Page 134 of Storm over the Caribbean
Grumbling, I put my drink aside. “Well, if we can’t get away, we’d better get on with our business, right?”
“Indeed, Mr Linton.” Tearing the offensive straw hat off his head, Mr Ambrose sent it flying like a discus out over the ocean. “Let’s move.”
With a clap of the hand, Mr Ambrose attracted the attention of the pirates. When all their eyes were on him, he rose and silently gestured for everyone to follow. Sighing, I took off my own straw hat and mournfully placed it on my beach chair. Bye bye, best friend.
“So,” I whispered as I came up behind my husband. We were just leaving the beach and heading towards town—unfortunately, with a long line of thugs behind us. “Where exactly do we find this…person we are looking for?”
Mr Ambrose cocked his head at the pirate beside him in a silentYou heard what he said. Well?
The pirate shuddered. “You really wanna do this? The old bastard can be a nasty piece of work.”
Mr Ambrose’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally, and I smirked.
He’s not the only one. Oh, I’m almost glad we didn’t get a chance to escape. This is going to be good.
“I am,” my dear husband confirmed. “Verysure.”
“Oh well, it’s your own funeral.” Raising one hand, the pirate jabbed a thumb down a winding alley. “It’s that way.”
With a curt nod, Mr Ambrose turned in said direction, and we started down the alleyway. It didn’t take long before we arrived in front of a dilapidated little cabin at the seashore. It was not what most people would have expected when imagining the residence of a filthy rich fence—but it most certainly was whatIwould have expected. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Ambrose scrutinize the small domicile.
“Well? What do you say?”
He shook his head. “Far too extravagant.”
I gave a sombre nod. “I know, right? He could have easily done without the roof and it would have been much cheaper.”
“Indeed.”
Our pirate escort, who had been checking out the surroundings to make sure we were alone, returned at that moment and gave us a nod. “Seems like he’s in. Go ahead. But be careful, or that old bastard will talk all the money out of your pockets in five minutes flat.”
“Oh…” Flexing his fingers, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stalked towards the hut. “I rather doubt that.”
Stopping in front of the door, he knocked, just once. A second later, a croaky voice came from inside. “Enter!”
The door swung open and, for just a moment, I caught a glimpse of a skinny old man sitting in an armchair with a devious grin on his face. He looked at my husband like a farmer would look at his golden goose, and I could practically see the pound signs blinking in his eyes.
“Please, valued customer, step inside.” The grin on the old man’s face turned into an obsequious smile. “I’m sure we can come to a satisfactory arrangement.”
Mr Ambrose inclined his head ever so slightly. “Indeed.”
Then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Ha! Ha! Mwahahahaha!”
The pirates looked at me cackling, weird expressions on their faces. “Um…Freddy? Why are you laughing?”
“N-no reason,” I wheezed. “No reason at all.”
“Um…all right.” The man pulled out a pack of cards. “Wanna play for a bit? If I know the old geezer, this is gonna take a while.”
“No need.” Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I shook my head. “I don’t really think so.”
“Huh? Well, suit yourself.” Shrugging, he sat down with his companions and started dealing the cards—when, suddenly, the door to the hut opened once more, and Mr Ambrose stepped out into the open.
“What?” The pirates leapt to their feet. “What is it? Did he refuse to make a deal?”
“Oh no.” With a brief shake of the head, Mr Rikkard Ambrose raised a jingling sack in his hand. “He didn’t.”
