He stopped in front of her table. She was picking at a shrimp salad with a fork. She was drinking ice tea with lemon. The were a stack of tan folders on the table beside her. And schedules for the workers.
“Excuse me Miss. Are you Mrs. Magilly?” he asked clearly.
She looked up at him from her salad.
“That’s right, sir. Is there something wrong with the food?”
“No really.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m sorry ma’am. Let me get to the point.”
“Please do!” she snapped, stuffing a mouthful of salad into her hole.
But then a blond waiter acting like a homosexual approached the table poured ice tea in to her glass. And with his free hand dropped off a plate with a cheeseburger and onion rings. He then rushed off back into the kitchen. Keith placed a joint into his mouth.
“There is no smoking in this section,” Mrs. Magilly said strongly as she took a bit from her cheeseburger.
“It is not lit. It just makes me look hella cool,” he said firmly.
Mrs. Magilly looked like a child sitting inside the booth. Her head barely came over the big green table. Her hair was very long and blond, eyes blue accompanied by a soft round face. She wore a light brown wool dress with large guitar earrings. Also wore light-brown leather boots. She seemed very smart and direct.
A black woman waitress came over to the table with a disappointed look on her face. She looked hella sexy in mint green outfit.
“It’s the computer,” she said harshly.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s not excepting my orders. And my ID number either,” she snapped.
“All right. Let me check this out,” Mrs. Magilly said strongly as she risen from the booth.
Well the blond waiter returned with the pitcher to refill Magilly’s glass. He topped off the glass. Before he stormed away, again Keith asked him to fetch him a beer.
He watched two Mexican busboys fighting over a dirty table. They looked much too old to be your average busboys which are usually sixteen.
All the food servers were mostly Spanish except for a black woman and blond dude, which were becoming very common nowadays.
Mrs. Magilly returned to the table sliding into the booth.
“Sorry about that. Computers are like people they get sick too,” she said cheerfully.
“I’m looking for Mel,” Keith stated sharply.
“You mean Mel Ridken?”
“That’s right.”
“What do you want with him?” she asked sharply, taking another bit of her cheeseburger. She washed it down with some ice tea.
“He’s an old friend.”
The blond dude finally returned with the beer. Then he was back off again into the sunset kitchen. Keith took a long guzzle from the Budweiser bottle.
“I didn’t catch your name.”
“Because I didn’t give it baby!”
“Well you’re a real sweetheart.”
“Keith Jackson,” he said sharply and took another long gulp.
“Dude I don’t remember you. He never talked about any black friends.”
“Hell yeh. We go way back. I guest he forgot to mention it.”
Magilly pushed half of her cheeseburger away to the side of the table. She began chewing on her onion rings. He continued to guzzle his beer.
“Mr. Jackson you don’t look like the type of man Mel would pal around with. I would think he’d have much better taste,” she said strongly and took a long swig from her ice tea.
“Pretty and charming aren’t we,” Keith stated firmly with a smirk, finishing his beer.
“I aim to please,” she said cheerfully as she finished her onion rings.
“Is Mel here?”
“Mel’s not here today.”
“You know when he will be?”
“I’m not sure. He hasn’t been here in a few days. You know the flu’s going around,” she said sharply as she sipped her tea.
“Where does he live?”
“I would assume that you knew this. Aren’t you best friends?”
“We’re not connected to the hip bruh.”
“Let me see your ID,” she demanded harshly.
“Bruh, I told you who I was,” he snapped.
“I’m going to call security!”
“All right! I’m a private investigator,” he said strongly, showing his ID.
Mrs. Magilly studied it carefully with a big frown.
“Okay. So you’re a cop!” she said bitterly, looking away from his ID. “I knew you weren’t friends with Mel.”
“I believe Mel murdered some women,” he said.
“You mean those singer murders?”
“That’s right.”
A Mexican buser came and took away Magilly’s plates. The blond waiter brought Keith another beer. The black waitress returned with a pitcher of ice tea, pouring Mrs. Magilly’s glass full.
“Mel a killer!”
“That’s right, baby! I don’t get off saying it but it’s probably true,” Keith said strongly and took a swig of beer.
“Mel’s one of our best waiters. The ladies love him. Why would he kill them? They come in her by the packs just to see him. We’re always busy when he’s here,” she explained clearly as she finished her icetea.
“Mel’s probably not the killer type but he’s possessed by some evil curse,” he said and gulped some beer.
“Are you crazy, man?”
“Some folks have called me worst.”
A chubby Mexican came over to the table just to say hi.
“This gentleman is making me angry,” she snapped.
“Is that so mister?” the busboy asked strongly.
“It’s my job.”
“Get lost bruh!” he said bitterly and hit Keith in the head with his tray.
Keith fell onto his back holding his head.
“Hey dog! You should be fired for that,” Keith said weakly, trying to get up.
But the busboy kicked him in the face.
“Stay down black man!” he threatened strongly.
“Slime you, bruh!” Keith snapped.
The busboy tried to kick Keith again but he grabbed the dudes foot twisting it. The busboy yelled out in pain as Keith pushed his leg forward. The busboy flew backward onto his back. Mrs. Magilly sat in the booth frightened.
There weren’t that many customers yet. But the one that were present were frightened. And some got up with big frowns heading to the cashier to pay their checks. And some just ran out of the restaurant.
Another busboy who was black came at Keith. He did his spin kick. His foot landed into the black busboy’s chest. When the blond waiter came at Keith he punch him in the face. And at that time the Mexican was getting up and Keith picked up his foot and came down hard on the man’s face.
Keith jumped up as two more buser came at him with mean-looking face his left foot landing in one of them face. He spun around and caught the other dude in the throat with his right foot.
When it was over, he had every dude on the floor, wincing in pain. The others were passed out.
“Look what you’ve done!” Mrs. Magilly said sourly.
“Hell yeh! Ain’t that cool?”
“You’ve killed them!”
“Stop tripping! They’ll live. I was just playing with them,” Keith said sharply with a grin.
“Security must be coming!”
“Let them I don’t give a damn, bruh,” Keith said strongly, panting.
Very soon, security swarmed the coffee shop. They grabbed Keith. He didn’t try to fight. They bent him over the table, putting his hands behind his back and cuffed him. The other security guards grabbed up the busboys and they assisting them and called an ambulance.
“See what happens when you play rough,” Mrs. Magilly said sharply with a smile.
“Slime you, ma’am!” Keith stated firmly as security hauled him off.
“See you later creep!” s
he shouted with a smile.
The security office was nice sized. There were no windows. Three big filing cabinets filled the space in the corner. There were laptops, a microwave, a coffee machine, and a clothes rack with shirts and pants. There were ten radios on the rack stuck to the wall.
So they finally decided to remove the cuffs. And they sat Keith behind a medal table with three dirty coffee cups staring at him. They forced him to fill out a report on the matter. The restaurant help would have to as well. But some of them are most likely going to lose their jobs.
Well the Reno police showed up. They took him and the busboy’s to jail. They didn’t bother the blond dude. Keith was obviously disappointed going to jail but he probably wouldn’t stay long. This left Mel a chance to kill more folks. But there still was the amazing investigators Lt. Betha and Sgt. More. So it wasn’t a total loss.
Chapter 41
Keith did zigzags through the gravel parking lot of the Starlite Yellow Taxi Company. Dust and gravel flew up fifty feet in the air. This move hella pissed everyone off in the area. Everyone was coughing. It was about 3:00pm. Cabs were coming in for the evening. Some were gassing up to begin their shift. There were several Spanish-looking dudes watching taxis. Keith parked his pimpmobile away from the others. He began strolling around looking at taxis a lot were brand-new.
He found the cab with the number 111. It was very clean inside. The window Keith knocked out had been repaired. He figured he’d get a forensic team up here to go through this cab.
“Excuse me, man! What are doing?” a cold voice from behind said harshly.
“I’m looking at a cab,” Keith said sharply.
“Oh, a smarty!”
The man, a baldhead, about 50 and was sorta tall grabbed Keith by the collar and pushed him away from the cab.
“What is it? Does every dude have to be butt worm?” Keith said crudely.
He wore a white shirt and blue jeans and black boots. Keith wore a green hoody with baggy white jeans.
“I don’t like scum around my cabs,” he stated strongly.
“You must be the owner?”
“The dispatcher. My name is John Geis,” he said sharply.
Keith held out his hand but the man wouldn’t shake it.
“I’m Keith Jackson. I’m a private investigator.”
“A private eye, huh?”
“That’s right just like in the movies bruh,” Keith said strongly, placing a joint in his mouth.
“What do you want soul brother?”
“I want the jerk that took a shot at me driving that cab number 111 earlier,” Keith said strongly, lighting his weed.
“What did he look like?”
“Fat face, with no hair and maybe fifty,” he said strongly and took a long hit from his joint.
“Maybe he thought you were trying to rob him.”
“Who is this poop-eater?”
“I don’t know! It could be anyone here.”
There was a cabdriver fighting with another driver at the fuel pimp. Five cabs were heading out of the parking lot. There were drivers heading home carrying lunch pails and some carrying jackets over their shoulders. They walked over to their vehicles happily that another day bit the dust.
There were several auto body shops in the area because Keith could smell paint. The horrible buildings around the place were Tim’s Auto Sells, Jim’s Auto Parts and Rusty’s Furnisher store. Down the street were a number of old houses, motorcycle shops and strip joints.
“Bruh I know what I saw,” Keith said strongly and took a long drag from his weed.
“Are you sure it was my cab?”
“Hell yeh. It was Starlite yellow slimy cab. The number was 111. That poopy cab I was looking at over there.”
“That’s our cab all right.”
“Well?”
“All right! Let me check the office and see what we can do,” he said sharply waking towards the building.
“I want the crime lab to go through your cab, gee,” Keith said strongly, finishing his joint.
“No bleeping way! I’m not letting the police destroy my cab.”
“They won’t. They know this stuff. If they do the City will pay for it.”
Keith got on his cell phone to the crime lab after convincing Mr. Geis it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t getting his hopes up because even the best forensic folks couldn’t tackle a fingerprint gig in a cab with so many passengers. We’ll just have to pray.
Chapter 42
Keith arrived at the Reno Motel a blue & white brick building on Fourth Street. The windows were small and round some were badly cracked. In the back was a fenced-in energy plant. Railroad tracks went along the outside of it. Across the street was Bart’s Hotel next to a Saab and Volvo dealer ship. In the area were a huge number of mini-markets and crummy auto repair shops and motels.
Well the doors were all blue. The place was sorta crummy. Many people roughing it at casinos stayed here. There was a ratty-looking barbecue grill in front of one door. A bicycle chained to a pole was in front of the other door and some muddy shoes at the last door.
A funny little man casually came out of the office carrying black plastic bags to the trash bin. He was probably the manager. After he placed everything in the trash and made his way back into the office. The big clouds were moving again.
Keith found Mel’s door number 6. He knocked on the door. While he waited for the door to open, he produced a small bottle of Jim Beam. He removed the cap. He then took a huge guzzle from the bottle.
When the door didn’t open. Keith began beating on the door like some cop. There didn’t seem to be anybody there. There was nobody talking inside or a TV blasting. So Keith got tired of waiting.
He put his whiskey back in his pocket. And he took out his gun and lock picks. He stuck them in the door lock fidgeting a bit inside the lock until he heard a pop sound urged him to twist the knob and the door popped open.
He used his gun to direct him inside and close the door behind him. He looked around the small joint for a while. Mel wasn’t there. The spot was hella neat. The girly magazines were in their proper place. Carpets were cleaned. And beds made. Quite the opposite of Keith’s joint. Keith mother would love visiting here. The placed smelled dusty and unlived. The folks who live here must be gay. But then the maid could have done this.
On the shelve by the bed were an assortment of wigs. Rock star posters of women and werewolf’s were on the wall. Photos of family members were on the dresser. And evil markings on the walls written in blood. Behind the photo was the words We Love You Mel. The photo of an elderly couple was Mel’s parents Dave and Alice Ridken.
He went through the dresser draws and kept looking at the door incase Mel showed. He went through his clothes and found a couple of photos. Mel was standing next to the cabdriver in one. In another, Mel was hugging and kissing a beautiful mama. Her name was Nancy McCulloh was living at 211 N. Wells Ave #14. His Parents lived in Las Vegas, Nevada. E. 3rd Street #212. There was a card too from the Mint Casino [775] 321-4527.
Keith hung around most of the night for Mel to show up but he didn’t.
Chapter 43
Keith thought he’d check out Mel’s girlfriend first. He didn’t really expect to find Mel there. But he could probably force his girl to cop to his whereabouts.
The apartments were baby blue, huge square windows, a patio, bluish pool and surrounded by beautiful maple trees. The place was hella tight. There was banging ranch across the street and Welfare offices. Keith left his car by Peter Park near a bunch of ratty old houses.
As he walked towards the apartments, the wind began to kick up a little throwing in a few raindrops. A woman’s hat blew off. The swirl wind kicked up trash and dirt.
When Keith knocked on Miss McCulloh’s door kids ran by him playing tag. He wasn’t sure why they played tag in this horrible weather. He thought about himself playing tag when he was a little G. And now his son plays these same type of games.
; After beating on this door for twenty minutes, still no answer. The rain began to come down a little harder. Many folks walked by with umbrellas. Some walked by with dogs. The demon wind began to kick up hella bad. Keith wanted very much to get in doors.
Miss McCulloh’s big red Chevy truck was still parked in space #14. There was nothing inside helpful. The doors were locked. A loud crack of lightening made him jump up in the clouds. On top of all this stuff, the kids continued to play outside.
Keith looked in the windows but the blinds were closed so he didn’t see anything. And knocked some more. Maybe she was sleep. Or maybe in the toilet. Maybe she gave birth and baby popped out on the floor.
Well he took out the lock picks. He stuck them in the lock. In a few seconds, he had the door opened. The funky air in the room knocked him back out the door. It smelled like twenty thousand year old pussy. He went back in covering his nose.
The smell seems to be strongest towards the bedroom. When he stepped inside the room, it was a horrid sight. The whole messed up scene made Keith throw up orange foam.
A tall, nice-looking woman, brown-haired, about 26 a chunk of her throat was missing and a lot of blood left over. She was spread eagle on the bed. The broad looked like a werewolf got hold of her.
He used a handkerchief to pick up the phone and dial the cops. He didn’t understand why nobody noticed the smell. And would somebody check up on her?
Shortly after he put down the phone Lt. Betha, uniformed officers, lab crew and coroner came through the door. And outside folks gathered around in the rain watching with puzzlement.
“Keith, you didn’t touch anything, bruh?” Lt. Betha stated strongly.
“No dumb-butt!” he snapped.
“Great!” Lt. Betha said sharply placing a cigar in his mouth.
“Check out that lady, man.”
Lt. Betha took one look in the bedroom and threw up too. An officer opened up some windows.
“Who in the hell does this stuff to woman?” Betha stated harshly wiping barf from his mouth.
“Mel?”
“Who’s that turd?”
“A pretty waiter at the Mint casino,” Keith said sharply.
“The punk you said was cursed?”
“That’s right my brother.”
All the officers threw up everywhere, which made the odor evermore difficult to bear. The media came and took their pictures. The coroner took their pictures.
“Well she been dead several days,” the coroner said firmly. “I’ll know more when I get the body in the lab.”
“Did an animal do this?” Betha asked sharply.
Terror In Reno Page 13