Terror In Reno

by Darryl Harrison

  The killer is running around free, laughing. He having beer and sleeping with girls. He is watching the news, laughing at our dumbness. He walks his kids to school everyday. He’s on Facebook. He’s on Twitter.

  Keith continued to drink gin while he thought about the murder investigation. It was 7:00pm now. He grinded up some cactus stuff he got from Mexico. He wrapped it up in brown paper and lit it looking like a cigar but smelled hella different.

  Keith took huge hits while he watched an episode from Murder, She Wrote: about a murder and jewelry heist. But his mind was on the case.

  Well he figured the parents didn’t do it. Even though they didn’t dig what their daughter choose for a living. And too there was a hella fly gun cabinet in the living room to show his murder weapon choice would be a gun.

  He checked out Miss Sherri Graham she had been arrested for cat fighting in some bars. She never used a weapon in any of those encounters. She didn’t use beer bottles either. But the way she tore up her apartment showed she was no pussy cat. And she really didn’t have any beef with Miss Sands that was proven. So he decided to leave her out as a suspect.

  He was still wearing his nasty hoody and jeans. He didn’t feel like changing them. He just sat there taking huge drags from this cactus plant. It seemed to be pretty banging. He was getting hella high.

  He began to have nightmares from the murder; he kept seeing Miss Sands throat ripped out repeatedly. And he was just frozen and couldn’t do anything to help her. Like a strong-ass, force was holding him back. Then the funky music came on. And the windpipe began to dance around snake to the melodies, shooting out blood like piss. He saw a figure dressed in dark clothes with a big lizard head. Green slimy stuff was dripping from his mouth. Then the dude, bit into Miss Sand’s throat pulling out a huge chunk of flesh. Then that dude started chewing it. The whole thing made Keith sick and threw up on the green carpets.

  After smoking that entire cactus-weed, he contemplated on Adair. He didn’t believe Adair killed Miss Sands even though he wanted her and she hated him. The butt worm did stalk her and tried to rape her too. But the punk never used a weapon on her like his pocketknife. Adair came across too sweet-cakes to pull off this murder. He managed to get a report on Adair from LAPD. He did beat a guy badly at a bar over a girl which Keith found hard to believe.

  Mr. Ray Feinstein a blimp-poop. He didn’t think he killed Miss Sands either---course he sure had the temper for it. And motive. The monkey-breath sounded controlling and had been abusive to musicians in the past. And LAPD told him that Feinstein had stabbed a guy for stalking his daughter. The man survived.

  The killer probably used a razor the kind used in barbershops. Tangy was checking out barbers with criminal records. But she had nothing yet.

  The Sands family is waiting on the completion of the autopsy. Then they will surely made arrangements to transport Miss Sands body back to LA.

  After Keith had drunken all that gin, he was hella messed up. It was 11:00pm and news 3 was coming on. So he sat up watching it. They were talking about the murder of Miss Sands.

  Chapter 28

  Keith Jackson was summons to the police department. The police were very excited that morning. They were high on doughnuts and coffee. But Keith was hangover.

  He stood with Lt. James Betha in front of a large glass window. It was 7:01am. A deranged-looked dark haired man sat on a crummy state chair. He clothes were bloody and smell was quite noticeable.

  “So that’s the booty-face?” Keith snapped, sipping on coffee.

  “Hell yeh. Mr. Timothy Brooks,” Lt. Betha said strongly, sipping coffee.

  “How did you catch this fool?”

  “One of my officers saw him wondering around the bridge where Miss Sands body was found,” he said firmly.

  “What was he doing there?”

  “Mr. Brooks was walking around carrying a knife. He was all bloody. He was threatening folks,” Lt. Betha explained sharply.

  “Why did you just pop the butt worm?” Keith snapped, sipping his coffee. “You would’ve if it was a black dude.”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job, frog-breath!”

  “Bruh, you’re hella ignorant. This dudes dangerous.”

  “You’re right, man. But were able to handle this in a good way. And nobody got hurt.”

  Keith was wearing a big black jacket. He was dressed for a snow blizzard. Lt. Betha was dressed in a cheap brown suit with an orange tie. He had a huge cigar in his big ugly mouth.

  “You look like poop!” Betha stated sharply blowing smoke in the air.

  “Bruh, I feel like poop,” Keith said strongly, finishing up his coffee.

  “You can smile now. The case is over. The Sands family can now find closer.”

  “Well I hope so.”

  “Why don’t you go home, brother?” Betha suggested strongly.

  “Bruh I want to holla at this slime-butt,” Keith said sharply.

  “Nah. You can’t,” Lt. Betha snapped.

  “Dog, I didn’t some all the way to this joint with the biggest hangover in the world to look at this dude through a glass and go home,” Keith stated bluntly.

  “All right, man!”

  Keith went in the interrogation room and sat in a cheap metal chair across from a deranged killer. He was locked inside with this turd-breath. But Keith didn’t show any fear.

  “What’s up with ya?”

  “Hello!”

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

  “I’m Timothy Brooks. I’m a killer,” he said strongly with an evil gaze.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because of a murder!”

  “Who did you murder?”

  Brooks glanced at Keith as if he was stupid.

  “Well you know...that girl.”

  “What’s her name, gee?”

  Keith stuck a joint in his mouth and lit it.

  “I already told that ugly black dude cop,” Brooks said strongly.

  “Belinda Sands?” he asked sharply. He took a long drag of a joint and passed it on to Brooks.

  “Yeh that’s it,” he said and took a pretty good hit and gave it back.

  “What do you think?”

  “This isn’t bad. I never smoked any stuff like this before.”

  “How did you kill her?”

  “Man I cut the broad’s throat,” Brooks said harshly.

  Keith took out the necklace.

  “You ever see this?”

  “Yeh?”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Is it yours?”

  “I think so.”

  Keith looked at Brooks’s neck. It was brown from the sun. There were no marks on his neck where a necklace would’ve been.

  “You’ll get it back later,” Keith said strongly, putting the necklace away.

  The room was small like most interrogation rooms are. There were no windows just an ugly boring wall to look at.

  The cops must have trusted this maggot. Because his wrists were free but his legs weren’t.

  He was sorts long, weighed about 173 and could reach over the table and choke Keith to death. Way before Lt. Betha or any officer could get inside to save him. On the other hand, would they. Lt. Betha wasn’t actually in love with Keith and neither were the other officers. But just encase Keith had his gun.

  Brooks had made no such moves and better not either. Keith was ready to blow his butt away. They share the weed until it was all gone. Brooks just kept that devilish smile but looking hella stoned. His fingers began to tap on the metal table.

  Mr. Brooks asked for some cigarettes. And Lt. Betha had one of his officers go to a 7-11 down the street because the machine in the station wasn’t working.

  While the officer was fetching the cigarettes Keith had ran down to the restrooms to take a much needed doo-doo. He threw up too. Keith still had some cactus weed and smoked some before going back to the interrogation room. He apparently
wasn’t high enough.

  Brooks violently picked up the pack of Marlboros and he tore into it with his ugly teeth. He spit out the wrapper. He put one into his mouth. He lit it and took a long strong pull from it.

  “Did it feel good when you cut Miss Sands throat?” Keith asked firmly.

  “Sure. And all the blood oozing out, man. Oh, dude I was really excited,” he said strongly, laughing.

  “Dude, you hella sick, bruh.”

  Brooks just sat there smoking one cig after the other. The interrogation room was smoky as hell worst than a nightclub.

  “I’m getting hungry,” Brooks complained sharply.

  “Dude I won’t be much longer,” Keith stated firmly.

  Brooks stared at Keith with his evil smile while blowing smoke in his face. He was like a stone. He wasn’t afraid of Keith. His dark skin didn’t have an effect.

  “I killed that tramp. She deserved to die---all the whores do.”

  How many other women did you kill?”

  “Hundreds!”

  “What does Miss Sands do for a living?”

  “A whore!” Brooks said, taking another long suck from his cigarette.

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I kill people, man!”

  “Did you kill her inside your car?”

  “Dude I don’t have a car.”

  “Well how did you get Miss Sands to the Truckee River?”

  “How do you think I did, Sherlock Holmes?”

  “Bruh I don’t know. You tell me dog,” he snapped.

  Brooks bounced the thought around in his mind a bit before answering.

  “Carried the lady!”

  “Dude you’re hella strong.”

  “Yeh. That’s what the girls tell me all the time.”

  “How did you get all that blood on your shirt?”

  “It’s all her’s.”

  “Why did you carry her to the Truckee River?”

  “She must be cleansed of evil. The river would wash away the dirt and ugliness,” he said strongly and lit another cig.

  “Did you use a knife?”

  “No. A razor,” he snapped. “See that’s my weapon of choice.”

  “The lieutenant found a cheap knife on you,” Keith said.

  “Screw you both! I had a beautiful razor,” Brooks said, blowing smoke towards Keith.

  “Then where is it?”

  “I must of dropped it, dude.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, man!”

  “Where did you get the razor?”

  “Dude I stole it from a barber shop,” he said firmly, blowing smoke towards Keith.

  “Which barbershop?”

  “Don’t know,” he snapped, finishing his cigarette.

  The interrogation room was beginning to look hella cloudy. Keith started coughing and fanning the smoke. And the punk lit up another one.

  “Dude, can we wrap this up! I’m hungry,” Brooks complained bluntly.

  “Bruh you must be pretty hungry to eat the poop they serve in this place,” Keith said strongly as he stood.

  “I’m so hungry I can eat your smelly doo-doo.”

  Keith walked around fanning smoke. He was trying to find the door. He felt his way around until he found the door and exited.

  “All that smoke. How in the hell can you breathe?” Lt. Betha stated strongly.

  “Hell yeh, bruh. It was hell trying to find the door,” Keith said bitterly.

  “Let the slime-fool get cancer I could care less,” Betha said firmly.

  “I found a necklace,” Keith said sharply, pulling up his jeans.

  “Oh did you?”

  “Hell yeh. It was under Miss Sands body by her hand.”

  “You black fool! So you stole evidence from a crime scene. Are you crazy?” Betha said sarcastically.

  “It’s an evil necklace with a deep red eye. I think it’s some Satan stuff,” he said, placing a joint in his mouth.

  “Where is it?”

  “At my house.”

  “You’d better bring it back to the property room.”

  “For sure.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “About what?” Keith snapped, lighting his joint.

  “Bro, you know. What about Mr. Brooks?” Betha said firmly puffing on his green cigar.

  “Dude, I don’t think Brooks murdered Miss Sands. He may have killed somebody else though,” he said strongly and took a long drag from his joint. “This frog-poop is pretty far out in the ocean on the insanity level.”

  “Dog, I told you about smoking that stuff in my station,” Lt. Betha stated testily.

  “For sure,” Keith snapped, pulling up his baggy jeans.

  “What’s with all the clothes? It ain’t winter, blood,” Lt. Betha stated harshly.

  “Leave me be bruh!”

  “We’re going to find out whose blood Brooks is wearing.”

  “I tell you Brooks didn’t kill Miss Sands. He couldn’t have carried her body all the way to the underpass without being seen. Besides he doesn’t look that strongly,” Keith explained clearly and took a big hit from his joint.

  “Man, Psychopaths are hella strong,” Lt. Betha said strongly, puffing on his cigar. “Besides it’s hella slow on a Wednesday morning at 2:00am.”

  “Maybe he’s lying. Maybe he drove her there,” Keith snapped.

  “Yeh, maybe.”

  “What else puzzles you, bruh?”

  “The killer wore that necklace I found. And Mr. Brooks doesn’t wear jewelry.”

  “Keith I’m sticking with Brooks as the killer. So take your butt home while you still got one. Reno is a safe place now.”

  “I hope you’re right, dog!”

  Chapter 29

  Keith got the call from Norma about his aunt. It’s a call many folks can do without. Norma was a close friend of Aunt Natalie. She looks after her a lot when Keith can’t.

  She was at the Brook Bear Hospital in the intensive care unit. This meant some serious stuff. Many folks die in there. And his aunt had been sick. She had heart problems. And won’t take her medicine.

  But Brook Bear is hella tight. It’s considered one of the best hospitals in the world. There staff is high recommended. Their intensive care unit survival rate was more than 95%.

  But still Keith was concerned. He forgot about the murder and nightmares. He didn’t care about getting high or about getting laid. He only cared about his favorite aunt.

  He met with Norma in the lobby, sitting in a brown smelly chair. There were a lot of sick folks sitting there wincing in pain. Hospital’s are on fun. Norma was very sad. Keith had his fingers crossed.

  There were a number of magazines scattered about the table. There was Gun Digest, Home Gardening, US. News, Playboy and Enquire. You know the usual in waiting rooms.

  “What happened?” Keith asked strongly with a sad face.

  “Miss Natalie was trying to ride a wild horse,” she said weakly.

  “Riding a horse!” he snapped, giving her an evil stare.

  “That’s right! I told her not to. But you know how she is?”

  “Damn! Black folks don’t go riding wild horses. She’s not in a damn rodeo. Especially old folks,” he said sharply.

  “That’s supposed to be true,” she said, squeezing Keith’s hand. “But Miss Natalie is planning to enter a rodeo for seniors.”

  “Not if I can stop it bruh,” he snapped.

  “Good luck with that child,” she said sharply.

  “How bad is it?”

  “The doctors told me her right arm, and left-leg is broken and tailbone,” she said strongly and began to sob.

  “Just great!”

  Norma was wearing a pink raincoat over a white sweater. A gold pin of a piano stuck into it. She plays the piano in the church choir. And the thing sparkled. Her face was round and tired-looking. She wore new white pants. She really looked classy.

  Keith wore his A’s hat backwards, a large T-s
hirt and oversized tan pants with black Reeboks. One good thing might be the case was over. Mr. Brooks was the killer. So Keith could now focus on his aunt.

  A young black woman came in the lobby with a screaming baby and sat by a fat Spanish woman. The black woman tried to quiet her baby. But the baby kept screaming even louder. The fat Spanish woman got up angry and walked away.

  “After the ugly horse threw Miss Natalie hard onto the grass I thought she was going to have a heart attack,” Norma said sadly.

  “Good thing that beast threw her on grass and not concrete,” Keith said strongly.

  Miss Norma started crying again. Keith gave her his handkerchief. She wiped her tears, blew her nose, and handed it back to him.

  Five hours later on the doctor moved Aunt Natalie to a room. Keith and Norma were able to check on her.

  Aunt Natalie lay helplessly on a long bed with a deep blue sheet. Her right arm and left leg were in a cast. Keith felt sorry for her. He wished she was well again and talked about the good old days over lemon tea.

  “I didn’t mean to cause all this,” Aunt Natalie said weakly.

  “I know. But you wanted to have fun like the good old days,” he said firmly.

  “Hell yeh and did too,” she said, trying to laugh.

  “You feel better, honey?” Miss Norma said softly with a sad expression.

  “Yes. But they got me a little doped up. I might fall asleep on you.”

  “You shouldn’t ever feel pain,” he said strongly.

  “But when this stuff wears off...”

  Keith went over to a soda machine where kids were playing some tag game around it. He got a Sprite. The kids had spilled their soda everywhere, staining the blue carpets.

  Keith opened his soda and returned to the room. He took a long sip as he sat in a chair.

  There was a small white table beside her. And a light-blue cup sat on it. Norma stood up and walked over to her. She gently picked up Aunt Natalie’s wrinkled arm. She began stroking it.

  “How long will you be here?” she asked sharply.

  “Probably a week,” she said weakly.

  Keith cut in. “Longer than that more like a year!”

  “Don’t say that Keith!” Norma snapped loudly.

  Aunt Natalie’s face turned serious. “I’m not staying in a hospital for no damn year or even a week,” Aunt Natalie said harshly.

  “With that attitude you’ll be home sooner than you think,” he said strongly with a smirk and took a long sip from his soda.

  Aunt Natalie’s face became firm. Keith thought she was going to remove her cast and walk out of the hospital.