Terror In Reno

by Darryl Harrison

Terror in Reno

  By Darryl Harrison

  Copyright 2014, 2015 Darryl Harrison

  Tables of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  About the author

  For Mom

  Chapter 1

  That night turned into a real slime-poop once Jackson stepped out of the courthouse. He strutted down the steps like some street pimp until bullets spray at him from a speeding blue Buick. Jackson had barely enough time to dive down the steps to avoid the bullets. Yet he came out okay.

  Chapter 2

  It was 4:00 am when Keith Jackson got up and made coffee. Once the coffee maker was done gargling loudly in the peaceful morning. The strong horrid smell of black coffee woke him up and probably every poop-brain in the neighborhood. Jackson poured him a cup from a kinda dirty cup and spiked it with Chavis Regal. He couldn’t get through the day without being a little twisted. Four in the morning is a dead lingering silence foreign to him since he normally gets up at 10 by this time the neighborhood is slammed with traffic and screaming kids on their way to school. The reason he was up was to complete a long over do divorce case which has spilled over into two months. He was in deep sorrow thinking about his often sick aunt Natalie Day who’s being beaten down by gout causing extreme joint pain.

  By ten o’clock, he was very done with his report. The air coming in from his open window brought exhaust fumes and eggs, bacon from the nearby restaurants. Also piles of dog poop everywhere because ill responsible lazy mindful butt worms wouldn’t clean up behind their little fury monsters. There were cracks made in the walls of his apartment, with cheesy furnisher, which made the front room hella ugly. There were hella dirty clothes all over the place, with tons of empty Olde English beer can, and used condoms on the scratch up hard wood floors. A slimy homeless dude would be certainly terrified to step into side this funky palace. He didn’t shower he simply ran out of the shabby room with a massive joint dangling from his horrid mouth. He dressed in a large T-shirt, with baggy blue jeans.

  Chapter 3

  Jackson pulled into the raggedy garage of his office building. The damn clouds had snuck up on him turned what appear to be a banging day was going to be a rainy poop fest. He got out of his car, walking through the yellow lawn hopping over piles of dog poop to get to the door. Raindrops began to pounce on his big bald egghead. Why did this bum come to work? All he did was smoke crack cocaine and drank all day raising hell with his secretary Miss Tangy Miller and the fact she wouldn’t give him a kiss.

  A woman with long auburn and sky blue eyes and a banging body was sitting on the wet steps. She appeared to be sobbing. Jackson emerged from his pimpmobile, clinging to a bottle of Chavis Regal. Also the black man had a joint dangling out of his horrid mouth.

  “Hey, baby-girl! What’s up?” he asked strongly with a serious stare.

  “I need help,” she said sadly.

  “What kinda help, baby?” he snapped.

  “My friends missing,” she said sharply.

  “Here, drink some boo,” he said firmly and handed over the bottle.

  The woman took a long swing from the bottle and wasn’t out of practice as she handed it back. She wiped her lips with her sleeve.

  “Thank you, sir! I really needed that,” she said sharply, trying to smile.

  “Come inside. It’s raining like cats and dogs!” he said strongly, moving past her to the door, unlocked it, and pulled the door opened. “Come on, babe. Hurry up!”

  She got up and ran it. She sat down in a cheap-ass hella squeaky wooden chair. Jackson gave his joint to her and drew on it hard as he poured her a glass of whiskey.

  “My name is Sherrie Graham,” she said sharply as she took a long suck from the joint.

  “I’m Keith Jackson,” he said strongly in a strong ghetto tone.

  The building was made of brick and badly brick layered; tinted windows were crack, pathway and steps too. Shrubberies were hella ghetto needing to be cut. The inside of the spot wasn’t any better. His scratched up desk took up half of the small shabby office. Cheesy filing cabinet was in the corner Salvation Army-looking furniture. The best thing occupying the lousy room was the big pictures of nude black women on the walls. There was a bunch of empty bottles of whisky and Country Club (beer) scattered about the place. There was a trashcan full of used condoms. There were seven huge piles of Playboy and slutty black girl magazines. They were stacked high against the wall. The place smelled like a dead dog’s booty because this very building used to be a veterinarian hospital. He painted the inside with multiple coats of paint but nothing. He was better off smearing the walls with shit. Because of this, Tangy kept a case of Air fresheners handy.

  Chapter 4

  “So who’s missing?” Jackson asked strongly as he guzzled the bottle of whiskey.

  “Belinda Sands,” she said, finishing off the joint. “Dude, are you afraid of getting busted?”

  “I don’t give a damn! All the po-pos know my butt gets hella high everyday. Them poop-brains do the same too baby,” he said strongly, pulling up his baggy jeans.

  “How much do you charge?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure that I’m taking this, bruh,” he said sharply and took a long suck from the whiskey bottle.

  “Please brother!” she pleaded strongly.

  “Why me?” he snapped.

  “They say you’re the best. And you like to get high like me too,” she said as she combed her wet hair back.

  “Hell yeh!”

  “So will you help me?”

  “Why don’t you tell me everything,” he said strongly as he lit another joint. “Then we’ll see.”

  “Belinda’s a singer, and was performing at the Mint Casino with her band The Sunshiners,” she said sharply.

  “Cool band. I’ve heard of them, but have never seen them perform,” he said strongly with a smirk.

  “The final show ended at about 2:30 am. Then she’d leave right away, getting into her cab, 115. He always waited for Belinda outside the casino. She would get home by 2:45,” she said calmly.

  “Is Miss Sands staying with you?” he said, taking a huge hit from his weed.

  “That’s right. I began to get worried when five came and she still hadn’t come in the door,” she said strongly, taking a long suck from Jackson’s joint.

  The rain continued to come down hard, creating loud thumping sounds on the roof.

  “Would anybody else give her a ride?” he asked sharply.

  “No. If they o
ffered she’d say no especially if she didn’t know them,” she said sharply.

  “So she’s not the type to get in vehicles with stranger?” he asked clearly.

  “Hell no.”

  The loud sounds of thunder crackled through the sky, making everybody jump. Then the lights began flickering like some spooky haunted house stuff. Jackson walked over to the window and looked out.

  “The rains really coming down hard huh?” she said, lighting a cigarette.

  “For sure. I won’t be able to play basketball today,” he said strongly.

  Miss Graham laughed.

  “Maybe tomorrow will be a better day,” she said strongly, blowing smoke into the air.

  Jackson took out a bottle of Country Club beer from the small icebox. “Let’s hope tomorrow’s better, baby.”

  Jackson removed the cap from the bottle and started guzzling at this time Miss Graham had moved up to his face. She started kissing his horrid lips. For what reason he didn’t know.

  She continued kissing him passionately. After that, she grabbed the bottle of beer and began guzzling. When she got her fill she gave it back to Keith.

  “You said this happened earlier this morning?” he said sharply as he took a long suck of his beer bottle.

  “Yes that’s right!” she said.

  “Did you call the police?” he asked firmly.

  “Of course! They’re just ignorant-poop!” she cried sharply and took a long pull from her cigarette.

  “yeh. Lt. Betha is a big ignorant-poop. What did they say?”

  “Dude, I don’t know!” she said harshly, blowing smoke out her nose.

  “You didn’t even call the butt worms, dog! I can’t go looking until 24 hours. Besides I don’t normally work on open cases,” he said sharply, finishing the beer.

  “The weather sucks!” she said, finishing her cigarette.

  “For sure,” he said firmly with a smirk.

  “I like the snow better,” she snapped.

  “Snows always good. It may do just that in a few months,” he said sharply with a smile.

  “Your weed is good and your whiskey too,” she said strongly, removing cash from her purse.

  “I aim to please,” he said, grinning.

  “Here’s a thousand to start off. They’ll be much more if you need it,” she said strongly, placing a check on the table.

  “All right! You can go now baby,” Jackson said strongly as he grabbed another bottle of Country Club beer from the icebox.

  “You’re going to work now,” she said sharply.

  “When I get ready too baby. I’m going to get high right now. Then I’ll go see what’s up,” he said and took a long guzzle from the bottle.

  Chapter 5

  Finally after an early drinking binge Jackson was moving through the Mint casino he stopped at a blackjack table where a man dressed like an oilman with a woman who’s butt shouldn’t even be there. She was dressed like she knitted sweaters for a living. Jackson sat down with a stack of chips.

  After a while, those chips were fading away. The others weren’t having much luck either.

  “Hey, man. I’d kiss you if I could get a better hand,” the oilman said sharply, frowning at his cards.

  “Man get the hell away from me dude,” Jackson snapped sharply.

  “Yeh, my cards have gone to sleep too,” the woman said sharply.

  Then some more time went by and Jackson’s stack began to sprout up a little. The dealer began to look like a fool out there.

  “I need a drink up in this joint,” Jackson shouted bluntly.

  “I got water in my car. I forgot to put the top up,” the oilman said strongly with a smirk.

  “Dude, you’re hella dumb,” Jackson said firmly.

  “Then what do I do, dude?” the oilman asked strongly.

  “Dog, just get a big vacuum strong enough to suck up all the water from your seats and floors,” Jackson said sharply.

  “Wow. Why didn’t I think of that?” he said.

  “That’s why they invented me bruh,” Jackson said strongly with a smirk and guzzled his whiskey.

  Jackson received a king of hearts as his face card. He was hoping he had an ace underneath. The woman had a two of clubs on top and the oilman had a five a diamonds. Everyone asked for a hit but Jackson because his bottom card was an ace of hearts. The dealer had a five and hit himself too only to bust and everyone else did so.

  “Slime you guys! I’m a winner again,” Jackson said strongly with a big smile gathering up his chips.

  “You sure are a lucky black man,” the oilman said sharply.

  “Yeh. I’m almost done here. I’ve got to win a damn hand!” the woman said sharply.

  “Hey! Did any of you catch the Belinda show last night?” Keith asked strongly.

  “Yeh. That awful show. My grandson beating pots and pans together sounds better than that stuff,” the oilman said harshly.

  “Great show. I’m planning to see her again,” she said strongly with a smile and took a long drink of some white chalky stuff.

  “Anybody seen her around today?” Jackson asked strongly.

  “Naw,” the oilman snapped.

  “Nope,” she said calmly.

  When Jackson started to win that’s when he decided to get up and cash in his wining before he puts it all back.

  Chapter 6

  Jackson walked around the not-so busy casino. It was early noon and the people didn’t start rolling in until about maybe four or five. He grabbed a drink off the waitresses tray and cut away down by the showroom. It was a small glass of whiskey.

  He stood there drinking whiskey while watching the stage. The huge curtain was drawn now, nothing but silence. He thought about eight o’clock when everything might be popping-off with huge crowd, dancing to awesome jazz-blues band.

  There was loud noise coming from a machine behind the curtain. Then the curtain opened. A couple of Mexicans were working hard, cleaning the stage with a huge shampoo machine. They spoke Spanish loudly over the machines noise. They were a hall on the side of the stage. Keith started down it.

  A homely woman came out of one of the green doors. The sign read in bold white letters “Booking Agent” she was tall and lanky about forty with white streaks in her coal-looking long black hair. Her eyes were a cold blue, wearing big white sweat with tight red jeans. She seemed like a cranky broad and had enough of her job.

  “Do I know you?” she asked sharply.

  “I don’t think so baby,” he said strongly.

  “What are you doing back here?”

  “I’m looking for you,” he said.

  “Are you a performer?” she said sharply.

  “No baby! I’m a friend of Miss Sands,” he said.

  “What’s your name?” she said.

  “What’s yours,” he snapped.

  “Anna Weakland,” she snapped.

  “I’m Keith Jackson, a private investigator,” he said strongly, lighting a joint.

  “What happened?”

  “Miss Graham believes something happened to her,” he said, blowing smoke out of his nose.

  “Well she isn’t here yet. Her show doesn’t start until six,” she said firmly. “You may check back then.”

  “Well she’s worried about her,” he said strongly and took a long drag from his joint.

  “Wouldn’t she be with Sherri? She’s supposed to be staying there,” she said sharply.

  “But she’s not!” he said.

  “Is that weed you’re smoking?” she said strongly.

  “Yes. I’m really sick bruh. I need my medicine,” he said.

  “Well drugs are illegal in the state of Nevada,” she said sharply.

  “Dude I already know that!” he said hotly, finishing his joint.

  “Let me call her,” she said strongly as she dialed the numbers on her cell phone.

  She tried several times but the phone just kept going to voicemail.

  “Well?” he snapped.

/>   “Nothing. Just her message box,” she said sadly.

  “Does she pick up strange men?” he asked firmly.

  “No, Belinda isn’t a whore. She’s worldly young lady,” she said sharply. “Why don’t you wait around until six? That’s when Belinda’s show starts. I know she’ll be here,” she said sharply and walked off.

  Chapter 7

  Jackson parked his pimpmobile in front of the River’s Taxi Company, an old brick building with square windows. He sat in the car watching the place and drinking Beefeater. The lot was huge with several taxi’s parked there, many brand-new. There was a guy pimping gas into his vehicle ready to start his shift.

  Jackson finally got out of the car and approached the building. He went inside. He smelled a cigarette coming from a room down the hall so he took a stroll over to the door, which was open. There were two long white tables, and two big vending machines one with chips and candy, the other was soda. He put a long brown joint into his horrid mouth and lit it. The coat rack was full. There was nobody in there just a cigarette left burning in the ashtray.

  While outside a medium sized man, about fifty walked up to Keith, carrying a cup of coffee. Taxi’s were pulling off quickly onto the highway.

  “Hi, what can I do for you?” he said strongly with a smile.

  “I’m looking for a friend,” Jackson said strongly, blowing smoke out of his mouth.

  “Does he work here?” the man said firmly and took a sip of his coffee.

  “Yeh. Art,” Jackson said strongly.

  “Well...it’s seven-forty-five. Art should be here already. His shift starts at eight. Just wait around for a while have some coffee.

  “Ok,” Jackson said.

  “Hey, man! Your cigarette smells like weed,” the man said sharply.

  “It sure in the hell better,” Jackson said strongly.

  The man gave him a strange look.

  “You can wait in the break room and put that weed out!” the man said sharply and walked off.

  All of a sudden, a bunch of ratty looking people came in the break room carrying brown sacks, with Pepsi and Coke cans. They were of all races and sizes. An assortment of perfumes blended in the air with horrid body odor. But he noticed a an old booty-face that looked like an Art come rushing into the break room stepping on Keith’s toes. He wore a red flannel shirt and faded blue jeans.

  Jackson grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “Hey, Mac. What the hell!” he snapped.

  “Are you Art?” Keith asked strongly.

  “Yes. What’s up?” Art asked firmly grabbing a coffee pot to pour him a cup.

  “I want to know about a girl you picked up this morning,” Jackson said sharply.

  “I pick up many girls, bro,” Art said as he sipped his coffee.

  Jackson took out a photo and shoved it in Art’s face. Art nodded at the photo.