Another impossible to find relic, another challenge for Ross and O’Neill…
For Amber Ross, going straight, leaving her forgery skills in the past, embracing her new honest life working for the Metropolitan Museum of Art proves difficult whenever her occasional partner-in-crime, treasure hunter Rick O’Neill, shows up. Especially when he tempts her with a relic that shouldn’t exist.
One job. Enough money to keep her in fancy shoes for the next six months. And the chance to see something impossible… Yeah, irresistible temptations.
So long as the exchange at the cute little café next to a bookstore goes well, Amber gets her prize. But if things go wrong…
More could be destroyed than just an ancient relic.
ROSS AND O'NEILL AT THE CAFE is available to read for free until the 15th of October, when another story will be posted. For readers who would prefer to read on a device of preference, or who would like their own personal eBook of this story, you can find it here.
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Ross and O’Neill at the Café
A Café Story
Amber Ross tapped her foot under the little table at the back at the café and tried to focus on the lovely coffee in her hands. The roasted bean smell. The rich flavor. That hint of almond milk to give it a little nutty bite.
Nope. Wasn’t helping. Didn’t settled her nerves even a little bit.
“Are you sure he’s coming?” she asked Rick, staring at the front door of the café without looking at her companion sitting in a comfortably cushioned seat next to her.
“He’s coming. Patience.”
She finally gave Rick a look, and he chuckled. It was an unfortunately good chuckle. Rick O’Neill had the kind of classical good looks and charming personality that moved him relatively smoothly through life, despite his job as a treasure hunter and his propensity to work with less than savory types.
Like her. Or at least the her she’d been once upon a time. Okay, still was occasionally. Maybe more occasionally than she’d want to admit to.
But forgery was a hard graft to give up when you were one of the few people in the field who could do what she could do. Not a lot of people specialized in antique scientific devices and instruments. And the market for forgeries, or if she was attempting to live an honest life, replicas, was more robust than people might expect.
She had a legitimate job now though, one she loved, working at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, restoring fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth century gadgetry, and she didn’t want to endanger that, again, with another one of Rick’s schemes.
Except she was sitting here in this lovely café endangering her legitimate job, again, for one of Rick’s schemes.
She glanced around the café. It really was a nice place. Full of ordinary people going about their business, moving in and out of the attached bookstore, enjoying excellent coffee and pastries, scattered around couches and cushioned seats at the perimeter of the room, or tables with comfortable wooden chairs in the center of the space. The counter top that took up the side of the café opposite the opening into the bookstore was topped with pretty plates of pastry beneath transparent glass cake covers. The espresso machine whined and steamed as the barista made her latest customer’s order. And a huge, light gray Maine Coon cat sprawled next to the register on a stool that was obviously too small for it. The barista had introduced the cat as Boo. Amber liked the name Boo for a cat. Especially one that looked vaguely like a ghost.
If she were here having a coffee and resting after a day of shoe shopping, she’d have been a lot happier. Might even stroll through the bookstore after her coffee. She was always on the lookout for new science and art books. If she’d had money after the shoe shopping, of course.
Rick had bribed her with shoes, too, the bastard. He knew her weakness. He’d also caught her up in the adventure, again, of finding something that shouldn’t have existed. But to make the trade, she’d had to create something else that didn’t technically exist. And she was very nervous that, though her work was excellent, this particular replica wasn’t going to pass muster.
“You’re sure he’s coming?” she asked. Again. For the forty thousandth time.
“He’s coming,” Rick said, patiently. For the forty thousandth and one time.
She glared at him as he raised his black coffee to her, confident, maybe even a little smug, in his self-assurance.
“Remind me why I’m doing this again?” she huffed and faced the front door of the café again. They were at the back of the room, so they had the whole coffee shop in between them and the front door. A defensive position that gave them options if something went wrong. Though, given the number of people moving in and out of the café, she really hoped nothing went wrong.
“You’re doing this because the money we’ll make will keep you in fancy shoes for the next six month.”
“That’s not why I’m doing this.” It helped of course. Shoe money was always good money. But that wasn’t why she was doing this.
“You’re doing this because you want to see it,” Rick said, his voice quiet. “You want to see if Leonardo really did create the crystalline imager.”
He was right. The bastard. She really did want to see if this supposed Leonardo Da Vinci relic was real. If it was, it meant old Leonardo had actually created a device for imaging the interior of a human body centuries before Wilhelm Röntgen discovered x-ray radiation. A myth, along with a lot of other apocryphal stories about Da Vinci, the crystalline imager was supposedly how Da Vinci had had such an advanced knowledge of anatomy.
Except, of course, no one believed the imager actually existed. It wouldn’t be until the end of the nineteenth century before Röntgen accidentally discovered x-ray radiation and created the first x-ray machine. Da Vinci was a genius, and ahead of his time in a lot of ways, but Amber had always assumed if he’d invented something that could look inside a human body with just light so he wouldn’t have to do the usual dissections, he’d have made a bigger deal about it.
To be fair, he’d also invented early flying machines centuries before the Wright brothers so maybe he had been four hundred years ahead of his time in this, too.
And it was that unknown, that desire to see something that shouldn’t exist and maybe actually did, that had lured her into all this. Rick knew her soft spot wasn’t just shoes.
She opened her mouth to ask if their contact was coming, again, when the bell over the café door dinged and a tall, thin man walked inside, letting a wash of cold air in with him. He didn’t seem to notice the cold as he scanned the café, but a dark-haired woman sitting near the window, reading her book, shivered a little and glared at the man until he got out of the doorway and let the door close behind him.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” she asked Rick quietly, keeping her gaze on the thin man.
“That’s him,” Rick confirmed.
Tall, thin, pale, with narrow shoulders and dark circles under his brown eyes. The man sort of stood out in the bright, warm café. He looked almost skeletal, which probably wasn’t good but also none of her business, and had dressed in an ill-fitting suit that only made that skeletal impression stronger. He carried an ordinary leather briefcase that matched the suit, and wore a black Homburg hat that, when removed, revealed a head circled in thinning dark hair with a significant bald spot on the top. He ran a hand over the bald patch, frowning slightly, then spotted them and hurried to the back of the café.
“Do you have it?” he asked, sitting down across from her and Rick without preamble or waiting for permission.
“You should probably get a coffee or tea or something so this doesn’t look too suspicious,” Rick said, his gaze jumping around the café.
Amber looked around, too. No one was paying them any attention. Except for Boo the cat who seemed to be watching them from half-opened eyes. But none of the human inhabitants of the coffee shop showed them any interest. Still, Rick was right. They did have to at least pretend this wasn’t a secretive exchange. Which meant pretending they were all sitting around enjoying their coffees as they talked.
The thin man scowled and said, “I don’t have time for that. I need to…to get the promised trade completed and return to my client. He’s not a patient man.”
“None of them ever are,” Rick said, sounding almost bored.
But when she glanced at him, Amber saw the lines of tension in the set of his shoulders and the line of his jaw. Muscles bunched and ready, not nearly as relaxed as he wanted the thin man to believe.
She wondered if it’d be rude to ask for names. Probably. Most of the people in the underground treasure hunters’ world were circumspect about their identities, usually working through intermediaries like the thin man.
So when Rick introduced the man, she was a little surprised and had to hide her shock in her coffee mug.
“Amber Ross, this is Clarence Boudreau. Boudreau, the talented Amber Ross.”
The man dipped his head. “Your reputation proceeds you, ma’am. Thank you for agreeing to help with this.”
She forced a smile and nodded at the compliment, but everything in her was tense and wary. Either Rick hadn’t told her everything—and it wouldn’t have been the first time—or Boudreau knew more than she’d assumed he would.
But was he alluding to her forgery talents, or was he talking about her more public facing reputation as an expert in ancient scientific devices and a relic restorer with the Met? Given they were talking about exchanging relics, either was possible.
She kept her mouth shut until she got more information. She did grind her high heel into Rick’s foot though, while smiling at Boudreau, and got the satisfaction of seeing Rick wince from the corner of her eye.
Boudreau turned his attention on Rick. “Show me, so I know you have it.”
Rick shrugged and reached under the table. Almost as soon as he moved, Boudreau flashed a gun under his suit jacket. Rick froze in place. So did Amber as her heartbeat picked up. This wasn’t the first time someone had flashed a gun at her. It was an unfortunately common occurrence in her line of work—her less than legal line of work, that was, even when she wasn’t trafficking in actual forgeries and just creating replicas for rich people. She hated it every single time. Guns were accidents waiting to happen. Nervous, shaky people were the worst people to possess guns. And Boudreau was nervous and shaky and impatient. A very bad combination.
Boudreau pulled the gun slowly out of his shoulder holster. With his back to the café, no one else would see the weapon, but that was probably for the best. Amber didn’t want this man to shoot people because they started to panic and then he panicked himself.
“Careful,” he said, his voice quiet. “No tricks.”
“No tricks,” Rick said and raised his hands, palms facing Boudreau. “But I do have to reach into my backpack for it.”
“Just throw me the bag.”
“Don’t throw!” Amber said, almost too loud. A few people did glance up from their coffees and books and conversations to glance their direction. She smiled a little then widened her eyes at Rick. “Do not. Throw. The relic.”
Boudreau’s eyes narrowed. But rather than looking suspicious, he just looked hungry. “You did it, didn’t you? You found it. The real one.”
Amber didn’t answer or react. She just stared at Rick. They had not, in fact, found anything real. She’d made a superb forgery of something that likely didn’t exist. Realistic. Beautiful. Could be considered as valuable as the real item if the real relic existed. Which it did not. They had looked.
But that Boudreau thought they had brought him a real item instead of a forgery meant he didn’t actually know what she was a forger. He’d probably been referring to her expertise in early scientific gadgetry when he said her reputation proceeded her. Which was good. Better. Probably much better. Unless, of course, he’d assumed he’d get a forged relic from her and was only now considering that they might have found the real deal.
So. This could go bad very very fast. Great. She just loved when things went bad. That happened way too often when she worked with Rick.
“We got what you asked for,” Rick said carefully. “I will gently hand you the backpack. But it’s a little heavy, so you’re going to need two hands. As Ms. Ross just pointed out, we do not want to…damage anything.”
Boudreau worked his mouth, a strange sort of chewing gesture. Then slipped his gun back into the shoulder holster. He stared a Rick a moment more before making “give me” gestures with his hands and holding them out for the bag.
Rick, very carefully, lifted the bag out from under the table and gently handed it across to Boudreau. “Gentle,” he said for emphasis when Boudreau snatched the backpack away.
He opened the top zip and looked inside. The backpack wasn’t big. It was the kind of bag you’d see a kid carrying to school, except plain dark blue and not cutely decorated with video game characters or anything. She’d actually lobbied for one of the cuter bags, but Rick had rightly pointed out they’d have to give up the bag, so they weren’t getting anything she might get attached to.
Boudreau started to reach inside, his eyes wide, then stopped and fisted his hand. “This is…beautiful. I didn’t think you’d find it. I told my client you weren’t likely to find it.”
“It’s what we do,” Rick said. “Find impossible things.”
“Yes.” Boudreau didn’t look up from the bag. “It’s not as elaborate as I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?” Amber asked, trying to keep her tone curious and neutral, not anxious that her forgery had been discovered.
He waved his hand vaguely. “Not sure. Something more delicate, I suppose. Like a bracelet.” He did finally look up then. “Do you think the legends are true? That it can…can cure any type of poisoning?”
Amber glanced at Rick, then back at Boudreau. “I…I have to hope you aren’t counting on that. It’s just a relic.”
Something supposedly created by the sixteenth century French barber surgeon Ambroise Paré. Paré was mostly known for his advancements in battlefield surgery and amputations, and for developing new and better prostheses for amputees. But he was also known for disproving the idea that bezoar stones—undigested material that formed hard stones inside humans and other animals—could cure all poisons.
A conspiracy theory arose about him in later years, though, claiming that contrary to disproving the effectiveness of bezoar stones, he understood that the composition of the stone was the important part and he wanted to create an effective cure from the right kind of bezoar stones to make himself rich.
A lot of nonsense with no basis in history that she’d ever found. But a lot of underground writing, writing supposedly about the “history not recorded,” claimed Paré invented a devise that went around or over a person’s arm or leg—depending on the poison—which contained the “correct” bezoar stone with the right composition of stuff—hair, seeds, digestive fluids, pits…whatever—to cure a given poison. The conspiracy theories didn’t claim to know the exact composition required because they claimed Paré burned all his notes on the subject so he could control the knowledge. A very convenient fact for a conspiracy theory.
As it turned out, later research did show that bezoar stones could absorb arsenic, but that wasn’t what Paré had supposedly been going for. He supposedly wanted to cure all poisonings.
When Rick had first told her about this job, Amber hadn’t been entirely sure why Boudreau’s client would want to trade one very valuable and mythical artifact—the Da Vinci imager—for another mythical relic— Paré’s poison cure-all device. Now that she was looking at Boudreau, though, she wondered if the imager hadn’t caused some sort of radiation poisoning, and Boudreau was hoping another mythical device would cure that poisoning.
If he was counting on her fake relic to do that, he was going to be very disappointed.
“You do…realize, this probably doesn’t work to extract poisons, right?” she said quietly. “It’s almost five hundred years old. And the stone in it is…well, five hundred years old, too. And probably degraded from its original purpose.” She’d bought a oxen bezoar stone from a traditional Chinese medicine place in the Village to replicate that aspect of the device. She was absolutely certain that stone wouldn’t fix radiation poisoning.
Boudreau met her gaze. “It may be the only thing that will help. It comes from the same era as the Da Vinci relic. No modern technology can fix the issue.”
“Are you…” She didn’t want to ask out loud, but also wondered if, rather than being an intermediary, Boudreau was the actual client.
“I am not the one in danger,” he said, effectively destroying her theory. “And what ails my client isn’t something modern science and medicine can help. They’ve failed him completely. He will die without this.”
“This…isn’t what you think it is,” Amber said, now a little desperate. “Please, this is just an old relic. It isn’t going to cure anyone.”
She should know. She built it. The cuff, designed to be worn over the forearm, was made from old leather and aged hardware and the oxen stone. She’d weathered and damaged the various parts to ensure it looked like something from the sixteenth century, including drying out the leather so that it was difficult to even open the cuff. It wasn’t a small device, either. She’d created something with straps and clamps and layers. Something that would take up the entire forearm from elbow to wrist. And she’d ensured some of the clamps and straps to hold the cuff on where delicate and would break without care. But everything about the device was absolutely modern, including the stone buried in all the layers. None of it would pull out poisons.
“Even if it doesn’t work, it’s something we have to try,” Boudreau said. His attention still on the cuff inside the bag.
“Where’s our trade?” Ross asked. “This was a relic for a relic. And my client is eager for her prize.”
Boudreau blinked and nodded. Most of his attention still on the backpack, he reached down to the briefcase he’d set on the floor next to him. He met Rick’s gaze before sliding the case across the table. “Be very careful of this,” he said. “It’s not a harmless historical novelty.”
“I’ll be careful,” Rick said. “But I do have to check that it’s what we’re here for.”
“Of course. I assume Ms. Ross will be able to verify its authenticity.”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said, because it was a better reason than that she’d created a fake Paré poison cure-all cuff.
Rick gently spun the briefcase so they’d both be able to see inside when he opened it. There was no lock on the case, which kind of surprised Amber, and Rick clicked open the two latches easily. He carefully lifted the lid.
Inside the case, nestled in dark packing foam, sat a rectangular box made of crystal. It was quite beautiful, in and of itself, the café light refracting off the cut surface to make small rainbows. But it wasn’t just a long, narrow, solid piece of crystal. Beneath the clear outer shell, Amber could see metal wheels and leather straps, delicate copper chains, some toggles, and a few black tubes which looked to be made of crystal as well. She’d only read about this device of course, because it was supposedly just a story, but the stories had described it as looking…very similar to what she was looking at inside the briefcase.
If she’d been asked to create a forgery of Da Vinci’s crystalline imager, this was pretty close to what she would have made.
“Is it real?” Rick asked, looking at the side of her face.
She didn’t glance at him when she said, “I’d need to study it further to be certain, but it does bare a remarkable resemblance to the crystalline imager.”
“It’s real,” Boudreau said. “And it’s dangerous. Keep it in that case. It’s lined with lead to protect from the radiation emitted. Study it in a protected environment. Da Vinci was…ahead of his time with this, as usual.” To Rick, he said, “Your client will want to store and display this carefully. It isn’t a toy.”
“I understand.” Rick closed the briefcase before Amber was finished looking at the device, but she didn’t argue. They had to finish this meeting.
“That’s everything, then,” Rick said. “You have what you wanted. We have our device.”
“I’ll leave first. If anything goes wrong,” Boudreau said, “we’ll know where to find you.”
“Remember,” Amber said hurriedly, “it’s just an old relic. Won’t actual work.”
“We’ll see,” Boudreau said as he stood.
He strode out of the café without looking back. The dark-haired woman by the front door who’d been reading watched him go. So did Boo the cat.
When the door closed, the woman watched through the front glass windows as Boudreau walked away. After a full minute, she stood and approached Amber and Rick.
The woman was dressed in jeans and a red turtleneck, looking that kind of effortlessly casual chic that Amber admired. She admired the woman’s low-heeled black slip-ons as well.
Inspector Gail Haviard of INTERPOL had excellent taste in shoes.
She took the seat Boudreau had abandoned. “No problems, then,” she said smiling her small, knowing smile at them.
“No problems,” Rick assured, and slid the lead-lined briefcase across the table.
Haviard put a hand on the case. “Thank you for this.”
“Don’t thank us,” Rick said. “Thank my friend in the FBI.”
The friend who’d been working with various international agencies to track down an illegal plutonium smuggling operation. A friend who’d done all the negotiation to get them to this part and who’d agreed to pay them enough to make it worth the risk.
Amber had not wanted to work with the authorities on this. She hadn’t wanted to risk her job at the Met or chance revealing something that would get her arrested. Haviard already knew way too much about her and her less than legal work, including several of her false identities. Haviard hadn’t found anything that would result in an arrest. Yet. But suspicion was enough to make Amber’s life difficult. The minute Rick mentioned that Haviard would be their backup on this, Amber had resisted. She wouldn’t put it past the INTERPOL inspector to double cross them.
Only for the fact that Rick’s FBI contact had reassured them of immunity and agreed to pay them for their efforts—including a substantial downpayment—had she eventually allowed herself to be talked into this situation.
Well, that and the opportunity to see the Da Vinci imager.
She’d been telling Boudreau the truth, though. She’d need to get it to a lab and examine it more closely before she’d be able to say whether it was a real relic or not. And, unfortunately, she wasn’t going to get the chance.
“Did they really use the device to transport plutonium?” she asked. That could explain the radiation poisoning she thought might be affecting Boudreau and his client.
“Only small samples of it. The bigger exchange happens later. Which was why we put the tracking device inside your…creation.”
Amber hadn’t been particularly happy about that part either. She’d done her best to hide the button-sized tracker, but if anyone went to check on the bezoar stone, they’d find it.
“Why is INTERPOL involved in this?” Rick asked, diverting Haviard’s attention from Amber. “Not your usual type of case.”
“There’s financial fraud and money laundering involved. That’s our part. It’s complicated. Which is why it’s a multi-agency operation.” Haviard flashed that small, almost-but-not-quite condescending smile. “And you don’t have clearance for most of the details.”
Rick made a face but didn’t argue.
Honestly, it was safer for them not to know the details about the actual sting operation. The Da Vinci imager, whether it was real or not, wasn’t the point of all this—though if it contained traces of actual plutonium that matched the bigger haul, Amber supposed it could be used as evidence. But no, the point had been to get that little tracker to Boudreau’s client—one of the people heavily involved in all this money laundering, plutonium selling business—and ensure the various agency’s involved in the sting could follow him.
“What I don’t understand though,” Amber said, so Rick didn’t ask more about the actual sting and get them into the awkward situation of having too much knowledge, “why did Boudreau and his client think the crystalline imager, or the Paré cuff for that matter, could cure him? I’m…not entirely sure what was happening there?” She looked between Rick and Haviard. “Does anyone know what’s wrong with him that he went looking for these relics to begin with? Or did he only get sick after he received the imager? Was it just…radiation poisoning?”
If Boudreau’s client was transporting plutonium in what appeared to be Renaissance relics, wouldn’t he have known the plutonium could be dangerous and caused radiation poisoning? Why all the trafficking in relics like he needed them to cure a disease?
Or had that all just been a story Boudreau spun for some weird reason? Some of this hadn’t made sense to Amber from the start.
“Boudreau’s client, a Mr. Aarif Deschanel, has been plagued with an unknown and debilitating illness for the last ten years,” Haviard said. “But according to all the medical information we can see—some of it we can’t get our hands on—no one knows what’s wrong with him. He began investigating more esoteric and alternative means of curing his illness after the apparent failures of medical science. He’s been using much of the money he makes with his illegal activities in that pursuit.”
“Then…why risk damaging the crystalline imager by transporting plutonium in it?”
Haviard shrugged. “I’m not privy to his thought process. Perhaps the imager requires plutonium to work? Or at least he thought it was necessary? Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“Sure,” Amber said, scowling, her sarcasm thick. Then in a huff, “That’s not how x-rays are produced. And the imager is supposed to be an early type of x-ray machine.” It wouldn’t have needed radioactive material to work, just some glass discharge tubes and a way of sending lots of energy through the tube. The x-rays themselves could cause radiation poisoning, but they didn’t require using the same type of substances that went into making nuclear energy and bombs and things.
Haviard shrugged, unconcerned. “I’m not a scientist or a medical doctor.” Her slight, difficult to place accent got a little stronger as she said that. “Just a humble investigator.”
Amber snort-laughed. “Sure,” she said again.
Haviard gave her a neutral look, then glanced back at Rick. “I’ll inform your FBI friend that everything was successful. Thank you again, both of you, for your…cooperation in this effort.”
Without waiting for them to comment, Haviard stood and left, taking the briefcase and the possible real Da Vinci relic with her.
Amber sighed as the café door swung shut. “Damn. I really would have liked to have studied that thing more. Figured out if it was real or not.”
“Probably wasn’t, you know. Someone probably took advantage of Deschanel’s search for an unorthodox cure and just created a pretend relic.” He gave her shoulder a companionable nudge. “Just like your pretend Paré cuff.”
She frowned. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “Probably.”
Still, it was a shame she hadn’t had time to really look at the imager. Real or not, she would have found it fascinating. And if it was a fake, learned something about the forger who’d created it. Something that was always helpful in her extremely small field.
Lost opportunity. But just as well. She didn’t want to be involved with federal and international law enforcement agencies any more than she absolutely needed to be. She had way too much to hide.
“So, shoe shopping?” Rick asked with a grin.
The charming grin that softened her annoyance every single time. The bastard.
“Shoe shopping,” she said, with an answering grin. “But first, let’s go peruse the bookstore.”
“Books and shoes in one day? People will say I’m spoiling you.” He stood and held his hand out to her to help her up.
As they went through the opening into the bookstore, Amber glanced back at the register. Boo was watching them from his stool. She raised her eyebrows at the cat, wondering at his intense stare. One of Boo’s pale blue eyes dipped, a gesture that looked suspiciously like a wink, then the cat closed both eyes and appeared to return to sleep.
Huh. What a funny cat.
Amber returned her attention to the bookstore, eager to put the events of the day behind her. And eager for her upcoming shopping spree. A woman could never have too many books or shoes.
***
Thanks for reading ROSS AND O'NEILL AT THE CAFE. I hope you enjoyed it! If you’d like your own personal eBook copy of this story, you can find it for sale here. You can also peruse the previous Café stories that are individually available for sale here.
If you enjoyed this taste of Ross and O'Neill getting up to no-good and would like another adventure with them, don't miss GALILEO'S PENDULUM, when Ross and O'Neill set off an adventure that takes them around the world hunting another ancient relic.
Thanks again for reading! Don’t forget to check back on October 15th for the next Free story from The Café!
ROSS AND O'NEILL AT THE CAFE Copyright © 2025 Kat Simons
All Rights Reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.