“Well I’d feel more fly if these idiots let me go home,” she said sadly.
“Well I brought you some roses,” he said happily.
“Oh, my. Thank you, baby. They’re beautiful,” she said cheerfully, smelling them.
“I’m glad you like them,” Keith stated cheerfully.
“Put some water in that blue pitcher, and stick them in there,” she said sharply.
“When are they going to let you go home?” He asked sharply, placing a joint into his mouth.
“Man, I don’t know.”
Keith walked over to her bed and sat. He picked up her hand and began stroking it.
“Well I hope soon because we miss you.”
“Child, I want to get back on that horse. I’ve got unfinished business. I’ve got to practice for the rodeo,” she snapped sharply.
“Aunt Natalie! You’re not getting back on that horse again,” he snapped, kissing her hand gently.
“The hell I am, kid! I don’t give a damn what you say,” she said coldly.
“Ok! We’ll talk about this later,” he said strongly, laying her hand back gently.
“Where were you this morning?” she snapped.
“In Oaktown.”
“Oakland?”
“Hell yeh.”
“You can’t smoke that stuff!”
“I don’t give a damn about the hospital. I only want you to come home,” he said haughtily, lighting up his joint.
“Give me some kid!” she said hotly, holding her hand out.
Keith passed the joint to her. She took a long drag and passed it back. She began to cough for a while.
“See I told you aunt Natalie,” he strongly and took a hit from the joint.
“Bug off,” she said firmly.
“I was working on a case in Oakland.”
“Well did you find the killer?”
“No. Just hella bull!” he said hotly and took a long drag from the joint.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Hell yeh,” he said, blowing smoke in the air.
“Watch for cops!”
“I know all them dudes. They don’t care,” he stated strongly, taking another big hit.
“What time is it?”
“7:45pm.”
“Boy, hand me the water!”
He gave her a glass of water. And she took sips with a straw.
“Are you working on that murder?”
“Yeh.”
“I’m hella scared. I heard a crazed man is running around eating people’s heads,” she said sharply, handing back the water.
“Their necks. He or she is cutting them with a knife,” he said, putting the water back on the counter.
“Whatever child! It’s still gross.”
“Don’t worry Aunt Natalie I won’t let this fool get anywhere near you,” he said firmly, taking the last hit from his joint.
A plane was flying over the hospital, making hella noise. It scared Aunt Natalie. He looked out the window. It was dark outside now. He noticed the blue &white helicopter, sitting onto it’s platform. And the Mountain Casino looked hella fly with it’s beautiful lights.
An Indian nurse came in. She was smiling. She was tall, thin and wearing a light-blue uniform. She straightened up her pillows and took blood pressure. She asked about her health and commented on the roses. Aunt Natalie hated the nurses bugging her every minute about how she felt. And to take blood and blood pressure. And forcing her to eat unsalted foods.
“When I get out of here I’m not going to a casino with a killer running around in there,” she said firmly.
“I know whatcha mean.”
“Didn’t they close the casino down?”
“They won’t.”
“How’s that black policeman?”
“Still a fat-fool.”
“Is he on the case too?”
“Hell yeh. I’ll be meeting up with him in the morning to play some basketball,” he said strongly walking over to her.
“Keith, don’t worry! I know you’ll catch this punk.”
“Aunt Natalie, I’ll try like hell. Now you get well soon!”
Keith gave her a big hug.
“Thank you.”
“Where is Norma?”
“She’s been here and left. She coming back later before I go back to sleep to bring my ribs and greens,” she said happily.
“Okay!”
Chapter 37
It was two am when Keith’s phone rang off thee hook. It was from a frantic Lt. James Betha. He was at the Western Plaza Hotel Casino. There was another murder.
HE was barely awake and hella hangover at this point. His head felt like a loud band was performing in it. But he fought with the lions to get his butt up and get dressed. He flung himself into a cold shower hoping that would revive him.
It helped a little as he was trying to get dressed. He put on a white T-shirt over baggy jeans and some bright-red Nikes. He grabbed a huge joint on his way out the door into the chilly September morning.
The Western Hotel Casino was fifteen stories with lots of square windows. The building was a dark-tan color, with a strong western atmosphere. It stood tough on the corner of Arlington and Second Street. It was next to Bob’s Jewelry and T.K. Gas Station. There was a number of all-night liquor stores in the area The Baptist Church was down the street and a park farther down. It wasn’t the busiest casino do to the fact it was located far away from downtown.
It was very quiet at 2:53am in Reno as Keith drove through town with the roar of his engine of his Dodge Dart, and he’d turned down his Jazz music. A lot of businesses were closed.
The Western casino is a fairly new casino which after eight years is starting to suck. No wonder folks don’t come here too much. The food taste like hog barf, the employee’s never take baths. And the roulette tables lean too much to one side. The slot machines were very old and noisy. The poker tables were fading, chips were cracked, and many chipped. Mr. Tanner who’s the owner needs to remodel the casino soon.
Keith parked his Dodge by a police unit. It’s lights were flashing yellow, blue and red. There were mostly emergency vehicle in the parking lot. There were a lot of uniforms and suits huddled in a circle probably where the body was. Crime scene tape blocked off the section where noisy folks were standing.
Keith smoked his joint and got out of the car. He walked over to where everything’s was happening. The chilly air smacked him in the face. A couple of dudes came out of the casino, staggering and talking loud gibber.
A black man nicely dressed lay on his stomach, a big puddle of blood underneath him. With his finger, he wrote red in blood. Another body a few feet away was a Miss Rachel Carr. Apparently, she was the lead singer of The Soulful Truth. The group performed very sultry blues. Keith thought they was the best band playing in Reno, or was. And how could they perform in such a foul casino?
Miss Carr’s throat was ripped away like some crazed damn animal done it. Blood was all around her head. A vampire would have a field day in this parking lot. Keith figured that no animal would do this. It had to be some crazy punk with a blade. An officer had put of huge light around the scene, powered by some generator. There were photographers trying to get their pictures for the press. And there were several news crews on the spot.
After the photographers got all their pictures for the year, the coroners placed the bodies on stretchers. They wheeled them over to a dark green Plymouth van, waiting near by. Keith watched them shove the bodies in the meat wagon as the news dudes were packing it in. The forensics guys were still working the crime scene area. Things were a little easier to morning because the rain had long stopped.
Well dealers and cocktail waitresses stood there watching as the crime lab folks were packing it in. They all had just finished their shift.
“I see you made it, dog,” Lt. Betha said firmly, puffing on his green cigar.
“Hell yeh, gee. I told you I’d be here,” Keith said firmly.
“Man
, you’re high again.”
“How did you figure that?”
“I smell weed on you like always.”
“You’re so smart, bruh. You should’ve been a scientist not a dumb cop.”
“What do you make of this?”
“It’s like all the other murders hella messed up,” Keith stated strongly. “But the word RED.”
“Yeh. I had seen that, bro!”
“Is our killer an Indian?”
“Nah. He’s a red man, bruh,” Sgt. More stated firmly.
“More, how did your ignorant butt make sergeant? You’re such a idiot dude.”
“Bug off you two cent PI. We don’t need him,” Sgt. More said harshly.
“Bug off, white boy!” Keith snapped.
“I believe the man we are looking for is a redhead,” Lt. Betha said strongly, puffing on his cigar.
“That’s got to be an animal sir,” Sgt. More stated firmly.
“Like a wolf?” Lt. Betha snapped.
“Yeh or dog,” Sgt. More said strongly.
“It wasn’t no animal gee,” Keith said sharply.
Sgt. More wore a red suit and looked like a truck driver.
“The lab concluded their investigation on the material retrieved from the trash can’s by that casino,” Ofc. Taylor explained clearly.
“What’s up, gee?” Keith asked firmly.
“The perps Caucasian man probably over six-feet tall and thin built,” Ofc. Taylor said strongly reading from a notepad.
“What about the neck wounds?” Sgt. More snapped.
“A knife, sir,” Ofc. Taylor said clearly.
“Told you bruh,” Keith snapped.
“This killer might not be the same dude,” Lt. Betha said sharply, puffing on his cigar.
“He’s got to be bro. It’s the same crime. It’s a serial killer we’re dealing with bruh,” Keith stated firmly.
“Someone must have seen him because he dresses like a clown,” Sgt More said sharply.
“Not the second time ignorant butt. The killer isn’t as dumb as you, bro-bro,” Keith said strongly.
“Eat me brother,” Sgt. More stated spitefully.
“Hell no dude!”
At this time just about every emergency vehicle had split, forensic folks, many officers and bystanders. And it was getting colder too as the night went on.
“We put out an APB on this cat,” Lt. Betha said sharply, finishing his cigar.
“What good will that do bro? He probably wears disguises when committing his murders,” Keith said firmly.
“Ok. Our jobs will be hella difficult. Nothing easy is worth it. That’s the joy of being peace officers. Will just have to stop ever punk wearing a costume,” Sgt. More stated strongly, lighting a cigarette.
“That should keep your ignorant butt busy,” Keith said sharply.
Well you could see the smoke coming from chimneys. And smell breakfast and coffee coming from casinos. A huge red bus pulled up and a bunch of Chinese folks spilled out into the parking lot in great spirits. He could also redeem their coupons for casino goodies.
A dwarf-looking cop walked up to us.
“I got a call from a buddy in Philadelphia; he said that a man fitting our killer’s description was responsible for a dozen murders there. And that this dude may have headed to Nevada a few months ago,” he stated clearly.
“All right, man,” Keith said sharply.
“Thanks, officer, good work,” Lt. Betha said sharply with a smirk.
“At least the killer doesn’t discriminate,” Sgt. More said sharply with a laugh, and took a long drag from his cigarette.
“This sick-poop has been killing girls but now a black dude,” Lt. Betha said sharply.
“May be that black man was killed for just being there,” Keith said, pulling up his jeans.
“Yeh. He probably got it trying to save Miss Carr,” Sgt. More said firmly and took another drag from his cig.
“Why woman?” Lt. Betha snapped.
“Maybe the punk’s mother used to sexually abuse him,” Keith said sharply, putting a joint in his mouth.
“Maybe killing woman is easier,” Sgt. More said, blowing smoke in the air.
“Or he’s just afraid of men,” Lt. Betha said.
“Who’s ever doing this is some sorta ritual? This dude believes he’ll have immortality by slicing into the necks of woman,” Keith said firmly.
“How did you find this out?” Sgt. More said clearly blowing smoke.
“My girl told me,” Keith said and took a long drag from his weed.
“But every chicks a singer,” Sgt. More snapped.
“And they’re not even good singers anyway,” Lt. Betha said coldly.
“The killer must murder lounge singers to remove some curse gee,” Keith said clearly.
“Why lounge singers?” Sgt. More snapped loudly finishing his cigarette.
“The jerk thinks he’ll have immortality,” Keith said, taking a hit of his weed.
“And remove some curse,” Lt. Betha said.
“Yeh. That’s right!” Keith said.
“Dude you ought to be locked up in a nuthouse,” Lt Betha said firmly.
“I’m just telling you what Tangy said,” Keith said, taking his final hit from his joint.
Sgt. Jim More was a detective from Las Vegas filling in for Sgt. Mark Newsham, who’s working in LA. The Irish-German punk can’t wait to get his butt back here. And he probably sure misses the gang in Reno. And once he finds out a serial killers in Reno he be getting himself back here quickly and they’ll really need him at this point.
“Don’t knock the Mint bro-bro!” Keith snapped sharply.
“So we stakeout every lousy casino in Reno and Sparks that has a cabaret,” Sgt. More said firmly, lighting up another cig.
“Dude I think every casino. Everywhere there’s a lounge act,” Lt. Betha said sharply.
“Good idea,” Keith said, pulling up his baggy jeans.
“The killer could be a drag queen,” Sgt. More said clearly.
“Hell yeh, like you baby,” Keith snapped.
“Bug off, PI,” Sgt. More snapped, shoving his middle finger in Keith’s face.
“Bruh I’ll check the costume stores in town using the description of this bitch you gave us,” Keith said strongly.
“Good place to start,” Lt. Betha stated firmly.
“I’ll check out all the killers who wear disguises in our data base,” Sgt. More said firmly.
Chapter 38
Well Keith was back at the Western Casino for pleasure and not business. He was dying to play blackjack. Last night after the brutal murders, he wanted to play even then. And the casino was still open despite the ugliness that happened last night. It was 10:00am. It wasn’t very busy. The crime scene tape was still across the parking lot area where the bloody death took place.
It was still cold. He wore black hoody and baggy jeans. Everybody he past on the street wore coats and rightly so as fall was approaching. And some of the trees leaves were already changing. It was peaceful except for the noise coming from the tire shop across the street.
Keith sat at the first blackjack table he could find. The dealer was a tall, leggy blond woman, Victoria Secret-looking. She wore a big tan cowboy hat, a brown western-style shirt and blue jeans. As-a-matter-of-fact every employee in the casino was dress like Texans. And loud country music came from the speakers.
Keith exchanged cash for some chips to play with. A nice looking black man, wearing brown western-style suit sat a dark brown desk surrounded by black jack tables. Dealers called out to him, whenever cashing large bills. He was what is called a pit boss. He placed two $5 chips in a betting circle along with everyone else.
The dealer began dealing cards face down. And one face up for her which dealers were required to do.
“Good luck!” she said cheerfully.
“Thanks but no thanks. I don’t need luck. I was born with hella skills,” Keith said strongly with a smirk.
“Man, I wish I had that confidence,” A black woman said firmly with a laugh.
The dealer’s face card was an ace of diamonds. Keith and everyone else were sure she had twenty-one. The black woman’s face card was a six of hearts. His was a five of clubs and ten of hearts. He needed a six.
The black woman had a nine of spades. She needed a four to win or it would be a push if the dealer had twenty-one.
“Did you hear about the brutal murder of one of our biggest entertainer ever to perform at our casino?” the dealer said strongly.
“Hell yeh. Miss Carr and her boyfriend or worthless bodyguard,” he said firmly.
“Isn’t safe to walk the streets anymore,” the black woman said sadly, shaking her head.
“The police will find this psychopathic punk,” Keith said strongly.
“Are you from California?” she asked firmly.
“Hell yeh.”
Keith asked for a hit and got it a seven a spade. That card busted him. The dealer flipped her card and it was a king of diamond giving her blackjack.
The black woman got a two of clubs. So now, she had eighteen. So she got another hit which was a two of hearts. With twenty, she stayed and won some money.
“Where in California are you from?” The dealer asked with a smile.
“Walnut Creek.”
“Nice place.”
“But I’m not a tourist.”
“Is that so?”
“I stay out here. I have a detective business.”
“So you’re a detective?” the black woman said strongly.
“Hell yeh. The Keith Jackson Detective Agency.”
“I do believe I’ve heard of you,” the dealer said strongly.
“You’re Misty.”
“Yes. I’m from Ohio.”
Keith played several hands and lost them all. The waitress brought him whiskey the whole time. The black woman won a couple of hands. But the house seemed to have the slight advantage for the time being.
“So what part?” The black woman asked clearly.
“Forest Park.”
“Sounds like a nice place,” she said sharply with a smile.
“It is.”
“Why did you leave?”
“The work of course.”
“It’s always work.”
There was a loud group of men at the crap table chanting. The crap games were always full of folks. Just about in every casino he ever visited. He always liked throwing the dice until he hit a big cowboy who wanted to eat this black man for breakfast.
Every thirty minutes a dealer had to take a break. The jobs stressful he figured. So Binky was the new dealer. A short fat cat dressed in a cowboy outfit.
He dealt Keith a seven of clubs and ten of hearts. The black woman was given an eight of diamond and two of spades. The cocktail waitress brought him another triple bourbon. The dealer’s exposed card was a king of clubs.
Terror In Reno Page 11