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.

But the storm took him by surprise. Just as he was about to overtake Robicheaux, his ship slammed into the side of his. Realizing this would be his opportunity, he rammed the ship again, spearing the center of her body. As the ship took on water, Robicheaux headed below deck to get his crew out.

He was always a weak man. He thought of others before himself. It would prove his weakness.

As the men were brought to shore, Robicheaux went back one more time to be sure everyone was off. In the darkness, Couvillion drowned him. He was weak and tired from swimming back and forth to shore, no match for the man who'd had the common sense to think of himself.

Yet, by the time the investigations into the wreck were complete and he was able to come out of hiding, someone had taken the cargo. It was gone. All of it. He had no choice but to regroup. He traveled to Boston and settled there for a while, then returned to New Orleans when he heard of the Prometheus Foundation.

Two hundred years of chasing a dead man and his treasure. All of it was thanks to a witch that gave him a gift. A gift that allowed him to return over and over again to claim his prize.

Now, he was close. So close he could smell the gold. This was perfect. He would be able to tell the authorities that he was searching the island for a new location for a potential hotel and found the jewels. Spain would claim him a hero. America would reward her favorite son and the name of Marcel Robicheaux would be wiped from history.

"Caicos. Of course," he smiled. "Caicos."

"Sir? Sir?" said the man.

"Yes, sorry."

"How many men did you say you need? With the weather deteriorating, I may not have as many as you need."

"I just need ten good, strong men. They should know how to handle a sailboat and be able to dig if necessary."

"Dig? Like a hole?" asked the man at the marina.

"Yes, like a hole."

"Alright. Give me about thirty minutes. I'll make some calls and see if anyone is willing to go out. Just know that if you get out there, you might be stuck because of the weather."

"I'm an experienced sailor. I won't be stuck out there," said Jacques with a cocky smile. "I'll go across the street and have some dinner."

The restaurant across from the marina turned out to be much better than he expected. Filled with sailors of all varieties, from luxury yachts to small crafts and shipping vessels, they were a range of refined to rugged. Where there were drunken sailors, there were always whores.

With time to kill, he paid the young woman and then bent her over the toilet and fucked her. When she complained about not getting an orgasm, he gagged her mouth and rammed her ass. The blood thrilled him. It always did. Tossing an additional hundred-dollar bill into the sink, he wiped himself off and slapped the woman on the ass, leaving her to clean herself.

"If you say anything to anyone, I'll come back and kill your whoring ass. You should expect these kinds of things in your business." She wiped the tears from her face, nodding at him.

Across the street, he spotted seven men standing by his boat.

"Seven? That's all?" he asked the man.

"It's all that were willing to go. They want to be paid in advance."

"Half now. Half when we return," he told them. They looked at the other man and nodded.

"Alright."

"Wonderful. Gentlemen, let's explore, shall we?"