Page 20 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“We’ll appreciate all the time you can give us,” Merrill said.

“I don’t have any fancy degrees, or experience as a diver,” interrupted the next member of the team, as opposite from Bonita and Delilah as any woman could be. “I’m Charlotte LeDeux from Lafayette, Loo-zee-anna, praise God and pass the gumbo,” the person in men’s coveralls and a New Orleans Saints baseball cap said, as if impatient with all the niceties of introductions and wanting to get on with the real work. It was hard to tell whether she was thirty or forty or older. “You kin call me Charlie or Captain. Frankly, I don’t wanna become best buds with any of you. Talk about! And I expect you’ll soon feel the same way about me.”

“Why don’t you tell us how you really feel?” Famosa said, probably trying to tease her into more pleasantness.

“Bite me, Casanova,” she replied.

So, I’m not the only one who pegged Famosa as a tomcat.

“Casanova? I’m not that old,” Famosa protested with a laugh. “Lighten up, sweetheart. I was just teasing.”

“Tease this.” Charlie flicked Famosa the bird, then explained to the others, “I’ll be manning the wheel of the salvaging boat, and there isn’t anything I don’t know about boat motors. My family ran a commercial fishing boat on the Gulf for five generations, but went out of business after the last hurricane, combined with all the environmental poison being dumped by the devil’s spawn, the fucking oil companies who are raping our land and waters. And that’s all I have to say on that subject. I need to earn a shitload of money to buy back our company. So, let’s get on with this treasure hunting crap.” She tugged the bill of her cap down with a jerk, letting them know loud and clear that she was done talking.

“Okaay,” Merrill said with a grin, enjoying the rather stunned expressions on some of the faces. “Next?”

“Well, then, you’re probably going to hate me, Captain Charlie,” the big blond Norseman sitting next to her said, giving her a playful elbow nudge. “I sell gas here on the island.”

“That figures,” Charlie said, and elbowed him back, hard. “You damn Vikings were born raping and pillaging.”

Said Viking just grinned. “I’m Karl Gustafson, but you can call me Gus or Goose or Damn Viking, although I can’t recall the last time I pillaged. What the hell is pillaging anyhow? I played linebacker for the Cowboys for about fifteen minutes a few years back before my knees gave out. Maybe I pillaged there, come to think on it. Came back to the Outer Banks with a wife who also lasted about fifteen minutes when she realized I wasn’t gonna be the next Joe Namath or Joe Montana in retirement. Anyhow, I opened Gus’s Gas and Goods, a convenience store, and I’m living the good life here with my mama, who will run the business when I’m here working for Geek. I’m an expert diver and looking forward to new adventures.” He waggled his eyebrows deliberately at Charlie, as if she was an adventure he would like to explore. He probably did it just to pull her chain.

Charlie looked at him with disdain, but some of the others viewed Gus with admiration as they realized who he was. “The Goose” had been on his way to the Hall of Fame as one of the best sack leaders in the NFL during his two years with the Cowboys, not fifteen minutes.

“Hey, Gus, didn’t I see your mug on the cover of Sports Illustrated at one time?” Merrill asked. “A little false modesty, maybe?”

“You should talk. I hear you’re an Internet sensation with that invention of yours. A penile glove, I think it’s called.” Gus cast a gotcha smirk his way.

“What’s a penile glove?” Delilah asked, immediately followed by, “Never mind. Holy moley, you folks are a bunch of bleepin’ celebrities while I’m just a nobody. I’m Lilah Jones, and I’m gonna be a jack or jill of all jobs. Cook, dishwasher, fetch-and-goer.”

Merrill didn’t consider her a nobody, and he noticed that she identified herself as Lilah and not Delilah, probably because of his earlier teasing her about her name.

“I’m a nobody, too,” Charlie said, and Harry claimed the same.

“If those cinnamon thingees I just scarfed down are any indication, you can be my cook anytime,” Gus contributed.

“Actually, I’m renovating the diner and motel in town. When they’re done, you can buy them there anytime you want.”

“So much for self-promotion,” Famosa commented, reaching for the last of the pastries on the tray, followed by a wink at Delilah.

A wink Merrill did not appreciate at all.

“That’s it for our team. For now,” Merrill said. “Let’s talk about our first project. The Three Saints.” He stood and walked over to the laptop he’d set up attached to a projector. Clicking it on, an image immediately flashed onto the opposite wall which he was using as a screen. “Delilah, could you pass out these folders?” To the others, he explained, “There are copies of each of the slides for you all to study later. Any questions, just yell out.”

Famosa murmured, “Delilah? Who’s Delilah? Oh.” He grinned.

The lech!

Delilah immediately did as Merrill asked and scowled at Famosa’s grin.

Good girl!

“As you can see on this first slide, it’s an aerial view of the salvage location. The perimeter highlighted is about one square mile, slightly more than that in nautical miles. Those boundaries are stipulated on our salvage license. We don’t go one inch over those lines without being in trouble.”

“Appears to be about five miles out from here,” Charlie noted. “Has the area been searched before?”

“Never. Lots of places close by, but this is a virgin site. The locals say that the shoals out there can be wicked under the best of circumstances, but during or after a storm, the shifting sandbars are brutal. Add to that, you have two strong ocean currents that collide near Cape Hatteras and have a ripple effect out to our site.”

“Hmpfh! No wonder so many ships wrecked here then!” Charlie mused, studying the slide that showed up next listing the hurricanes that had hit this coastline in the past three hundred years. “No wonder this whole blasted area off the Outer Banks is known as ‘The Graveyard of the Atlantic’! I thought Loo-zee-anna was a magnet for hurricanes, but this is ridiculous!”