Terror In Reno

by Darryl Harrison

  “Have you ever seen a man hung before?” he said harshly. “Well you’re going to find out how it feels.”

  After the man brought Keith back down so his feet touch the ground. Keith pushed back with all his might. The man fell backwards to the grass and Keith fell on top of him. But this action did nothing to deter the mans grip on Keith’s throat. He felt his life slipping away.

  Then a voice near by that sounded old. “Stop! Please stop, Willard.”

  “Uncle Sam! This is a madman. He’s one of those damn drug dealers trying to rip-off the house,” he said sourly.

  “Let him go! Let the man speak!”

  So the big ignorant-booty Willard released the garden house from Keith’s neck. Keith began a series of coughing and chocking motions. He was gasping for breath.

  “Willard, go inside. I want you to help Aunt Mary with breakfast,” Sam said strongly to Willard.

  Willard put down the hose and strolled off.

  Willard was a big dumb-face. He was about six-six, 237pds and wearing dirty-blue coveralls. He brown hair was thinning at the top. He was about as smart a tree. Or maybe a tree might’ve been smarter. Luckily, the old man came when he did. Or Keith would have been a fond memory.

  “So what do you want, boy?” Sam said strongly.

  “Bug off, dude!” Keith snapped, rubbing his throat.

  “Yeh. Willard’s got quite a grip. If I hadn’t some around when I did you’d surely be turd-pie,” Sam said sharply.

  “Thank you!”

  “Don’t have me call the police.”

  “I don’t give a damn, bruh!” Keith said sourly.

  “You want something to eat. You want money,” he said, pulling out a bunch of bills.

  “Dude, I don’t want your money!” he said, pulling up his baggy pants.

  “What do you want?”

  “Your daughter is dead!”

  “What?”

  “Belinda Sands is dead. She was murdered,” Keith said strongly and lit a crack pipe.

  “What’s that awful smell?”

  “Crack-cocaine.”

  Sam sat down on a big rock. His face took on a grief stricken look. He had a leathery complexion, with silver-Carmel short hair. His watery eyes were gentian. He wore a light blue sweatshirt and no shoes.

  “When did this happen?”

  “A couple of nights ago,” he said sadly and took another drag from his pipe.

  “Are you a drug addict?” Sam snapped.

  “Hell yeh!”

  “Is that how you knew Belinda?”

  “I’m a private investigator,” he said, blowing smoke.

  “I’m sorry about Willard. Since Belinda moved out he’s been looking after us. My wife and I were vacationing in Hawaii when our house was being burglarized. Willard surprised the bums as they were trying to move expensive sculptures. He nearly beat one of them to death,” Sam explained strongly.

  Jackson continued to smoke his crack pipe. The smell of breakfast came from the house.

  “Old Gee. I could sure use that big frog-breath for a bodyguard. But I don’t think I could afford to feed the brute. He must eat 20 pounds of beef a day,” Keith said sharply with a laugh.

  “Sixty pounds of beef.”

  “Rabies shots too.”

  “Or course.”

  “Well I wanted to ask you some serious questions,” he said firmly, taking the last drag from his crack pipe.

  “Fine. Why don’t you come inside?” he insisted strongly.

  “For sure.”

  Chapter 23

  They all sat at a large Oakwood table. There were several plates full of food enough to feed an army. There was thirty-five eggs, twenty-seven slices of bacon, and fifteen sausage links. Two large pitchers was filled with milk and orange juice. Seven sticks of butter. And forty stacks of toast.

  Willard had already been stuffing his huge jaws. And still looked like he could eat a freight train.

  Keith had placed five eggs and four slices of bacon. There were sausages and stack of bread on his plate. He poured himself a large glass of orange juice and milk.

  Sam took three eggs and two slices of bacon. and three pieces of toast. His wife poured his milk and coffee.

  Willard began letting out loud farts as he guzzled milk. He chuckled. Mary though it was distasteful. Willard didn’t apologies. Sam just shook his head.

  Keith just shoved truckloads of eggs and hash browns into his big mouth like the slime-breath hadn’t eaten in months.

  “Are you hungry?” Sam asked sharply with a laugh,

  “Hell yeh,” Keith stated firmly with good cheer.

  The kitchen was expensive-looking. Everything was made of white marble but the cabinets were made from the finest oak. All the appliances were well known.

  Mrs. Mary Sands was about 58, 120 pounds with silver-mocha-downy hair, dark blue eyes, round nose, gaunt body and wearing pink sweat suit. She seemed to be a well-mannered lady not stuck up like Keith would have expected.

  Well into the breakfast Keith, say some that would destroy the easygoing mood. He began accusing Sam of killing his daughter. Sam became angry. He smashed a plate of eggs over Keith’s head.

  The plate shattered into piece. And eggs ran down Keith’s face. Then he served up two quick right jabs into Keith’s face. He didn’t even see that coming.

  The impacts of the punches knock Keith back on to the floor. The pain hit his face like a lightening bolt.

  “How dare you come in here and accuse me of killing my daughter!” Sam said defensively.

  “Belinda’s dead!” Mary stated strongly.

  “Yes,” Sam said sharply, standing over Keith with his foot on his head.

  Willard stood up, frowning. He had a fork in his hand. He was about to shove in Keith’s eye.

  “Why did you tell me?” she snapped as she stood up.

  “I was going to tell you woman,” he said sharply.

  Keith pulled out his gun.

  “Get off me old frog-butt!” he said brazenly.

  Sam removed his foot from his head and stepped back. And so did Willard. He dropped the knife too. Keith stood up to his feet. He was a little shook up.

  “So you going to shoot us, man,” Sam said sharply.

  “No. Just sit your butts back down and finish your breakfast. It’s nothing personal. I’m a detective. I have to ask these questions. I know you’re hurting but I don’t want a boxer nose,” Keith explained strongly, wiping eggs from his face.

  Sam, Willard and Mary sat back down to eat. But they didn’t seem too hungry now. Things seem to change when this black man pulled a gun on them.

  “I didn’t kill Belinda,” Sam finally said harshly.

  “Mister when did are daughter die?” Mary asked softly wiping her tears.

  “At about 3:00am,” Keith said sharply and took a long drink of milk.

  “We were already in bed before ten,” Sam said strongly.

  “Ever seen this?” Keith stated firmly.

  “What the hell is that horrid-looking piece of jewelry?” Sam snapped loudly.

  “It’s a necklace bro-bro.”

  “So it is. Who’s?”

  “Your daughter’s.”

  “That’s not hers. Not that doo-doo. That thing belongs to the devil.”

  Willard began shoving eggs down his mouth. The yoke was dripping down his chin. He looked like some giant three-year-old slob.

  “Willard dear. Please wipe your chin. Where is your manners?” She said sharply.

  “Oh. I’m sorry Aunt Mary,” he said strongly as he wipes his chin.

  “Did you ever hit your daughter?” Keith asked firmly.

  “None of your business buddy,” he snapped.

  “Feinstein told me,” he said, sipping his orange juice.

  “Feinstein is a smelly hog,” Sam snapped.

  “Bruh I believe him.”

  “Ok. So I beat her. She deserved it most of the time. She was a hard headed little brat,” Sam
said bitterly.

  “For what reason?” Keith snapped.

  “We have a construction business. And we know that show business stuff doesn’t last. Beside our business has been picking up.

  “That’s Miss Sands dream. You have to let her live it,” Keith said strongly.

  “Maybe so. But this maybe why she’s dead, sir,” Mary said firmly.

  Sam urged Keith to go in the living room. He took out some photo books. He opened them to show Keith pictures of Belinda as a child. Some of the pictures were Belinda, her sister and brother on a swing. There were family picnics. Many were her high school and college photos.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Sam said cheerfully.

  “Yes. She is hella fly,” Keith said sharply.

  “Here’s my other daughter,” Sam said strongly, handing over the photos to Keith. “Amanda Sands McCarthy owns the radio station called The Stoner. It’s in San Francisco.”

  “Hell yeh. I’ve heard of it,” Keith said firmly, nodding his head.

  “She doesn’t care about the family business either.”

  “Do you know who killed your daughter?” Keith asked firmly.

  “Man, I don’t know,” he snapped.

  “There must be somebody. A jealous boyfriend,” Keith said strongly.

  “Shawn Adair!” he said sharply.

  “Who is Shawn Adair?” Keith snapped.

  “He dated her. He was obsessed with Belinda. I mean in a strange way.”

  “Where do I find him?”

  “Don’t really know. It’s been a longtime,” he said sharply, scratching his chin.

  “Try and think. This shit is really important. You do want to find your daughter’s killer?”

  “The school might have an address.”

  “What school?”

  “The Hollywood Dance and Theatre School. It’s located on West 3rd Street, downtown. That’s where Belinda met the creep,” Sam said harshly.

  “Who do I talk to?”

  “Dude, I believe his name is Henry Egghart,” he said, walking Keith to the door.

  “Thanks for breakfast,” Keith said as he walked out. “Do you know anybody that sells crack-cocaine in this town?”

  “No.”

  Chapter 24

  Jackson sat in a blue Buick he rented. He was drinking Chavis Regal. He was thinking how he would approach this situation. It was already 10:00am.

  He stared at the parking lot full of cars, vans, Rvs and trucks. The Hollywood Dance and Theatre School was very busy. The big brown brick building was full of tinted windows to keep the sun out. The grass was well-kept along with shrubberies. Next door was an auto insurance office. A Wendy’s across the street.

  You could walk to here from the Sands house because it was only a few blocks away. So this probably the reason Miss Sands chose to attend here.

  Keith was not so happy. He wanted to see some celebrities. The folks out here really do it big. He saw a lot of Lexus, Audi’s, Ferraris, Rolls Royce’s and Mercedes-Benz.

  But none of the folks looked like celebs. Just some rich snobs. He continued to guzzle his Chavis Regal and watch the hot ladies going into the theater.

  He felt a little messed up. His neck was red and very sore. His body was hurting too. But this setback wouldn’t stop him from trying solve this case. Besides, the whisky was easing the pain.

  The weather was very nice about 72 degrees. Everyone was wearing hardly anything. Keith was still wearing a hoodie. So he kinda look out of place. He sat the bottle of whiskey down and got out of the car.

  He walked through the glass doors of the dance school. The place was hella spacious. Everything was made of hardwood. The was a huge stage and a purple certain that was down. The school was hella fly.

  On this time of the morning the school was surely packed. The students were gathered on the floor. Everyone was talking at the same time. It was so noisy because of that. They seemed to be waiting for the teacher for guidance. Everyone was dressed in their dance stuff. Keith looked like a cheeseburger stuck in a fruit basket trying to blend in.

  An older cat came storming out of an office. He had a head like a darn moon. His mustache was thick; his lips were firm, eyes brown. He wore a pink top with black tights. He was already to teach the class.

  “Are you a new student?” the man asked firmly.

  “Nah!” Keith snapped.

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I’m looking for Mr. Egghart,” Keith said sharply.

  “Dude, I’m Egghart.”

  “I’m Keith Jackson. I’m a private investigator,” he said firmly.

  Egghart wandered away from the crowd of students. He stopped in front of Keith.

  “What is wrong, man?” Egghart stated sharply, looking puzzled.

  “Miss Belinda sands was murderer,” Keith stated sharply.

  “Oh my God! When did this happen?” he said sadly.

  “At three am the other night, in Reno.”

  “Was Belinda doing a show there?”

  Egghart looked shock and was about to cry.

  “Hell yeh,” Keith snapped.

  Egghart walked over to a piano and sat. He began playing sad jazz melodies. Keith felt like his butt was at a dental visit.

  “Belinda was one of our best students.”

  “I’m sure she was.”

  “Why did you come all the way here to tell me this?” he said sharply as he played the piano.

  “I’m curious to know who would waste her,” Keith said strongly, pulling up his baggy jeans.

  “Dude, I sure didn’t kill her!” he said bluntly, as the music began to sound violent.

  Keith took out the necklace.

  “Is this yours?”

  Egghart studied it for a moment frowning.

  “Nah. That’s not my necklace. I don’t wear jewelry.”

  “All right.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “She was gruesomely murdered. Her throat tore open.”

  Egghart stopped playing the piano. He began to tremble and possibly throw up.

  “My, my! What an awful way to die. Belinda was such a pretty girl,” he said sadly.

  The students were talking loudly. And some were horsing around.

  “It was a horrible way to go for anyone.”

  “What can I do? I haven’t talked to Belinda in several years,” he said and took a long sip from a water bottle that sat on the piano.

  “But what did you talk about?”

  “Let me think. Oh, yeh. Belinda had some gigs.”

  “Where?”

  “At various clubs,” he said, playing sad music again.

  “That’s all!”

  “She just thanked me for making it all possible.”

  Well the class got bored and began practicing some dance moves. Egghart continued to shoot out sad notes on the piano.

  “Dude, the real reason I came here is to get some information on one of you students,” Keith said firmly.

  “Can’t do that,” Egghart snapped.

  “I thought you wanted to help,” Keith said strongly.

  “Oh, but I do. But not by violating our policies.”

  “Do you understand sissy-breath? We have a killer running around out there. Put slime all over your policies dog!”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Well.”

  “Well what?”

  “Please cooperate fully, man,” Keith snapped.

  “One of my students is a murderer? Who is it?”

  “Mr. Shawn Adair.”

  “Oh, yeh. Shawn was one of my students. He was kinda strange. He seemed to be crazy for Belinda.”

  “Dude didn’t she feel the same way?”

  “No. She was scared of him. The punk was pushy. He kept asking her out and she kept saying no,” Egghart explained sharply.

  “Would he killer her?”

  “It’s possible. As I remember Shawn was sort of a creep.”

  “Did
Adair carrying any weapons?” Keith asked firmly gazing at the impatient students.

  Egghart stopped playing the piano for a moment. He turned to face Keith, putting on his thinking cap.

  “Oh, now I remember, actually he did. He carried around a ratty pocketknife. He told me that cutting off turkey heads gave him great pleasure.”

  “What a sick punk!”

  “Yes he sounds pretty unstable.”

  “For sure.”

  “But the way you describe Belinda’s death it sounds like some animal murdered her like a dog.”

  “It wasn’t a dog, dude!”

  “You seem sure.”

  “I am gee.”

  “You probably want to know where that sick punk lives,” Egghart stated bluntly, as he stood up from the piano.

  “Hell yeh,” Keith snapped.

  “Shawn teaches now.”

  “For sure?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Are you going to tell me where, dude?”

  “He owns the Adair Dance Studio on 7001 Sunset Blvd.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you know I could be sued?” Egghart said strongly as he was heading back to his students.

  “Hell yes. But it’s better than having your sissy-face rotting in jail,” Keith snapped.

  “I hope Shawn kills you!”

  “I’m sure the beast will try,” Keith said sharply, walking out the door.

  Chapter 25

  The Adair Dance Studio was a White cement building with tinted windows. There were lots of small oak trees around the building. A big brown ugly dumpster was in front. A big ashtray was filled with butts. Next door was a fitness place. A Safeway was across the street at the Beverly Hills shopping center. Troy’s Chicken shop was down the street. Keith planned to drop by there on the way to the airport.

  The parking lot wasn’t very full. He figured most of the folks were at Egghart’s studio. Keith sat in his rental smoking some crack. He watched babes come and go. He thought about playing with himself.

  After finishing his crack-cocaine, he got out of his car. He started moving slowly towards the dance studio. He wasn’t happy because he wasn’t stoned enough. He shoved the glass doors opened.

  While inside he took in the view. A large oakwood stage was full of dancers. They wore radical attire. They were young and mostly white. They dance to one side and throw up their left leg. Then move over to the other side and toss up the right leg. A couple of them fell to the floor. Many of them were hella out of step. And many didn’t seem to know what the hell they were doing. There was no music. And that could’ve been the problem.

  But this studio had rows of metal chair with booty’s in them. Family members were cheering them on. And some folks were booing them. Some just sat there stun. This whole show looked pretty messed up. Keith wanted to go pull the curtain on the thing.