Terror In Reno

by Darryl Harrison

  “Where is your knife, Feenstein?” Keith said with a smirk.

  “Feinstein, turd face! Get lost maggot,” he said maliciously.

  “Slime you!”

  “Doo-doo-eater!”

  “Slime you!”

  Feinstein hit Keith in the face with a hard left. The impact knocked Keith back onto the floor. He didn’t see that coming or expect it to come so quickly from a fat boy.

  Keith tried to get up but was a little shook up and stayed down for a moment longer. And a trickle of blood ran down his nose. This big idiot could really hit.

  “Get up, coward!” he said gruffly. “You black guys ain’t tough!”

  “All right. Fat turd. Let’s rock & roll,” Keith said bluntly.

  Keith quickly stood to his feet. That remark seemed to give him a little strength.

  “All right! Big boy,” Keith said strongly with boxing stance.

  Feinstein threw a quick right. But this time he missed Keith’s face. Keith struck him with two quick right jabs to the man’s flabby jaws.

  This seemed to confuse Mr. Feinstein for a moment. Keith kicked him in the shin as hard as he could with his right foot like some machine. Feinstein winced in pain as he grabbed hold of his shin.

  Keith had begun hitting Feinstein with hard blows with his left and right fist to his face. His hard blows didn’t seem to have too much of an effect on Feinstein, even though his face was becoming badly bruised but his will to keep going was dangerous.

  Chapter 20

  Keith was moving in too close as he was landing deadening knuckles into Feinstein’s bloody face. He made a serious mistake by leaving his stomach open. Feinstein planted an uppercut into Keith’s stomach. He flew back into some tables, knocking everything down, crashing onto the floor. Some of the workers just stood there watching in horror. They made no effort to help. Feinstein limped over towards Keith. He was lying down on his back, wincing as he held his stomach.

  Feinstein grabbed hold of Keith and lifted him up over his head. He launched Keith into the wall and he slid down to the floor. The hard hit shook him up a bit. As he was slowly trying to get back up Feinstein had produced a knife.

  “I’m going to cut you up real good, brother,” Feinstein said indignantly, moving up towards Keith.

  “All right! Bust a move hog-face!”

  Feinstein swung the knife wildly at Keith’s face as he quickly moved his head away. As Feinstein move forward, Keith moved back. Keith grabbed a chair and when Feinstein launched at him aiming for his right eye Keith moved to the side to avoid the long blade nearly miss his right eye.

  Before Feinstein could regroup, Keith had already had the chair moving quickly at Feinstein’s head. It smacked into the side of his face and he dropped the knife. He was breathing hard. Keith was barely breathing. He continued to smash that chair into his face creating big gashes into the skin. Blood ran out down his face and puffing like a basketball.

  Feinstein was hardly moving anymore and was sweating badly. Keith hit him in the soar shin and Feinstein yelled out in pain. Keith threw down the busted up chair. He picked up a table and smashed it over Feinstein’s head and he went down onto his stomach.

  A tall skinny black man wearing coveralls with the name Madhouse Blues came at Keith swinging wildly at his head. Keith kept weaving his head like a boxer to avoid the punches.

  When the dude launched like a speed freak at Keith moved a side and the man flew forward onto some tables.

  One of the workers came at him, Keith karate kicked him into the head, and he went down hard onto the floor. At this time, Feinstein was getting himself back up to his feet.

  “So I see. You’ve proved your point, hog-nose!” Feinstein stated weakly.

  “My head and body are hella messed up. You’re a touch hog-booty,” Keith said strongly.

  “Look at my place! You’ve destroyed it booty-face! I have a show tonight,” Feinstein said sadly and started to cry.

  “Slime you, Feinstein! You should have told me what I wanted to know, without this stuff,” Keith said strongly.

  “Damn you and that Sands lady!” Feinstein stated haughtily.

  Keith pulled out this awful necklace.

  “Did you lose this big boy?”

  “Hell no. I wouldn’t ever wear that ugly trash on the worst day of my miserable life,” Feinstein snapped sharply.

  “All right, Gee.”

  “Where did you get that thing?”

  “Where Miss Sands was killed.”

  “I’ve known her for quite a while she wouldn’t wear that evil thing, bro,” Feinstein

  “It’s probably hers man.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Were you in Reno the other night?” Keith asked sharply lighting a joint. “You owe me for my other weed, bruh!”

  “I wasn’t in Reno. I haven’t been there,” Feinstein snapped.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I’ve never been to Reno. I’ve been to Vegas,” Feinstein said firmly.

  “Where have you been lately?” Keith asked firmly and took a long drag from his joint.

  “Here of course,” Feinstein said, wiping the blood off his face.

  “Any slime nuts see you?” he said, blowing smoke in Feinstein faces.

  “Yes, everybody, baby. We were very slow the last few nights,” he said strongly.

  “Did you threaten Miss Sands with a knife?”

  “Yes. The knife I tried to gut you with,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “She refused to perform at my club anymore. Belinda was the only broad who could really pack a darn house,” Feinstein explained strongly.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Keith said strongly and took a drag from his joint.

  “Belinda had such a beautiful voice, man,” he said sadly.

  “Well you won’t have to worry about her performing at anymore clubs,” he said, taking a really long hit.

  “How did she go out?” Feinstein asked firmly placing a broken guitar onto the counter.

  “Her throat was eaten away or carved, probably by some type of blade,” he said firmly.

  “Sounds like Belinda was worked over pretty good. It sounds like a real vicious animal did this. I don’t do folks with any kinda blade. Not in that gruesome fashion,” he said firmly. “If you ask me it sounds like an animal did her.”

  “Like a dog?”

  “Yeh or wolf.”

  “It wasn’t no animal bruh. I didn’t see any animal prints just smudged shoe prints.”

  “Damn!”

  “Who would murder Miss Sands?” Keith asked, finishing his joint.

  “Belinda’s old man was pretty rough,” Feinstein said strongly.

  Chapter 21

  It was six. Tangy Miller and Jackson were having dinner at the Snake Pit Restaurant. The place was known for it’s great rattlesnake dishes. Many of the fantastic places to eat were in the casinos like The Mint.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t eat any rattlesnake. They tried the roast beef special, which was just as good. It came with sweet potatoes and vegetables. And they drank plenty wine.

  Tangy dressed in black silk and red shoes. He had a large necklace around her neck. It was worth quite a bit too. Her pimp black dude paid for everything.

  Keith wore a brown suit that was three-sizes too big. So it made him look very sloppy.

  The very strong smell of rattlesnake meat full of garlic and onions blew through the place all the time, drowned out everything. But it always smelled so good.

  This evening there weren’t too many people for a Wednesday. There busiest days are on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It was the worst time for Jackson. He preferred the quietness. But on the other hand Tangy loved the folks piling in like cattle.

  All the tables and chairs had snakes made on them. Many folks say they were real snake’s skin. And a creepy dude dressed like a snake would perform often bad jokes. But the woman that came in there on Thursday nights only. She was
the real deal. She performed with live rattlesnakes and was often bitten. But she would fall dead. They would get a doctor. But she would always awaken by the time the doctor got on stage. Many people thought the snakes weren’t even poison. And the whole thing was fake. Then there were people who believed it. And there hella terrified when she performed the show.

  When Keith and Tangy were halfway through their meal, they started joking about their vacation. Tangy spent the whole time riding on a Whale at SeaWorld. And which this stuff was hella illegal. Tangy could’ve been killed as she was thrown into the crowd several times. She walked a way with no injuries. Keith just got hella stoned the whole time. He probably didn’t know where he was.

  After dinner, they enjoyed wine. Keith stuck a joint into his mouth and lit it.

  “You talked to the coroner?” Tangy asked firmly.

  “Yes, I did,” he said firmly.

  “What did that black dude say?” she said firmly, sipping her wine.

  “Miss Sands died between 2:00am and 3:00am,” he said sharply and took a long drag from his joint.

  “Is that so?” she said sharply.

  “That’s right!”

  “You mean that woman sat on a muddy hill until 7:00am?” she said harshly.

  “Yeh.”

  “Who found her?”

  “A jogger.”

  “Not a bum!”

  “No bum. I know that’s hella strange,” he said firmly and took another long hit.

  The Mexican busyboy stared at Keith as he smoke his weed but didn’t do anything. And none of the people complained.

  “There’s lots of homeless people frequenting that area all the time. Somebody should’ve heard her screams,” she said strongly and guzzled her wine.

  “I and many of the other investigators believe Miss Sands was murderer by homeless people,” Keith said, blowing smoke in the air.

  “That could be very possible,” she said.

  Mel the new waiter came by and removed their plates. He came back with another bottle of wine. He didn’t seem to care about Jackson smoking dope.

  “How was your meal?” he asked firmly with a smirk.

  “Everything was good!” Tangy said strongly and took a long sip of wine.

  “Hell yeh. Fantastic!” Keith said cheerfully.

  “Great!” Mel said sharply with a bigger grin. He rushed off back into the kitchen.

  “Mel is hella nice-looking,” she said strongly, brushing back her hair.

  “I noticed the way you looked at that pretty-boy,” he said sharply and took a long hit from his joint.

  “You’re jealous?” she snapped.

  “Hell yeh. I hate that pretty candy-punk,” he said sourly and took a huge gulp of wine.

  “You’re my dream boat!” she said cheerfully.

  “I better be broad,” he said strongly.

  Jackson was always staring at Mel. But Mel didn’t look like a killer. He was too pretty. If the sugary-slime ball did kill her he would’ve got caught standing there looking in a mirror until the cops showed up.

  “You say she was a musician?” she said, finishing her wine.

  “Hell yeh,” he snapped, finishing his joint.

  Mel returned with some chocolate mousse.

  “There could’ve been someone in her band,” she said strongly and took a huge mouthful of mousse.

  “Or a rival club act,” Keith said sharply and stuck some mousse into his mouth.

  “A jealous lover!” she added strongly.

  “Bruh, I don’t know why the killer didn’t dump the body in the river,” he said sharply.

  “It would’ve taken longer to find,” she said, finishing her desert.

  “I think so, bruh,” he said firmly.

  “Or maybe the killer wanted to show his talents,” she said.

  Well folks started to clear out slowly. Busboys moved in for the kill, meaning to clear all the tables. And the busgirls pushed a carpet sweeper throughout the restaurant.

  “Do you think we’re looking for a serial killer?” she asked firmly as she took out a makeup kit.

  Mel had just brought Keith a double whiskey.

  “Nah. There hasn’t been anymore murder’s related to this one,” he said strongly and gulped his whiskey. “Also there was no obvious evidence like in most serial profile killings. There is always some type of damn signature.”

  “How did she die?”

  “Her throat was ripped open or cut. Some of it was gone,” he said firmly.

  “Sounds like some damn dog got her like a pit-bull,” she said strongly as she put on lipstick.

  “I didn’t remember seeing any animal prints.”

  Keith took out this necklace and placed it on the table.

  “What is that ugly thing?”

  “I found this thing at the murder scene. The killer must have dropped it,” he said strongly.

  “It looks like some evil looking necklace. It’s a big eyeball in---“

  “That’s blood baby!”

  “Blood! Oow. How gross player,” she said strongly eyes narrowed with disgust.

  “No wander this booty-face killed someone. I bet when you put this horror around your neck it makes zombies out of folks,” he said sharply with a laugh.

  “Get that thing away from me bruh!” she snapped.

  “I want you to keep it. Find out all you can about this bruh and get back to me.”

  “Hell no!”

  “Please!”

  “All right!”

  Well Miss Miller and Jackson sat quietly for a while watching busboys and girls clean up the restaurant. It was about to close soon. The cooks were preparing their final orders. There was surely less noise in the kitchen.

  Keith continued to drink double whiskeys. Miss Miller started drinking coffee.

  “How did it go in San Francisco?” she finally asked firmly.

  “Not so good,” he said sadly and took down his seventh whiskey.

  “Dude, I sorry to hear it,” she said.

  “Fat-lips Ray Feinstein gave me a pretty good beating. Maybe my butt deserved it,” he said strongly.

  “Oh you poor thing,” she said sadly.

  “Bruh I’m going to make a nice bath,” he said firmly.

  “That should help,” she said.

  “Dog, I did beat the poop out of Feinstein. And I broke one of his workers back.”

  “Bruh do you think Feinstein killed Miss Sands?” she asked strongly, sipping her coffee.

  “Nah, I talked to some of the folks that work with the fat frog-breath. And they claimed he was here during the murder,” he explained sharply and lit a small joint. “I don’t think the necklace would fit around his neck.”

  “No doubt.”

  “And this fat slobs not the black magic type,” he said sharply and took a long drag from a joint.

  “So what does your butt do now?”

  “Dog I think Miss Sand’s father may have killed her. He was very abusive. He was totally against her being in the music business,” he said, blowing smoke towards her.

  “Besides shoes there must be evidence at the crime scene that could’ve been overlooked,” she said strongly as she finished her coffee.

  “Bruh, I’m going back there too,” he snapped.

  Well after dinner, Jackson left the restaurant with Miss Miller to her crib. He called the airport. He made reservations for a flight to LA. They slept together but Keith was too messed up to do anything.

  Chapter 22

  Well Miss Sand’s parents lived in a house on 220 West 6th street in Los Angeles California. The place was an expensive two-story job. There were igloo shaped tinted windows at the top. At the bottom were windows shaped like bullets. A beautiful lake near by and 6th green, 3469 sq. ft, good place to play golf. A couple of large peach trees stood in front.

  Jackson always thought California had the coolest homes. And he wanted to come here come day and buy a home. Then spend his days getting high and banging the hot
test babes.

  Well Keith wore a pink hoodie over large baggy black jeans with green Nikes. He had a hella large pure gold chain around his neck. Also was a big gold sparkling watch on his wrist. He brought along his trusty Colt Model 1917 Army .454 Casull.

  He gazed at the two-luxury car in the big ass garage. There was a yellow porche and green Lamborghini.

  A couple of young kids were loaded up a black Chevy Suburban that was attached to a bright-yellow speedboat. It appeared that they were going on vacation in September.

  They were all dressed up in tropical bright colors. They smiled at Keith as they were getting into the truck. He waved.

  He watched them drive off slowly down the crooked street, passed Booby blond that were smaller than pencils as they walked their dogs smaller than walnuts. He thought about being on a speedboat with Miss Miller naked. And her butt was so big that it made the boat come close to tipping over and a forty-pounds of cocaine.

  For Keith LA was full of fake folks. Nobody had real lips, chins, faces, noses and personalities. And everybody’s an actor. Were the Sands really themselves? Are they actors too?

  It was just after seven in the morning. Keith walked around the property. It was quiet. How would the neighbors feel about a black man being here? He walked around the house. There no people anywhere. No noise came from the house. Nobody was up yet he thought.

  He went around the front and beat on the door. He stood there waiting for a while. But nobody came to the door. But the house was kinda big and maybe no one heard him. So he moved around to the back of house.

  He walked through the yard. There was no one in the yard. There were toys stuck in the very green lawn. There was a huge silver barbecue grill, a white plastic table set, lawnmowers, rakes and weed eaters. Everything a typical yard would have.

  Keith beat on the back door. He stood there looking at the swimming pool. Nobody came to the door. He knocked for about ten more minutes. Still there was no answer. So he walked away.

  Then he felt a hose tightening around his throat as he was strolling beside the house. He was trying to get back to the front. He was wincing. He grabbed the hose, trying to pull it off but no such luck.

  “Well, well. I got me a burglar,” a male voice said sharply.

  This turd-breath boy’s grip was like an oxen. And he lifted Keith off his feet. Keith couldn’t speak.

  “I think I’ll save the taxpayers some money killing you poop-brain.”

  This hating whale-poop sounded retarded. He squeezed tighter. Keith gasped for air. Keith swing his arms at the man’s face but he kept weaving head from side to side to avoid his hands.