“I hoped you liked your drink!” she said sharply.
“Can I get another one?” he said strongly.
“Yes. Help yourself.”
Jackson poured himself several as the afternoon rolled on. He stuck a massive joint in his mouth and lit it. She was just finishing up her third drink.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to act up and tear my living room. You must think I’m a mad lady,” she said with a little laugh.
“Nah. I think you’re hella sexy,” Jackson said firmly and took a long drag from his joint. “Anybody would react this way losing a loved one. That’s straight up.”
“When I was in your arms all that time I felt real safe. You made me feel like nobody in the world would hurt me,” she said strongly and guzzled her drink.
“I try to please,” he snapped as he handed over the joint. “Hit this weed. You’ll feel better.”
She took a long drag. “You’re right. This is some good stuff!”
“It’s Ganga with a blend of LAD,” he said with a laugh.
“I was thinking about all the great times we had. Belinda used to teach me how to play the guitar, sing and dance. She always laughed at my harebrain jokes. She dated a lot of my ugly male friends when I knew how much she hated it. We celebrated when she started performing at better casinos like The Mint. We laughed and cried a lot together,” she explained sharply as she guzzled her sixth bourbon.
“I’m sure you had hella good times and you’ll miss her,” Jackson said sharply and lit another joint.
“How did she die?” she asked firmly.
“Her throat was ripped or cut open,” he said strongly and took a long pull from his joint.
“Sounds like a fucking animal did this,” she said strongly.
“That’s what coroner thinks,” he said strongly, blowing smoke in the air.
“What do you think?”
“I was just up there where her body was found. I didn’t see no dog or any animal footprints,” he said clearly and took another hit.
“Where did you find her?” she asked.
“At Wells Overpass.”
“That’s near here.”
“Did she go there to meet somebody?” he asked firmly, staring at a grand piano cover with sheet music.
“I couldn’t imagine why,” she said, pouring herself another drink.
“You don’t know?”
“She doesn’t tell me everything.”
“I think some homeless slime wasted her,” he said strongly and took another huge hit from his joint.
“That could be true,” she said, sipping her drink. “That is a dangerous place to be.”
“What do you make of this?” he asked firmly, producing the necklace.
She studied it for a moment.
“Yuck, dude! That thing is horrible. Take that away dude,” she said haughtily with a frown.
“This thing doesn’t belong to Miss Sands?”
“Hell no! She doesn’t wear awful jewelry like that,” she said positively.
“Does Miss Sands do any drugs?” he asked strongly.
“No really,” she snapped.
“Where were you between 2:00am and 7:00am?” he asked firmly, blowing smoke a towards her.
She became angry and threw her glass at Keith, hitting him in the hand as he was trying to protect his face.
“Screw you, homeboy!”
“Dude, I gotta ask. Nothing personal I need to know everything about her, her friendships and business partners. Anybody that might want her dead,” he said strongly, taking a huge pull from his joint. “Everybody’s a suspect dude.”
“Well mister big-shot detective I was calling the Mint casino all morning trying to get a hold of somebody. I did get a hold of Mrs. Weakland,” she said strongly, pouring herself another drink.
“What did she say?” he asked, pulling his baggy jeans.
“Belinda had left already. She thought she was with me,” she said and took a long swig from her glass.
“Well you could have killed her. And made the cell phone call standing over her body,” he said firmly.
“I didn’t kill Belinda! She was my best friend,” she said sadly.
“Did anybody threaten Miss Sands?” he asked, finishing his weed.
“Ray?” she snapped acidly.
“Who the is that?” he said sharply.
“Ray Feinstein’s the owner of The Madhouse Blues,” she said, finishing her seventh drink.
“What did this man do?” he asked firmly.
“Ray was going to cut her face up real nasty so no one would ever come to her shows if she ever left,” she said.
“Go away, baby!” he said to the corner where a crocodile head on a woman’s body dress in a bikini.
“There’s nothing there,” she said, staring into the corner.
“Man I’m sorry. It must be something in this damn weed,” he said strongly.
“Weed?” she snapped.
“What’s this cat like?” he said, looking at some guitars against the wall.
“Ray was very controlling. And always deep into everyone’s pockets,” she said.
“Did Mr. Feinstein know she was performing in Reno?” he asked, pouring himself a glass of bourbon.
“Everybody knew,” she said.
“The Madhouse Blues is in California!” Jackson said and took a long guzzle from his glass.
“Yes, San Francisco,” she said sharply as she brushed back her hair.
“I go there and see what I can turn up,” he said, finishing his drink.
“You’ll take a flight in coach. I’ll get you some money,” she said, slurring her words. She stumbled around as she went for her purse.
Well Keith saw how messed up she was. She fumbled through her purse recklessly. She soon discovered her small red change purse. She dragged out a bundle of green cabbage. She tossed it over to Keith.
“This should cover any of your expenses. If you need more just call me,” she said sharply as she tossed her purse onto the sofa.
Before he walked out the door, he called Reno airport to make reservations to fly to San Francisco.
Chapter 17
Jackson’s aunt Natalie Day Candee was 5’4, 75 years old, with bouncy silver hair, honey-golden brown eyes, rounds nose, and veal colored lips, square chin, pudgy cheeks, and body stood straight up. But she carried a rough personality.
Aunt Natalie lived in Sparks Nevada, alone. Her husband James Candee passed away on September 12, 1998.
She remarried twice. Her second husband was retired lawyer Frank A. Nolan. He passed away on November 28, 2001. Her third husband was a retired casino manager Al Kaiser. He passed away on June 9, 2006. His aunt didn’t seem to have much luck with husbands but financially she benefited handsomely.
Aunt Natalie was suffering from gout. Her arteries were in constant pain. Whenever he’d visit there were hundreds of medicine bottles on the table. His thoughts were on her most of the time. Her doctors want to perform heart surgery, for the third time. But she is extremely against it.
Aunt Natalie gets out with her old friends from back-in-the-day as well as some new one she picked up along the way. They all love to go to The Cedar casino in Sparks Nevada. They’ll play day and night. She certainly has the bucks to do it. They win big and put it all back.
She could also take down several Tom Collens and still get around for her age.
Aunt Natalie lived on Sullivan Lane, Sparks Nevada. The house was a three-story job, pink brick, about thirty-years old. The place was about worth a million. There were bulletproof tinted windows all around, a wonderful landscaping. There was Pergo flooring, security and central air. She always did have great taste. Keith parked his Dodge Dart next to her white caddy.
The rain had finally stopped leaving many areas flooded. But it had been quite a while since Nevada had seen rain. Water restrictions were already in the works. Nevada is a darn desert with needs water.
Keith had to beat the hell
out of the door because Aunt Natalie was hard of hearing. Her TV was also blasting...most of the time game shows. He walked around the place beating on the windows for a while. He finally ringed the buzzer, which he forgot was there. Well she was an old woman and obviously scared.
After a while, he finally heard footsteps slowly approaching the door. Then it took her another twenty-five minutes to remove the locks.
Chapter 18
When the door finally opened, she stood there watching Keith soon after her smile grew large. She was always happy to see people come around. They both hugged each other real tight for a while rocking back and forth.
When the hugging was over, they stood staring at each other for a moment. Keith was wandering whether she was going to invite him in or just continue a star game.
“Who are you?” she finally asked sharply, looking puzzled.
“It’s me auntie. It’s Keith,” he said strongly with a big smile.
“Oh Keith! My love!” she said strongly. “Come in love!”
Keith sat on her sofa, which was Victorian like everything else.
“Is so nice to see you,” he said cheerfully.
“You too, boo-boo,” she said strongly, walking slowly toward the sofa.
“You look hella fly,” he said cheerfully.
“Would you like a sandwich?” she asked sharply with a smile.
“Yeh. A ham &cheese,” he said firmly.
Well she turned around slowly and began moving towards the kitchen. Keith stared at the wall filled with family photos. Keith was in many of them all colored. There were photos with aunt Natalie on horses. Many of the family photos were taken from all over the world. A brown oakwood case was filled with lots of books, mostly law. He saw the large den and office in the back.
The noise from the TV set caught his attention. There was a game show called Joker’s Wild. A strange-looking black dude wearing blue suit was playing against a dwarf with loads of blond hair. He looked like a hairy ball. The black dude was a head with winning over $4,000. The dwarf had 1,029. After a couple of good spins from the black guy. His winning had reached 6,000. The dwarf had a couple of good spins too. He was moving up quickly.
Then the black guy pulled the handle for his next spin but received the devil, losing everything.
Aunt Natalie returned struggling to move forward as she carried a silver tray with two sandwiches and two sodas.
“Oh auntie! Let me help you,” Keith said strongly.
“No! I’m fine. Keep your butt back!” she said harshly.
Keith pushed away some stacks of Inquirer magazines and empty soda cans. He dropped the tray there. The were ants everywhere. Keith sprayed Raid on those butt worms.
It seemed like an hour had pass by as Natalie sat in her sofa. Keith had already eaten most of his sandwich and drunken his cheap grape soda.
Aunt Natalie wore what she always did sweat suits. Her favorite colors were pink and green.
As she was chewing her sandwich, she said she had gotten sick.
“When?” Keith asked strongly, looking at painting and sculptures throughout the living room.
“Oh the other day,” she said, washing down her sandwich with cheap root beer.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he said strongly as he finished his sandwich.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” she said as she bit into her sandwich.
“No problem. You know we’re family. You can always count on me,” he said and took a long swig from grape soda.
“That’s good to know,” she said.
“What happened?” he said.
“Norma and I were at the Royal Casino. We were playing the quarter slots,” she said.
“Again!”
“Yes again!”
“Was it the ones with the Jokers?” he said, finishing his soda.
“Yes. Those machines tend to payoff better,” she said.
“Nothing serious!” he said.
“At the time I thought so. I got real weak, like never before. I began to sweat badly. Then I felt really dizzy and collapsed to the floor next to the slot machine,” she said clearly, finishing her sandwich.
“What was wrong?” he asked.
“I think it was low blood sugar. I was a little exhausted. Norma and I did shopping all-day and late into the night. And I hadn’t eaten anything,” she said strongly.
“Aunt Natalie, you really should get more rest. You should take better care of yourself,” Keith suggested strongly.
“I know, child. You’re totally right!” she said.
“Do you finally go to the hospital?” he asked firmly.
“Yes. They kept me for a couple of days,” she said.
“What about heart surgery?”
“Hell no! They aren’t cutting up on my butt!” she said sourly.
“You could die!” he snapped loudly.
“I could die during surgery too!”
“Maybe so. But how would you know if you don’t even try,” he said strongly.
“Keith I’m almost 85 years old. I’m just not strong enough anymore man,” she said, lighting a cigarette.
“For sure,” he said.
“Oh, damn! My left leg is starting to hurt. A sharp pain is right through my leg. Oh Lord!” he said, wincing.
“Want me to call your doctor?” he asked with a worried look on his face.
“No baby! Just get my pills,” she said harshly.
Aunt Natalie grabbed hold of her legs and began rocking back and forth as if that would help. Keith leaped up and pulled up his baggy jeans. He moved quickly towards the brown oakwood cabinet.
The cabinet had hella pills of many kinds. He wasn’t which ones were the pain ones.
“Aunt Natalie! Which ones?” he shouted sharply.
“The big pink ones baby!”
“Ahh. These ones!” he said firmly. And rushed back over to her.
She swallowed one with her root beer.
“Child, It will take a short while to kick in,” she said weakly.
“Yeh. I know that’s right,” he said.
“Do you have a job?”
“Yeh.”
“I mean a real job young-blood. Not that detective mess!” she said harshly.
“Aunt Natalie! You know I love this stuff. I couldn’t see myself doing anything else. You want a black man to sell drugs?”
“Hell no!”
“Then What?”
“Something more stable. Why don’t you work in a casino for at least 10 years? So you can draw social security,” she said, blowing smoke towards him.
“Sure. But I never have any luck with casinos,” he said sharply, frowning.
“I’m not telling you what to do. Just give it a try,” she said.
“Okay, baby! I will for you,” he said sharply not really meaning it. He figured Aunt Natalie knew that too.
“Keith, I feel much better now!” she said, lying back onto the sofa.
“I’m glad!” he said.
It got quiet for a while and Aunt Natalie dosed off to sleep. Keith ate a couple more ham cheese sandwiches as he searched around for some booze. His hands were shaking again.
Chapter 19
San Francisco, California
Ray Feinstein: Madhouse Blues Club.
Keith Jackson’s last trip to San Francisco was a couple of years ago. He helped the police catch an extortionist and murderer. The results turned out to be hella devastating. Mr. Lotter refused to surrender on top of a crappy motel building. Frog-lips opened fire on everybody with an Uzi Submachine gun 9mm Parabellum. Ten police officers lost their lives. About a dozen were injured.
Because of this, they had no other choice but to take this psycho-poop out. So the police opened fire cutting this slime-ball to pieces as he took a dive off the building. There was blood and guts everywhere. The whole affair made Keith sick.
The cab he took dropped him off right in front of the club. He tipped the driver so small he flipped him off.
The Madhouse building was on the corner next to Foster’s Auto Body Shop. The smell of paint coming from the place made Jackson throw up.
The rocking place was a small red building made of brick with big square tinted windows. On the roof were drums, saxophone, trumpet, guitar and piano. The were picture of blues artist on the windows. The baked bread smelled great coming from Don’s Bakery across the street.
The weather was 65 degrees. Jackson wore an oversized red shirt and baggy white jeans. He looked like a strung-out DMX.
Well 3:00pm was a little early for any of the shows and the place was empty except for a few people beginning to set up. Keith saw a large man behind the bar who may have been Mr. Feinstein. The tables and chairs were hella classy, matching the blues atmosphere. The strong smell of wax came from black floors.
The walls were covered with pictures of major blues singers of the past and present. Johnny Lee Hooker was one of them.
Ray Feinstein was about six-foot-two, probably forty-seven. He had bushy-coffee colored hair, with electric-blue eyes, Arabian nose, and round shoulders. He wore a blue three-piece suit. He had on lots bling.
“Hello,” Mr. Feinstein said cheerfully.
“Yeh, what’s up with it?” Jackson said with a smile.
“You’re a little early for the show friend,” Feinstein said sharply, as he was cleaning glasses.
“I’m not here to catch a show,” Keith said strongly.
“Then what is it?” Feinstein snapped.
“I want to talk!”
“What are we doing?”
“I’m looking for a girl?”
“This girl got a name?” Feinstein said strongly.
“Belinda Sands,” Keith said firmly.
“Belinda don’t work here no more!” he said harshly and threw a glass at the wall. It broke into pieces.
“Man, I’m sorry bruh. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Keith said strongly.
“The sound of here name upsets me!” he said sourly as he moved slowly around the bar. His cologne smelled like his ass fell in the bottle.
“Why?” Keith snapped.
“I just hate that lady,” Feinstein snapped.
“So you came to Reno and killed her,” Keith said sharply, shoving a big joint in his mouth.
“I don’t like the way that sounds yuck,” Feinstein said spitefully, bashing his fist on the bar counter.
“I don’t give a damn, bruh!” Keith snapped as he lit his joint.
“You can’t smoke that stuff in here!” he said sourly.
“Slime you, fat boy,” Keith said firmly.
“You ain’t no friend!”
“I’m a PI,” Keith said strongly.
“A butt-worm PI. Well I think your smelly butt better leave,” he said sourly, looking hella mean. “Or I’ll make chocolate milk out of you.”
Terror In Reno Page 3
