Terror In Reno

by Darryl Harrison

  Keith learned that Adair was 6’2 and 190 about 37. He had kinky carrot hair. He wore a tight black dance outfit. And this slime-brain was hot for Miss Sands. This cat could have been jealous because she was more lady-like.

  Adair walked over to him.

  “Welcome!” he said cheerfully.

  “What’s up with ya?” Keith stated strongly with a smirk.

  “We’re in the middle of a class,” he said sharply with a grin.

  “For sure.”

  “What is it?”

  “Dog I want to talk to you.”

  “Dude you don’t want to join my class!”

  “Nah. It looks sucky bruh.”

  “Are you kidding me? This class is topnotch. We’re having positions on Leno, Letterman and even Vegas.”

  “Good luck, bruh.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Keith Jackson. I’m a private investigator.”

  “What happened?”

  “Miss Belinda Sands was murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Hell yeh!” Keith said sharply pulling up his baggy jeans.

  “Are drunk?”

  “Hell yeh.”

  “Dude I thought police don’t drink.”

  “But I do.”

  “When did she die?” Adair stated strongly.

  “The other morning at 3:00.”

  “Do you really think our dancers suck?”

  “Suck is an understatement, dude.”

  “Man I take it that none of your family members are on stage.”

  “Nah. If they were I’d shoot them.”

  “How did Belinda die?”

  “Some psychopath ripped open her throat.”

  “You mean a wolf or something!”

  “Nah, dude! I mean a sick-slime Gee!” Keith stated harshly.

  “Only animals go for the throat of their pray,” Adair snapped.

  “And black men with razors too.”

  “Sounds like the killer had no heart for human life.”

  “For sure.”

  “Well I hope you find the killer.”

  “Bruh I think I may already have.”

  “What in the hog-farts is that suppose to mean?”

  “Dude I think you killed the broad,” Keith said harshly.

  The dancers stopped moving. They just stood there staring at Keith and Shawn.

  “I wasn’t anywhere at 3:00. Besides where did all this happen?”

  “In Reno.”

  “I’ve never been there.”

  “What were you doing at 3:00am?”

  “In LA sleeping like everybody else,” Adair snapped as he began to ball his fist.

  “Can you prove it?”

  “If you aren’t here to learn how to dance I suggest you blow,” he said bitterly.

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Dude I’ll throw your black butt out!”

  “A piece of scab-face like you slime-poop,” Keith said sourly. “Your butt must be getting the whole sorry class.”

  “All right, mister detective. We’ll see how tough you are,” he said strongly and wandered over to the stage.

  He took out the necklace again.

  “Is this your sweet pie?”

  “No I hate jewelry. Jewelry is for girls.”

  “I wear bling too.”

  “Someone will steal that man.”

  “They will not be successful, dog.”

  Keith followed him. Adair hopped on the stage and moved quickly to the rear. Keith did the same thing. Adair went into an office where a big Mexican sat at a desk.

  “What’s up, Mr. Adair?”

  “This man! Throw him out.”

  “All right, sir!” he snapped standing up. His big moved away from the desk.

  Adair walked out. Keith pulled out his gun. As he raised it up the Mexican batted it out of his hand. He grabbed Keith lifting him over his head.

  The Mexican threw Keith onto the stage. He slid several feet down. The Mexican came at Keith to fall on him, but he moved away. The man fell down onto his stomach. Keith got up. And so did the Mexican. They stared right into each other’s eyes.

  The Mexican threw a right, missing Keith’s face. He threw a left punch. Keith moved away from that. After a bunch of missed punches, the Mexican became angrier, panting hard. He then charged Keith. Keith moved out of the way.

  The Mexican slammed into the stage wall and fell back on his butt. The dances stared in horror. As the man was getting up Keith kicked him in the face. And a spin kick to the stomach. But this didn’t really have much of an effect. The Mexican just got up. Keith did another spin kick into the man’s chest.

  But he kept coming. Keith did it again but this time his shoe landing in the man’s face. He continued with a series of punches to the face. But the big beast kept coming towards him as blood ran down his chin and his face began to puff up. He grabbed Keith and threw him down the stage again.

  Keith recover quickly and stood there waiting for this beast poop-breath to come up. He was panting some. But well focused. When he finally got to Keith, some more spin kicks he learned from watching so many Kung fu movies, landing in the man’s face and stomach.

  And the Mexican started punching Keith connecting with the jaw knocking him off the stage.

  As Keith was slowly getting back up the Mexican grabbed whole of him and tossed him into some metal chairs. There was a loud crash. Luckily, nobody was even sitting there. Well, Keith managed to get back up now limping into the restroom, holding on to his hip.

  “Don’t worry Mr. Adair. This punk’s finito,” the Mexican said strongly, walked towards the restroom.

  Keith had closed and lock to door. His mind was racing. As this big, Mexican was beating on the door. His nose was bleeding. The man lost a couple of teeth. There was a nasty cut on his eye. But he was determined to wipe the studio with Keith. He knew this job best.

  By the time, the Mexican had kicked the door opened Keith had been standing there with a bottle of liquid soap.

  “What are you going to do with that stuff? Are you going to clean the floor, hoto?”

  He came at Keith. Keith chucked the bottle forward. The blue liquid flung out into the Mexican’s ugly face. As the man was rubbing his eyes, Keith spin kicked him into the chest with one of those high ones sending the man flying into the wall.

  “How do you like me now, dog?” Keith said bitterly.

  “You slimy punk! I can’t see!”

  “For sure.”

  While he was sitting on his butt, Keith finished him off by planting the bottom of his feet in the center of the man’s face. You just heard these loud smacks. And the Mexican winced and cried out. When Keith got tired of kicking him he began jabbing the Mexican’s face in. The Mexicans face began to get very ugly, puffy and blood was just running out.

  The Mexican finally gave in kneeling over onto the floor. Keith kicked him a couple of more times and said, “Slime you in the face punk!”

  Keith stumbled out of the bathroom. He headed towards the stage to get his gun. He looked pretty beaten down but still aware of his surroundings.

  He shoved his gun back into his pocket. He gave Adair the evil eye.

  “Bruh, I’m not playing around with your butt.”

  “Bug off, man!” Adair stated harshly as he produced a knife.

  “Bad move worm-breathe,” Keith said strongly.

  Adair charged Keith with the knife. He moved away. Adair tried the same thing but this time Keith grabbed his arm and flipped him over his back. Adair slammed into his back the impact made him let go of the knife and scream out like a little girl.

  Keith went over to him. He kicked him hard into the side. The man gritted his teeth and screamed out loudly again.

  “Quit whining you little baby!”

  “Don’t kick me no more, sir!”

  “Dude I want you to answer my questions. Or I’ll beat your butt again,” Keith stated firmly.

  The class had nearly e
mptied out. There were just a couple of students left. Why they stayed, he couldn’t imagine. He stuck a small joint in his big black bloody mouth.

  “Look what you’ve done to my class, dude,” Adair cried.

  “Slime them, bruh. They sucked anyway.”

  “You ruined my class so beautiful!”

  “You and your boyfriend messed up my mouth!”

  “Dude I don’t like punks coming into my class and accusing me of murdering that tramp!” he said bluntly, trying to sit up.

  “Ok. I’m sorry player. Then prove to me you didn’t slice up Miss Sands,” Keith said sharply and took a long drag from his joint.

  “I don’t fell well,” Adair said weakly and threw up pink and purple stuff onto the floor.

  “You wanted Miss Sands but she didn’t want your coward butt,” Keith stated strongly.

  “Homeboy, I did want her. She was real cool and pretty in her own way. She always made everyone laugh. She refused my advances. That really pissed me off. So I beat her. But you said she was murdered the other night at 3:00am. I hadn’t talk to Belinda since we were in class together. That has been quite some time,” Adair explained strongly wiping barf from his lips.

  “You’re hella tight with that knife.”

  “The way dude you describe he murder like some damn animal attacked her.”

  “Don’t blame it on no animal, sir!”

  “Dude I’ve gotten over her already I have a wonderfully girlfriend. We’re very happy now.”

  “Well who do you think would kill her?” Keith asked sharply and took a huge hit from his joint.

  “That crazy Foulk. I can’t believe she was going to marry him.”

  “Who is this punk?” he snapped, blowing smoke in Adair’s face.

  “He’s in her band or was,” Adair stated strongly and tried to stand up.

  Chapter 26

  Keith Jackson returned to the Mint Casino. He stopped at the bar to get a beer. He was directed back outside to the tennis courts where Miss Sands guitarist Steve Foulk played tennis.

  Keith stood there guzzling his beer while he watched Foulk hit balls down the court by himself. A big hella noisy machine sat on the other side of the court. It spit out balls down the court at Foulk. He smashed them back with his tennis racket as if he was in a real match.

  Back in Sparks Nevada, it was cloudy. The court was still wet from a heavy rain before. But Nevada really needed the rain. And nobody seemed to be complaining.

  Foulk was smiling as he moved back and forth hitting balls. Keith could see traffic above the courtyard on I-80 East. Al’s gun shop was next door.

  Steve Foulk was about 6’2. And 35, 170 pounds with peroxide blond hair, which he wore in a ponytail. English steel-rimmed glasses had rested on a Roman nose. Also he had an anchor beard. He was wearing a Jockey Club shirt, white shorts and tennis shoes.

  After finishing his beer, Keith decided to walk through the gate onto the courts. Foulk looked at him but didn’t really care he just kept hitting balls.

  “Hey, man! Are you Steve Foulk?” Keith asked firmly.

  “That’s right! Who wants to know?” he snapped.

  “Keith Jackson. I’m a private investigator,” he said sharply, showing his ID.

  Foulk didn’t even look just nodded his head and kept hitting balls.

  “Bug off, PI,” Foulk said acidly, hurrying towards the machine.

  He turned the damn thing directly at Keith. He turned the damn thing on high so the balls shot out like rockets.

  As Keith was trying to move away he wasn’t fast enough because he was hit in the face, chest and arm by the balls. He screamed out in pain.

  Foulk ran out into the street, dodging traffic. Keith couldn’t figure out why he did that. Horns were honking and folks were cursing. Keith ran after him, limping down the street through traffic. And the motorist were just as angry.

  Foulk ran into the Crystal Hotel casino. Why was this snake-breath running? Was it because Keith was black? Keith ran inside the casino after him. It was a little busy in the place. Foulk was bumping into folks and pushing some people over. Keith shoved his way through.

  When Keith began closing in on him, he grabbed a tray from a cocktail waitress and threw it at Keith. There were a lot of glasses of liquor on it. And all of the many different drink were dumped all over him. He was soaked.

  Security was on the scene. They tried to scoop up Foulk but he pushed some old Chinese dude on them, blocking their path. Keith kept after him too.

  Keith was still hella pissed about his Hoody. There was strawberry daiquiri, and black Russian all over it. And some pink drink stained his jeans and Nikes. He wanted to shove the cleaning bill up Foulk’s butt.

  The chase continued with Foulk pushing and knocking people over in his path. Keith was trailing through as delicately as he could. Keith was hoping this dude would stop at some point. He didn’t want to run anymore his body was still sore from fighting earlier.

  Well a couple of security guards grabbed Keith. He broke free. He kicked hard one of them in the stomach and he flew backwards into some folks knocking them down. He did his spin kick with his Nike shoe resting in the other ones chest. He flew back on top of a roulette table, knocking over everybody’s chips.

  Security wore light-blue shirts and dark blue pants. The ignorant-slimes didn’t even carry guns.

  Keith was closing on Foulk again. But that wouldn’t last. Foulk shoved an old white man into Keith knocking him down. And security was probably hoping that they both would get the hell out of the casino.

  A nice man playing slots stopped to help Keith and the old man up. Keith shoved him out of the way, as he was getting up and he ran towards the exit where he saw Foulk running.

  Foulk pushed opened the doors and flew outside. Keith knew if he didn’t get there soon the man could disappear quick.

  Keith ran out of the door. He noticed Foulk running through the parking lot. So Keith pulled out his gun. And boy could this chicken-poop run. And Keith figured by now the security had already called the po-pos because of all this.

  Keith fired two shots in the air. Foulk stopped, holding up his arms up to the sky. Keith limped up to him. He was panting as Keith was too.

  When Keith caught up to him, he was angry. He slugged Foulk in the face. The impacted jerked his head back and he stumbled backwards but didn’t fall over. Foulk grabbed his face.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” Foulk screamed sharply.

  “That’s for making me run, butt worm,” Keith stated harshly, panting.

  “You’re a black guy! I thought you were going to rob me,” Foulk stated sharply.

  “Slime that! You know I’m a PI,” Keith said strongly. “My lungs are trash, bruh. I shouldn’t have smoked so much crack cocaine.”

  “How does a drug addict become a cop?” Foulk snapped, panting.

  “They train you at the police academy poop-breath!” Keith said acidly.

  “What do you want?” Foulk said still panting.

  “Belinda Sands is dead.”

  “Yeh. I know. I heard some animal attacked her in the woods,” he said sadly, crying.

  “That statement was bull!”

  “Oh yeh?”

  Keith took out the necklace.

  “Is this yours?”

  “Nah. I wish it was. That eyeball looks pretty creepy.”

  “Hell yeh. Dude I found it at the crime scene,” Keith stated, panting.

  “Well I know it’s not Belinda’s.”

  “Are you sure, bruh?”

  “Totally.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Dude I don’t know.”

  “Maybe it belongs to a homeless person.”

  “That may be.”

  They walked over by an orange tree. The clouds were coming back and were probably going to rain in 30 minutes.

  “You were in love with Miss Sands?”

  “Yeh. I still am. We were going to get married but she backed ou
t at the last minute.”

  “I’m sure that pissed you off,” Keith stated sharply and shoved a joint in his mouth.

  “Yes, it really hurt. I couldn’t play in the band. I couldn’t look at Belinda. The whole thing didn’t seem to faze her.”

  “Did you kill her?”

  “Hell no!”

  “Where were you after the show?”

  “Out side in the parking lot.”

  “Did anybody see you?” Keith blew smoke in the air.

  “Not really.”

  “What were you doing in the parking lot?”

  “Just stretching. I needed some fresh air. All those folks smoking and the cheap perfume was making me sick.”

  “Did you see Miss Sands?”

  “Can I have a hit?”

  “For sure,” Keith said strongly, passing the joint.

  “I saw Belinda going around towards the front of the casino, as she always did after the final show,” Foulk stated strongly, took a long drag from the joint, and passed it back to Keith.

  “What time was that?”

  “Oh, about 2:20am or something.”

  “Was there anyone with her?”

  “Not that I could see. Belinda always left by herself,” he said sharply peeling an orange.

  “That may have been a gift for the killer,” Keith said and took a long drag from the joint.

  “Totally.”

  “Why did you run?”

  “I’m wanted for outstanding parking violations, gee.”

  Foulk kept looking at his watch.

  “Am I keeping you?”

  “Well I got a show later.”

  “Why did Miss Sands go to the Wells Ave Overpass?”

  “Dude I don’t know.”

  “So you’re still doing a show?” he snapped and took the final drag from his joint.

  “Yeh. Belinda would’ve wanted it.”

  “Do you know who’d want to kill her?”

  “I’m not sure. She was good people.”

  “Somebody didn’t think so.”

  “Please find the killer!”

  “For sure.”

  Chapter 27

  Well Keith Jackson sat at home. He was feeling a little down on himself. He began smoking some crack-cocaine he had leftover from the other day. He was staying at the Casino Apartments, a three-story tan duplex. It was owned by a couple of gay guys. There was security. And A banging weight room, swimming pool, pool tables, a SPA. Jay’s Laundry mat was across the street. A 7-11 down the street.

  It looked like hella poop but the rent was cool. When you rent houses by gay people, they’re hella cheap.

  After smoking crack-cocaine, Keith started on some Gin. He felt like he let everybody down. He was nowhere on the case. He wasn’t sure if he was looking for an animal or a crazy man. Whom the hell rips folks throats out but some type of animal? But there’s no evidence to show an animal was even at the murder scene.