Temple of the Jaguar Read online

  Through my tent opening came the sounds of money being exchanged for any number of items. At the opening, swirling dust still hovered in the air from when she had entered. The dust caught some of the harsh sunlight, forming phantasmagorical shapes that looked vaguely familiar.

  “And why would my lady need to hire a lazy wretch like me?” I asked. As I spoke I lifted my sandled foot off the chest and sat back with my elbows on my knees.

  “Emir Farid said some satisfactory things about you. In particular, that you have proven to be somewhat reliable.”

  “Emir Farid has always greatly admired me.”

  She studied me closely. Her almond-shaped eyes didn’t miss much. Her long fingers, I saw, were heavy with jewels.

  “Aren’t you going to offer me a seat?” she asked.

  I motioned to the area in front of the chest. The area was covered in sand and didn’t look much different than the desert outside my tent.

  I really ought to clean this place, I thought.

  “Never mind,” she said. “I’ll stand.”

  I shrugged and grinned. She fanned her face and looked around my tent some more. She didn’t seem pleased, but she also looked desperate. Desperate usually won out.

  She said, “Despite your many flaws, according to Emir Farid, he says that you are particularly adept at...finding things.”

  “I’m also adept at losing things, my lady, but funny how no one seems to want to hire me for that.”

  Outside, a few tents down, an animal shrieked, followed by sounds of splashing, and I knew a goat had been slaughtered. A dry, hot wind found its way into my tent, swirling the dirt at her feet, and lifting her robe around her ankles.

  Nice ankles.

  She caught me looking at them and leveled a withering stare at me. I grinned some more.

  “You make a lot of jokes,” she said. “This could be a problem.”

  I moved to sit back in the position she had found me in. “Then I wish you luck in your quest to find whatever it is that’s missing. May I suggest you take a look around our grand market place. Perhaps this thing of which you seek is under your very nose.” I closed my eyes and folded my hands over my chest.

  “Are you always like this?” she demanded.

  “Lying down? Often.”

  She made a small, frustrated noise. “Is there anyone else in this godforsaken outpost who can help me?”

  “There’s a shepherd who’s been known to be fairly adept at finding lost goats—although, come to think of it, he did lose one last week—”

  “Enough,” she snapped. “I don’t have much time and you will have to do, although you are older than I had hoped.”

  “My lady is full of compliments. I am not sure if I should blush or sleep.”

  “Neither, old man. Come, there’s much to do.”

  I heard her step towards the open flap of my tent. I still hadn’t opened my eyes. I lifted my hand and rested it on the corner of the chest. I hunkered deeper on the padding that doubled as my bed. She stopped at the entrance.

  “Well?” she asked impatiently.

  “Well what?”

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  I turned my head and looked at her. She was standing with her hands on her hips, silhouetted in the streaming sunlight. God, she was beautiful. And irritating.

  I said, “Not until I know what you want me for and we have discussed my price.”

  She turned and faced the bustling marketplace just outside my tent. She wanted to leave. She wanted to run. But she needed my help, that much was obvious. I waited, smiling contentedly to myself.

  She said, “If I tell you on the trail, I will double your asking price.”

  Double was good. I jumped to my feet and grabbed a satchel and my chest. The rest could stay.

  At the tent entrance, I nodded at her. “You have yourself a deal.”

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  About the Authors:

  J.R. Rain is an ex-private investigator who now writes full-time in the Pacific Northwest. He lives in a small house on a small island with his small dog, Sadie, who has more energy than Robin Williams. Please visit him at www.jrrain.com.

  Aiden James is a real life paranormal investigator in Tennessee. Please visit his website at: www.aidenjamesfiction.com.