A black woman came into the room with a big smile. She offered drinks. She told funny jokes that had everybody rolling. She fixed her pillow. She wore a light-blue uniform and was small with a pretty face. She turned on the TV before leaving. Norma and Keith thought that move was rude. They weren’t done talking.
One the big black RCA TV there was a game show coming on a good color picture. The sound was clear too. Aunt Natalie loved game shows.
On the wall was a large glass cabinet packed with medical supplies. A metal small sink was underneath. It was a small bathroom too. A big blue curtain covered the only window under a big white heater.
Keith looked out of the window. The rain was starting to come down again.
“It’s raining again!”
“Again! I thought we’d enough for the season,” Norma said sharply.
“At least you’ve got your raincoat,” he said firmly.
“Where is yours black boy?”
“At the store,” he said.
Keith looked down out of the window. They were seven flights up. The folks and vehicles looked a little small. He watched folks run for their vehicles and some into the building.
“My horse is in the stable,” aunt Natalie said strongly, drowning out the sound of the game show.
“Who cares?” he snapped, finishing his soda.
“I do.”
“Your horse is fine!” Norma said bluntly.
“Aunt Natalie that beast could’ve killed you,” Keith stated strongly.
“He could have. But horses are like people. They’ve got their mean streaks too. I don’t give a damn what any of you think. I’m not going to stop riding wild horses. I’m entering the rodeo for seniors,” she stated harshly.
“Are you crazy boo?” he snapped.
“Not now. When I get better,” she shot back.
Norma kept stroking Miss Natalie’s hand softly.
“Keith, are you still a private investigator?” Norma asked.
“Hell yeh. Nothing else I’d rather do. I sure don’t want to sell drugs,” he said strongly, pulling up his baggy pants.
“Man, I think your job is creepy.”
“Some may think so.”
“Keith is you working on anything?” Aunt Natalie asked weakly.
“I was. The killer of Miss Sands is in jail,” he said firmly.
“It’s over. Everybody can now sleep. You can walk down the streets at night and have no fear,” Norma said sharply.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” he said.
“Dog, I hope they have the right man,” Norma said strongly.
“Bruh, I don’t think they have. I think the real killers out there,” he said bitterly.
“What makes you think this boy?” Aunt Natalie asked strongly, showing some strength in her voice for the first time.
“A lot of things I’d rather not discus. Mr. Brooks doesn’t wear a necklace. And he didn’t have a murder weapon to prove he was the killer. I think this poop-breath is just a crazy dude not a killer,” he explained sharply.
“Then you think the real killer is still out there?” Norma said firmly placing Natalie’s hand back down softly.
“Hell yeh. I do.”
“Well I hope you’re wrong!” Aunt Natalie said sharply.
“I do too.”
Keith was trembling again. He was in need of a smoke. He couldn’t smoke in the hospital. So he’d have to wait.
A blond nurse came in and took Aunt Natalie’s blood. She clearly hated that judging by the look on her face. She probably didn’t like needles. Keith sure didn’t either.
They all continued to talk until aunt Natalie went off to sleep and Norma and Keith left.
Chapter 30
Well it was another busy Friday night at the Sunshine Hotel casino. It was a nine-story, dark brown building. And lots of round windows. A large parking garage was across the street just as big as the casino. The casino was full of crazed gamblers wishing for their dreams to come true. And Many probably did.
But Keith wasn’t here to gamble. He was here because of the murder of Miss Nicky Gady.
Many people come to Reno Nevada to win millions. But this individual came here to kill assuming Miss Gady’s death was related to Miss Sands. Lt. Betha wouldn’t say he just wanted Keith to show up. This woman should know by now that Keith prefers to work on closed cases.
Well there were more folks here tonight than any other Friday because of a murder. Keith pushed through a crowd of noisy people to get to Miss Gady’s dressing room.
When he did get there, the colorful coroner was wheeling out the body on a stretcher. Keith stopped the men. He assured them that he was with Lt. Betha, by showing his ID. One of the guys unzipped the black body bag for him.
Miss Nicky Gady had an angelic face and ash blond hair. Her throat was grossly ripped open, showing some bone, like some damn wolf bit into her. Part of her vocal cords and windpipe were missing. Keith turned away and threw up on this man’s shoes standing next to him. There was a lot of blood that ran down her throat pass her breast to her stomach and on the floor of the dressing room.
“All right,” said one of the guys as he was ready to zip the bag.
“For sure,” Keith said sharply, nodding his head as he wiped barf from his mouth.
The man zipped the bag back up and pushed forward through the cluster of nosey punks.
Keith stared inside the dressing room. The forensics folks were going over the place. Lt. Betha was there too. He wore the same suit he’d been wearing. He was still smoking them dreadful cigars.
“Well, you finally show, bruh,” Lt. Betha snapped, puffing on his cigar.
“Well, you know the traffic. And other bull!” he said strongly.
“Dog, you just went to score some crack-cocaine,” Lt. Betha stated firmly with a smirk.
“Bug off, dude. You should try it will help you solve your cases a little better,” Keith said sharply, looking around the dressing room.
“You’ll never catch me doing that stuff. If you do shot me brother. Just shot me!” he said hotly.
The dressing room smelled of death and Miss Gady’s stale perfume. There no physical evidence other than the huge blood spot on the floor. But where was the missing skin on her neck? Did the slime-breath eat it?
“So let me brief you on Miss Gady’s murder,” Lt. Betha stated firmly.
“Bruh I already know. I seen the body dude,” he said strongly. He took out a small bottle of Chavis Regal and took a long suck from the bottle. “It’s just like the others.”
“Well I now know Mr. Brooks didn’t kill her. He’s still in jail,” Lt. Betha said firmly, blowing smoke into the air.
“What’s with all that blood?”
“The blood on Brooks is just goats.”
“Goat’s blood?”
“Hell yeh. We found a dead goat near by.”
“What a horrible thing to do to animal? Dude I tell you Brooks is a messed up individual,” Keith said bluntly and took a long swig from his bottle.
“Yeh. He’s being sent to Nevada mental health in a few days,” he said, finishing his cigar.
“When did she die?” A Mexican cop asked strongly.
“At 9:45pm. It was shortly after the show,” Lt. Betha said sharply.
“Did anybody see anything?” Keith stated sharply finishing his whiskey.
“Like what?” the Mexican cop asked strongly.
“Like a homeboy come out of this joint. Or see somebody go inside with her?” Keith asked sharply.
“We asked the staff. Nobody seen anything. Bruh it was a lot of turd-breaths hanging around after the show,” the Mexican guy said sharply. “This was the busiest night.”
“Some dude who’s good with a razor,” Lt. Betha stated sharply.
“Hell yeh. A crafty gee with a razor,” Keith said sharply.
“A damn animal, bruh. Come on man! Somebody’s nasty pit-bull ran up in here,” the Mexican stated bitterly.
“Where is the slab of flesh, bro-bro?” the Mexican said sharply.
“Well, homeboys! The man or woman could have walked away with the piece of flesh,” Lt. Betha stated.
“Yes, that’s right. Can’t leave any evidence boo,” the Mexican cop said firmly.
Well forensic started packing up stuff. They seemed to be done. And they seemed to be eager to get home to their families. They looked hella tired too.
Keith grabbed a Budweiser from the bar near by. He removed the cap and began guzzling. Then he moved over to the dressing room.
Well it clearly wasn’t robbery. An expensive saxophone sat in the corner with three guitars. The walls were covered with hundreds of Musician who played here. Many well-known ones too. And musical notes were scattered on the floor.
“Who is this Gady broad?” Keith said strongly and took a long sip from his beer bottle.
“She was the lead singer of The Vogues,” Lt. Betha said, lighting another cigar.
“Bruh I don’t think I know them,” Keith said, pulling up his pants.
“They’re pretty big now,” the Mexican cop said cheerfully. “Where you been homey?”
“Man I don’t dig these two-bit bands bruh.”
“Gee, this bands hella tight,” the Mexican cop stated strongly.
“You questioned the band members?” Lt. Betha said sharply.
“Were in the process of doing that stuff now,” the Mexican cop said firmly.
“Well both cases are related. And both murders involve singers,” Keith said firmly, guzzling his second Budweiser.
“What are you saying?” The Mexican cop snapped.
“That we might be dealing with a serial killer, a motherfucker that hates singers,” Keith snapped.
“Well we better check everybody that has keys to the dressing rooms. And anyone that hated her enough to kill her,” Lt. Betha stated clearly.
“Are you going to close the casino?” Keith asked strongly and took a long swig from the beer.
“It might be advisable. Or maybe close off the section where the murder took place,” Lt. Betha said clearly.
“Bruh, I’m done,” Keith stated bitterly.
“Hell no. We need you brother. We may have a serial killer running around in Reno,” Lt. Betha snapped.
After they had finished they put crime scene tape around the dressing room area. They wandered off towards the bar for drinks.
Chapter 31
At 7:00am, the Sunshine Hotel casino looked quite different. There were more employee than tourist. There were a bunch of people wearing yellow coveralls, surrounded by security guards. They were carrying around huge blue bags, draining coins from slot machines. Nobody could play them they had crime scene tape blocking off the area. They were making a lot of noise. Whenever the slot machines get full they empty them on a weekly bases.
Keith wore a white cap turned backwards, a long blue shirt with baggy white pants. He was determined to find Miss Sands killer.
He looked hungrily at the blackjack tables. He had much love for the game and spent many hours playing. Many of the dealers stood there at every table lonely. It was still early and not many players as of yet.
He lost several thousand dollars last week. But he got most of it back a couple of days ago. He needed it after spending so much on vacation.
The reason he was here was to see Mrs. Judy Bernstein. She was Miss Gady’s booking agent. He ran a background check on both of them. They were both arrested for fighting, over a man. Mrs. Bernstein was arrested six years ago for stabbing a man into the neck. She claimed he tried to rape her. Every person is a suspect.
They weren’t doing shows this time of morning and there is nobody in the dressing rooms. The band members were staying in the hotel as well. He planned to holla at them later.
Judy Bernstein was on the twentieth floor in room 221. She must have just finished her breakfast because a large metal tray with yellow stained plates was left there. The hallway smelled of eggs and coffee. Some Japanese tourist carrying umbrellas and big-ass cameras on their shoulders passed by, smiling.
Keith rang the doorbell. Soon he heard footsteps approaching the door. Then the door opened. A very tall middle-aged woman stood in the door. She was about six-feet tall. She had long shaggy hair, wearing pink-silk nightgown. He yellowish green eyes stared at him welcoming.
“Yes?”
“I’m Keith Jackson. I’m a private investigator,” he said strongly, showing his ID.
“Ok. Come inside,” she said sharply, motioning him in.
She closed the door behind. The smell of breakfast smacked him in the face. He sat in a white chair. She sat on the bed. There was somebody in the shower.
“Who else is here?” Keith said firmly.
“Oh that’s my husband in the shower,” she said happily.
“What’s his name?”
“Burt.”
“So you’ve had breakfast.”
“Oh, man. I couldn’t start the day without it,” she said cheerfully.
“Well I’m investigating the murder of Miss Nicky Gady,” he said sharply.
A middle-aged man came out of the shower, wearing a black-silk rob. And slippers. He glared at Keith with murder in his eyes.
“What in the hell is this black dude doing in our room?” Mr. Bernstein said acidly.
Keith stood up. “I just want to ask a couple of questions about a murder.”
“We don’t feel like answering any. It’s too early for this jive,” he snapped.
He grabbed Keith by the neck and squeezed.
“This is what I do to deaf idiots,” Bernstein said harshly.
Bernstein started lifting Keith off his feet. And was choking him as he began to ram him into the wall. This went on for a while until the man got tired and let go. Keith fell to the floor, holding on to his throat. Mrs. Bernstein sat on the bed terrified.
Keith stood up a little shook up. Bernstein walked over to him. Keith did his famous spin kick. His foot landing in Bernstein’s chest and he flew back onto a brown table, breaking it in half. He just lay there and didn’t try to get up.
“You crazy slime-breath! Do you want a heart attack?” Keith snapped.
“Up yours, cop!” Bernstein snapped.
His wife rushed over to him to help him up. But he made quite a fuss.
“Enough of this stuff. I want to get out of here,” Keith said sourly.
“My husband and I didn’t kill Miss Gady,” she said strongly. “We loved her.”
Keith took out that ugly necklace. They stared at it in horror.
“What in the hell is that ugly thing?” she barked loudly.
“It’s a necklace.”
“It isn’t mine,” she snapped.
“It ain’t mine neither,” he said coldly.
“Just wondering,” Keith said firmly.
“I’d never wear any trash like that,” she said strongly.
“I think I’ve lost my appetite after looking at that thing, brother,” Mr. Bernstein said hotly.
“Maybe a band member?” Keith asked putting away the necklace.
“Nah. The lead singer is the breadwinner. Nobody would dare do it.”
“You seem sure.”
“I am.”
“Yeh. She’s sure punk,” he snapped, trying to sit up.
“Did she have any enemies?”
“Not really.”
“Man I think you messed up my back,” he said sharply.
“You’re a damn baby, Bernstein!” Keith said bitterly.
“Maybe the former drummer.”
“Who’s that?”
“Chuck Totten.”
“Why would he kill her?”
“Nicky fired him.”
“Why?”
“Chuck was unreliable.”
“
Do any of these folks carry weapons?”
“One of them carries a gun maybe,” she said sharply.
“But not a knife?”
“I don’t think a knife,” she said.
“Are you sure, baby?”
“Yeh.”
“I don’t either, mister,” Bernstein said firmly.
Mr. Bernstein grabbed a bottle of Sterling wine and popped the cap. He poured himself a glass. Keith stuck a joint into his mouth. Mrs. Bernstein lit a cigarette.
Keith grabbed a big black purse that was on the bed. He dumped it and all sorta junk came out. But he was only interested in a long butcher knife and some sharp teeth.
“What the hell is this?” she snapped, blowing smoke towards Keith.
“Why do you have Vampire teeth?” he said strongly.
“Don’t go through my wife’s purse homeboy!” Mr. Bernstein said gruffly and took a long swig of wine.
“For a party next month. I may go as the daughter of Dracula,” she said and took a long pull from her cig.
“You didn’t use them on Miss Gady?” Keith stated firmly and took a long drag from his weed.
“Are you crazy?” she said venomously.
“Well I’m just asking bruh,” he said strongly.
“My wife wouldn’t kill the kid. Besides she’s her booking agent slime face,” Mr. Bernstein said sardonically.
“Dude, I don’t like being accused of murder,” she said sharply, blowing smoke in his face.
“You’ve got a record.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Well you tried to kill somebody,” he said strongly and took a long drag from his joint.
“What was I suppose to do? Let the frog-poop rape me!” she stated vociferously.
“I guess not babe.”
“And a damn woman tried to steal my husband. So I beat the crap out of her,” she stated bitterly.
“You’re a pretty tough broad!”
“When I have to be.”
Chapter 32
Back at the Sunshine Hotel Casino but was in the video room. Keith didn’t think about it at the time but every casino has a video camera. When the killer came into the casino, he would have been caught on tape.
Keith Jackson met with Mr. Sean Walker of security. They sat in the video room, a small place. He looked at the dozen TV screens, picking up every angle of the casino floor. There were more folks in the casino now than before when he came by earlier.
Well Walker was a husky guy, not real tall, but looked to be dangerous. He wore a white shirt with suns on it. And black slacks and dark shoes. His black belt held a gun and radio. So this dudes business.
There were two boxes of donuts on a small table. A bunch of Styrofoam cups stacked against the wall by a coffeemaker. And extra radios hung on the wall next to casino newsletters. And lots of photos of blonds and brunettes and babies pinned to the wall, showing the family members of the security team.
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