Page 38 of Wild Temple
A good stretch of the drive was down a reddish clay road that looked like it must have been hell during the rainy season.
The homes were grouped in clusters—simple poured-concrete structures with pitched A-frame roofs that offered lofts above the main living area. Modest accommodations, to be sure, but still keeping that island feel—a blending of interior and exterior spaces exposed to the elements. There was no air conditioning in homes like these. The houses were designed with plenty of opportunities to catch a cool breeze passing through. Lazy ceiling fans would keep the air circulating. Beds shrouded in mosquito netting kept the critters at bay.
I kept a watchful eye as Rafi pulled to the curb in front of his home. It was set back from the street, hidden behind dense foliage and palm trees. Steep steps led up the hill to the tiny home in the jungle.
Rafi killed the engine, and we both climbed out. With my head on a swivel and my palm gripped tight around my pistol, I followed Rafi down the walkway toward his home. We climbed the steps to the secluded abode. The sounds of the night filled the air, and the moon glowed overhead. The stars flickered above.
There were no lights on in the house.
We made our way up to the veranda, which offered a nice place to relax on a daybed. There were a few chairs nearby.
Keys jingled as Rafi pulled them from his pocket and slipped a key into the slot. He twisted the handle and cracked the door open with a delicate touch. In a whisper, he said, "Wait here.”
I wasn't about to let Rafi out of my sight.
The door creaked as he pushed it open.
The living room was pitch black.
Rafi reached a hand inside. He grabbed something, then came back swinging.
In a flash, a baseball bat rushed toward my face.
I blocked the blow with my left forearm and grabbed the bat. I came across with a hard right, clocking Rafi in the cheek with the butt of my pistol. It opened a gash in his face and wrenched his head aside.
I pulled the bat from his grasp as he fell into the house, crashing against the hardwoods.
I stormed inside, flipped on the light, and aimed my pistol at him as he regained his composure on the floor. A welt had already sprouted on his cheek.
With my pistol aimed at him, his eyes rounded with fear. “Rafi, is that any way to treat guests in your home?”
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Rafi clutched his cheek, blood trickling down. "You can't blame a guy for trying. Did you have to hit me so hard? That fucking hurt. Still does.”
I gave him an incredulous look. "You swung a baseball bat at me.”
"You took me hostage. You destroyed my car! You got us in trouble with Caspian Vorn!” It just slipped out before he realized what he’d said.
"So that’s who’s behind the Black Opal?”
"You didn't hear that from me.”
My eyes scanned the living room. “You don’t have a family, do you?”
Rafi grimaced. "No.”
I didn’t believe anything that came out of this guy's mouth at the moment. I shouted into the house. "Is anybody home?"
There was no response.
The house was quiet—just the sound of the jungle filtering in through the open windows. A few bugs buzzed about, but that was part of the package. It came with living in this tropical paradise.
With my pistol still aimed at Rafi, I said, "Don't move. You move, I shoot.”
“I no move, boss.”
“You and I are gonna have a long talk about Caspian Vorn after I secure the area.”
