sheffield was found in his home late Sunday evening. There was no evidence of a break-in, nor was there anything apparent missing from the home. He was shot three times with an automatic weapon believed to be fixed with a silencer.”

“Talking to yourself now?” smirked Tailor. She shook her head, holding up the phone. Tailor scrolled through, then waved a big hand above his head, signing to the other men.

“What’s up?” asked Gabe. Turning the phone, Gabe read it, then the next man.

“I should have called him back. What if the man was there, making him call me? I ignored it, and now he’s dead. This is my fault.”

“That’s not on you,” said Tailor. “If you had gone, something might have happened to you. I’m not sure even Alec and me could control Marcel if that were to happen.”

“This man knows that something was inside that painting,” said Amy. “He’s systematically stealing from these foundations, hoping that he hits one owned by all of you. Or he’s just a horrible person and stealing because he enjoys it, praying one might be owned by you. That’s a serious grudge for a man.

“You know, sometimes, when I would call on businesses to see if they would help out the foundation, I would encounter someone who was so anti-giving. It always amazed me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tailor.

“What I found over the years is that many people who were poor, down on their luck, or maybe their parents had a difficult time, were bitter if they never received help from someone or if they’d received help and were made to feel less because of it. I mean, think about it. We have all these foundations and societies and groups that help others, but if you’re one of the outliers and no one sees you or hears your cries, so to speak, that would make you bitter.”

“That’s a great point, little one,” said Trak. “I wonder if our man was destitute at some point. I’ll check with Marcel and then see what we can find in his background.”

“What about the shelter downtown? What if he goes back there and causes trouble?” asked Amy.

“Another great point,” smiled Tailor. “I’ll see if we can get a few of the Voodoo Guardian boys to head down there and take some shifts.”

While everyone was doing their thing, Amy just sat and observed but was feeling very left out and very useless. When Marcel came over and gave her a kiss, she held onto his t-shirt, holding him close.

“I need something to do, Marcel. I don’t sit still very well, and I want to be of help to everyone.”

“You are being of great help by remaining safe,” he frowned. “I will not risk your life because this man has a grudge with me.”

“If we’re married, he has a grudge with me as well, husband.” The men all smiled in her direction, Marcel at a loss for words. He opened his mouth a few times, then shook his head.

“Of course, we’re married,” he smiled. “Forgive me for being an old man in a young man’s body. I only wish to ensure your safety and that of our children.”

“Let me do some research on Couvillion’s family. I may be able to find something. What about the treasure?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we send someone out to the island to retrieve it? I mean, if he wants what’s in there so desperately, maybe we dig it up and entice him a little.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” said Gabe. “Let me get Antoine, Baptiste, Luc, and Rafe, and we’ll head out there. We know that island well.”

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