Terror In Reno

by Darryl Harrison

  “Oh yes. This broads very pretty,” Art said strongly with a smile, moving out of the room.

  “Where did you drop her off,” Jackson asked sharply, chasing after Art.

  Art found a new-looking cab and throw his stuff in the front. Then moving to the side, opened the gas tank and shoved a nozzle into the hole.

  “This crazy broad! She told me to drop her off at the Wells Overpass,” Art said firmly.

  The smell of gas was making Jackson sick.

  “Hey, Art. I had a great time beating your butt in poker,” one cabdriver said sharply.

  “Next week I’ll get my money back poop-face!” Art said strongly.

  “Art, I’ll see you at the Reno Airport,” another driver said firmly with a smile as he was rushing to his cab.

  “You better not take my spot dog-poop,” Art said strongly replacing the nozzle.

  “Are we going to bowl tonight?” one driver gassing his cab said strongly.

  “Not with your ugly face. I’m going with Flow,” Art said sharply as he finished off his coffee.

  “Did you leave Miss Sands at the overpass?” Jackson said sharply.

  “Well, sure. I waited for a while. I couldn’t understand why a hot-looking chick wanted to wander around there at 2:45 at night. You know there is hella bull up there. Damn rapist, bums and crack heads,” Art explained calmly.

  “So your ignorant-butt just left her there?” Jackson said to him.

  “Miss Sands paid her fare. She didn’t want me to stick around,” Art said firmly.

  “She better not be hurt punk!” Jackson said harshly.

  “I’ve got to go now,” Art said strongly as he got inside his cab.

  Chapter 8

  Jackson awoke the next morning not looking forward to doing anything but getting high. He sat on the edge of his bed for a while. Then he went through the drawers looking for his joint. When he found it, he jammed it in his mouth and lit it.

  His assistant Tangy Miller helps him from time to time when she’s not on the street selling her body. But she’s beautiful at 5’7, with long black hair and dark-blue eyes. He found her face down in vomit from a drug overdose. But thank God she survived. She is extremely remarkable at investigating.

  Well he had Tangy showing Belinda Sands photo around bus terminals, airports and train stations, different casinos with cabarets and places where musicians would hangout. She had no luck nobody ever saw such a woman and probably wouldn’t forget if they did. So maybe Miss Sands left Reno. She could have gotten a ride from somebody. Then why would she just get up and leave town? She still has more shows to perform.

  Keith ran into the kitchen and started a pot of black strong coffee. He was planning to visit the Reno police department to find out anything regarding the disappearance of Belinda Sands. And if so maybe they could compare notes. Since now, it’s been over twenty-four hours. And Miss Sands hasn’t turned up. The coffee was now ready.

  Keith poured some Midnight Moon into his coffee and began sipping. Then he got dressed up in a large white T-shirt over XX large baggy blue jeans and some Nikes. He turned on some jazz music while he thought about how he’d approach the day.

  After his fifth cup of coffee now nearly drunk, he tried to finish his fourth bowl of cereal. He had a tall glass of orange juice but didn’t really touch it. Also four stacks of wheat toast. He changed the music to rap.

  Chapter 9

  Jackson parked his pimpmobile between two police units...one with a K-9 who kept barking his butt off.

  Well he staggered into the police station with the upmost confidence. Not at all thinking about being arrested for intoxication. He just had this bug-off attitude about rules.

  Well Lt. James Betha was a large man, always wore suit two sizes too small. So It made him look kinda sloppy. He smoked cigars bigger than Jackson’s arm. He was dark-skinned with rats face, making his dark-ass eyes look hella evil. His teeth looked messed up and made his breathe smell like spoiled sausage.

  “Is that fat head black man in the office,” Jackson said strongly to the lanky officer at the desk, with a slur in his voice.

  “Are you drunk?” the officer snapped.

  “Hell yeh, poop-face! Gee, just get this fat punk. You know me,” Jackson said harshly.

  It was hard to imagine how this black man stayed a patrol officer long enough to tie his shoes. He leaped all the way to lieutenant, stomping over racism.

  His strong character would probably push himself into being the governor of Nevada.

  Chapter 10

  “Easy Ofc. Bradly,” Ofc. Janet Cannon said strongly.

  Bradly let go of Jackson.

  “This Creep is drunk!” Off. Bradly said harshly.

  “Please let me handle this!” she said firmly.

  “Ok.” He walked off down the hall.

  There were several folks sitting in the hall as they waited for Bradly to solve their problems.

  “So what’s up, Keith?” Janet said firmly with a smile.

  “It’s nice to see you baby-girl,” he said cheerfully. “That booty sure filled out.”

  “So you like that?” she said strongly with a smirk.

  “Hell yeh!”

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked firmly.

  “No thanks baby. I’d rather have you,” he said, pulling up his baggy jeans.

  “So what’s really up? I know you didn’t come here just to gaze at my booty-luscious body,” she said.

  “Actually I did. No, I’m looking for that big head fart-breath about a missing person case,” he said, lighting his joint.

  “You mean Lieutenant Betha?”

  “Yeh that ignorant-bulldog,” he snapped.

  “Well he’s at a murder scene!”

  “What popped off,” he said and took a long drag from the weed.

  “They found a young woman at the overpass,” she said strongly.

  “Was she dead?”

  “Yes, I believe so,” she said, brushing back her hair.

  “The overpass on Wells Ave!”

  “That’s right!”

  “Ok. I will holla at you later,” he said sharply as he strolled off towards the door.

  “Take it easy!” she said.

  “For sure!”

  Chapter 11

  When Jackson arrived at Wells Ave Overpass, traffic was so fucked up. Hella backed up all the way to Taco Johns. So he parked in Taco Johns. And he strolled down the street towards the many police units scattered about the area with their red, yellow and blue flashing.

  He was so jumpy lately whenever there’s been any crime committed or murder since Belinda Sands had been missing. And he was surely hoping it wasn’t her eating the bullet this time.

  And for him no murder was cool whether it was her or some messed up black man who probably deserved it.

  It was difficult for Keith to get through to the action with nosy folks hanging around many appeared to be homeless people that frequented this area often. Also threw in a few casino works that on their way to work.

  Now to make matters worst the rain started to come down a little bit. There was a load of uniform officers. Everywhere you turn, with medic people and forensic folks. The officers were trying to keep people back. Jackson was looking around trying to find Lt. Betha.

  Chapter 12

  Jackson took out his Sony DSC-F707 silver camera. He was sure who’d be on ice in this horrid area. Many bums and lousy HIV hookers turn up dead over here all the time. Keith wouldn’t expect a fairly decent girl to be in these parts like Miss Sands but you never know.

  Jackson was getting a little stoned at this point. He took out a huge joint and shoved it into his mouth. He lit it while his ugly face was searching for Lt. Betha. He was getting a little wet because he didn’t bring a jacket.

  Well he shoved his way through the crowd up to where an officer was holding people back. He stopped at the crime scene tape. He took a long pull from his joint as saw Betha standing there barkin
g orders like some bullfrog punk. The coroner’s were pushing a stretcher through the muddy hill, sliding down sometimes onto the mud but kept getting back up like some comedy routine.

  “Hold it!” the officer said harshly to Jackson.

  “Get the hell off me!” he said sharply. “I’m here to see Lt. Betha.”

  “Who are you, homey?” the officer snapped.

  “Keith Jackson. That ignorant pit-bull knows me,” Jackson said firmly, blowing smoke into his face.

  “Ok. Let me confirm this,” he said strongly.

  “Go confirm it, dog-face.”

  The officer casually strolled over to Betha. There seemed to be an argument before Betha finally moved towards where Jackson was standing. The coroners finally got the stretcher over to the wagon after it tipped over twice. The body almost rolled into the lake.

  Lt. Betha stopped in front of Jackson huffing and puffing. He was getting soaked.

  “What is it, dog?” he said harshly, snatching the joint from Keith’s mouth and he tossed it on the muddy ground.

  “Black man, are you crazy? That hella some good stuff!” Jackson said vociferously.

  “What are you doing here, bruh?” Lt. Betha said sourly.

  “Who is on that stretcher?” Keith asked firmly.

  “None of your business bruh!” Lt. Betha snapped.

  “I’m working on a missing person case,” Keith said strongly, pulling up his jeans.

  “Then take your butt on to your case, baby.”

  “I’m looking for a woman named Belinda Sands.”

  “You think this her?” Lt. Betha snapped.

  “I’m really hoping brother it’s not,” Keith said strongly.

  “We don’t know. We haven’t found her identification yet. But it is a young woman about twenty to thirty years old,” Betha said sharply.

  Betha shoved a big cigar into his bullfrog face and lit it. The rain began to let up.

  “Stop the wagon. Let me see the body, dude!” Jackson demanded harshly, rushing over to the wagon but it took off down the busy street.

  “Hey, bruh. Why don’t you go handle your business? You have my permission to photograph the body,” Lt. Betha said sharply, puffing on his massive cigar.

  Chapter 13

  Jackson stopped at the Reno Coroner building. It was a small brick-looking job on E. Second Street. Jackson walked through smoking a joint. The staff there didn’t even notice him. The Deputy coroner was a Keith Black. He was a little mouthy black dude. He always munching on fried chicken and drank a little Heineken while performing autopsies.

  Jackson strolled into his office with his pimp-walk. There Mr. Black was standing over a body, eating fried chicken. He was drinking Olde English (beer) this time. The body was ripped open from the upper chest area down to the stomach. The intestine was hanging out of the side of the body.

  Jackson took one look at this and threw up on the floor.

  “You’re cleaning that old-blood,” Black said strongly.

  “Man, you’re a sick, Gee!” Jackson said sharply wiping his mouth with his arm.

  “Yeh maybe, bruh. So what’s up with ya?” he said firmly and he sucked on a wing bone.

  “I want to know about that body you just got,” Jackson said and took another big hit from his joint.

  “Oh yeh. You mean that white girl,” Mr. Black said strongly, took a long sip from his beer, and walked with Jackson outside his office before Jackson got sick again.

  “You want a piece of chicken, bro-bro?”

  “Hell no, dude!”

  Jackson was staring at the many different shapes and colors of bottles on the shelves. And an assortment of strange instruments place neatly on the table. They often were dancing for him as he was now getting hella stoned again. But the stink of dead was making him sick again.

  Mr. Black stood over a body motioning Jackson to come over. Jackson was shaking his head.

  “Well baby. What do you think?” Black said firmly with a smile.

  “I think this girls has seen better days,” Jackson said sharply, pulling out his camera. He soon began taking shots and trying not to belch.

  He took out the photo of Miss Sands.

  “This could be her,” Mr. Black said, studying it.

  The woman was very pale. Her buskin hair was mixed with dirt and leaves. Her throat was grossly ripped out. And part of the windpipe was sticking out.

  “What can you tell me man?” Jackson said sharply.

  “I don’t know bruh. I just got her an hour ago,” Black said sharply as he bit into a thigh.

  “What can you tell me by glance?” Jackson said and took the final hit from his joint.

  “Well...she wasn’t sexually assaulted. But the killer or animal is a sick psychopath. I’m thinking some kinda animal gee. I’ll know more after the autopsy,” he said firmly as he took another huge bit from his piece of chicken thigh.

  “What sorta damn animal?” Keith asked strongly.

  “A dog or wolf maybe!” Black said sharply finishing his thigh.

  “What about a knife or razor?”

  “That’s a possibility bro-bro. Like I said I’ll know more after the autopsy,” Mr. Black stated strongly.

  “All right. I holler at you later,” Jackson said and walked out.

  Chapter 14

  Jackson was back at the crime scene. Many of the folks had already left. And the police and forensic people had gone too. So Keith took out his camera and began taking pictures of the crime area. Sometimes there is something that was overlooked, not all the time but some of the time.

  Well Jackson walked along a metal fence. It went down the river. He noticed a necklace with an ugly eye on it preserved in some sorta of bloody liquid. The thing was hella scary. The rain had stopped for a while. The area was muddy. There were signs where some of the police staff had slipped, leaving marks. And a lot of muddy footprint. Made it difficult was his investigation.

  The necklace was hella rare and some evil bull. None of the people investigating this crime scene wore such a necklace. Nor did any homeless folks but he had to find out. He wasn’t even sure the body laying in that smelly morgue was Miss Sands. They didn’t find any identification. Her purse if she had one was gone.

  Behind the fence, there were several factory buildings. Maybe somebody saw something. There was some homeless encampments along the flowing river. So maybe they saw something too. There were clothes everywhere earlier and trash. Everything is gone now. The police lab is going through that stuff.

  Chapter 15

  Jackson soon found out the brutally murder woman was Miss Belinda Sands. Now he was parked in from of a five-story brown brick building called Chrystal Apartments with windows shaped like igloos and panoramic mountain views. The rent must have been about $850.00 a month. This is where Miss Graham was staying.

  He was in the area of S. Wells a few blocks away from the murder scene as he sat in his pimpmobile, a Dodge Dart 1976. He drank from a huge bottle of Colt 45, thinking about how he would break the bad news to Miss Graham. He could have called. But he thought a more personal touch would be better.

  It was noon. The rain started back up, slowly. Jackson sat in his car drinking beer and watching folks running into their homes to escape the rain. Some people were smart carrying huge umbrellas. It was good that it was rain because Nevada needed it. Their had been a drought for so long.

  Well he got out of his car. He walked over to Miss Graham’s door and knocked. After about ten thrashings on the door, it finally opened. Miss Graham stood there with a smile on her face. She wore a pink sweater and blue jean. She had a beer bottle in her hand.

  “Well, Mr. Jackson. How are you?”

  “It’s all good,” he said strongly with a smirk.

  She invited him in and he sat on her brown leather sofa. He wore a blue sports shirt with very baggy grey jeans. Keith looked at many paintings around the room going back to 400 years or more. There were plants everywhere. The walls were c
olored pink and yellow. There was a pink cat scratching a black chair in the corner.

  “Would like a beer?” she said cheerfully.

  “Hell yeh!”

  She went into the kitchen. Jackson got up and walked over to a purple plant that was making strange noises. He touched the purple bud and it bit his finger.

  She came back with a beer, a Budweiser. “Here you go.”

  “That booty-face bit me!” he snapped.

  “Oh, that’s Alexy. She’s not too taken by strangers. I’m sorry,” Miss Graham said sadly.

  “It’s cool. I shouldn’t have been messing around with her,” he said strongly sucking on his finger.

  “Can I get you a Band-Aid?” she asked softly and took a long swig of beer.

  “Nah!”

  “You have news,” she said.

  “Your friend is dead!” he said strongly and took a long suck from his beer bottle.

  “Dead?” she said bluntly.

  “That’s right!” he said sharply.

  “Are you sure, man?”

  “Yes!”

  Miss Graham became hysterical and threw the beer bottle at the wall. It shattered and beer ran down the wall. She took a knife and began cutting into one of her fancy paintings of a three-headed duck. She hella shredded that worthless thing.

  Tears ran down her face as she lifted over a table full of fancy dishes onto the floor, making a loud crashing sound. She smashed her lamp. With a baseball bat, she smashed her sculpture of George Clooney.

  Miss Graham had spent the lunch hour turning living room into junk as she cried over her friend. The pink cat went into his bedroom. Jackson sat there watching her as he finished his third beer.

  Then he finally got up and grabbed her, pushing her face into his chest. She cried for two hours. He just rubbed her back.

  “It’s going to be alright. I’m going to find the poop-face who did her. That’s real talk,” he said strongly.

  Chapter 16

  Miss Graham was pushing on Jackson’s chest. She wanted him to go. So he did just that.

  “I need a drink. Do you want one?” she said strongly.

  “For sure,” he said softly.

  Miss Graham fixed two drinks of bourbon. She handed Jackson his. His shirt was soaked with tears and sweat. He pulled the shirt off and tossed it in the chair. His chest was sorta built tough. It was amazing he had taken the time to workout because he spent most of the time getting stoned.

  Keith guzzled that drink down like it was nothing. Miss Graham continued to sip hers as she watched Belinda’s painting with her playing a pink guitar.