“Yeh. A human animal by the name of Mel Ridken,” Keith said clearly.
“I’d say a person with a big knife,” the coroner stated firmly.
“Is she a singer?” one officer asked firmly.
“I’m not sure,” Keith said sharply.
The wind was blowing the blinds in the window like terrible. An office had brought Miss McCulloh’s purse and dumped everything. The usual stuff you find in lady’s purses. Her money was still there.
“Is she married?” Lt. Betha stated sharply.
“Hell no! she is single, babe,” Keith said strongly.
The manager came in. His name was John Padgett. He was a strange-looking whining little man.
“Who the hell are you, man?” Lt. Betha said sharply.
“I’m the manager.”
“Miss McCulloh is dead!” Betha said strongly.
“Oh my God!” he said sadly in shock.
At this time, the body was being wheeled out.
“What was she like, dog?” Keith asked sharply.
“She was a cocktail waitress. A nice lady. Too good to be a slut,” Padgett said bluntly.
“Did this dude ever come in here?” Keith said strongly with a photo.
Padgett studied it carefully.
“Yeh. This man came a lot. He was her steady,” Padgett.
“Where does she work?” Keith asked sharply.
“Mint casino. She’s a cocktail waitress,” he said firmly.
“What kinda person is she?” Lt. Betha asked, puffing on a cigar.
“She was nice. She paid her rent on time. And noisy parties sometimes,” he said.
“Did you see or hear anything?” Keith asked strongly and took a long pull from a joint.
“No!” Mr. Padgett said clearly.
“All right. You can go,” Lt. Betha said sharply.
“Where did you get that tie?” Keith said sharply.
“My wife gave it to me,” Lt. Betha said sharply with a smirk.
“It’s a girlish tie.”
“Yeh it kinda is,” he said.
“What the hell is that smell?” Lt. Betha stated with lips curling.
“You farted again big sexy,” Keith said strongly.
“Not that smell. The stinky thing you’re smoking.”
“It’s this tight stuff. I made it from a cactus. I’m growing the stuff behind my office. And you can’t do a damn, bruh. It’s not marijuana. It’s hella better though. I get hella high and it’s as legal as drinking beer,” Keith explained clearly.
“You need to improve on the smell black man,” Lt. Betha stated strongly.
“Well it smells like nuclear donuts and coffee,” one office said sharply.
“Well clean up the barf ignorant butt,” Lt. Betha snapped, puffing on his cigar.
“Put out an APB on Mel Ridken?” Keith said finishing his cactus weed.
“That gay waiter?” a dwarf-looking officer said strongly.
“Hell yeh. He’s a prime suspect,” Betha snapped.
Keith took out that strange necklace. At this time, many of the crime lab people had left. The wind had died down some. The rain had stopped for now, but it will continue throughout the day and night.
“This necklace you stole from the crime scene,” Betha snapped.
“Yeh dude!” Keith said harshly.
“It’s uglier than your momma’s face bruh.”
“Slime you, monkey. Since we’re getting down on mommas!”
“Well I just got off your momma,” one of the officers said.
“Well you better get your horrid wife off the corner again. I’m tired of chasing her away from there,” Keith said.
“Bug off homey!” the officer snapped.
Betha placed the necklace in his pocket.
“Mel believes he will live forever and remove some curse by eating the flesh of terrible lounge acts. That’s what the folks think if they wear The Bleeder Eye of The Demon necklace,” Keith explained strongly.
“This is some bull, boo,” Lt. Betha stated coldly. “This is just some creepy necklace. And it gives a man an excuse to murder people and blame the necklace so he can escape prison.”
“I agree,” the dwarf officer said strongly.
“Yo, ofc. Harrison. I saw your wrinkled mother at the booby-bar shaking her thing again,” Lt. Betha said firmly with a smirk.
“I told her to quit, sir,” he said sadly.
“Naw, dude. She’s showing the town proud. And the old black man running the joint said she pulled in the most tips lately,” Lt. Betha said sharply. “A way to go officer.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said firmly.
“Bruh, I got a couple of officers staking out Mr. Ridken’s joint in case he shows up,” Lt. Betha stated strongly.
“Good thinking dog,” Keith said sharply.
“How’s your aunt, dog?” Lt. Betha asked firmly.
“She’s blessed. She’s holding up,” Keith stated happily.
“What happened?”
“She fell off her horse, practicing for the rodeo,” Keith said.
“How bout that? This cat’s old aunt has more balls than you do Murphy. I’m beginning to smell girl when you sweat baby. I should have her working on vice,” Lt. Betha explained strongly.
“Yes, sir,” Ofc. Murphy snapped with a smirk.
“I want you to question everybody in this building!”
“Yes, sir,” Ofc. Harrison said strongly.
“What about that cab, bruh?” Keith said strongly.
“Yeh man. We checked out that. Most of the fingerprints was hella smudged. There was gun residue on the front seats probably because he sat the weapon down on the seat after firing it,” Lt. Betha explained clearly.
“That’s some bull! We have the coolest crime team in the world. And you feed me this poop,” Keith said bluntly.
“Well yeh that’s true. We just fell short. We won’t make a habit of that I assure you,” Lt. Betha said sharply.
The lab crew began to pack things up. Mostly everyone had left already. Lt. Betha, Ofc. Harrison and Keith had been outside the crime scene talking.
Chapter 44
At The Walt’s Bar & Grill Lt. Betha and Keith had some barbecue rips, fries and a ton of beer. The owner was a tall, thin black man. He’d been in business for over twenty years. He was one of the very few black businesses in Reno. He worked closely with an Indian dude who always wore a lot of jewelry and dress like a Texas star ranger.
The place was a two-story job made of brick, just recently painted red & white. Walt even had the parking lot expanded, since his visitor blossomed so largely. There were the usual butt-kicking food and bar specials. It was always a full house at four. The jukebox always plays blues and the joint gets a jumping.
Keith and Lt.Betha sat in the back booth with pure leather seats. The fine oak wood tables shined. They finish eating a truckload of ribs and fries. They bullshitted about the case, which poured over to their sex life.
It was 6:00pm when the two finally stepped out of the bar. Lt. Betha staggered across the street towards a cab that was waiting. Keith watched the cab take off. Keith walked towards his car parked across the street.
When he stepped into the street a speeding blue Buick came bolting towards him with no sign of stopping. Keith flung forward to avoid the speeding vehicle that past by him. Keith watched it fly down the street. So he tried to get up as he brought out his gun.
The vehicle spun around and came back just as fast but this time the man started firing a .32 auto at him. Keith returned fire as he dove to his right side to avoid the bullets. And being hit by the hateful Buick, the same vehicle that tried to get at him on the courthouse steps. The car flew by him again and they both exchanged bullets at each other. Lucky nobody was outside at the time.
When the vehicle made another attempted to kill Keith this time the black man was ready shooting the front left tire of the Buick making the drive lost control at fifty miles an hour crashing into a peach tr
ee. The huge bang produced twisted metal and shattered glass. Steam and smoke rose from the vehicle.
Keith approached the smoky vehicle carefully as he aimed his pistol at it as it began to catch fire and looked inside but the car was empty. Keith stepped back from the vehicle, which was now being taken over by orange and blue flames.
Then a man with a blue blazer was there in Plainview he started shooting at Keith, missing he quickly returned fire. Keith bullets ripped through the man’s chest and head. He flew back on his back. This time he didn’t move.
Flames overtook the vehicle. Any moment now the vehicle was going to explode. So Keith retreated towards his car. The vehicle finally exploded as Keith was getting to his ride. Metal and glass flew everywhere. But nobody was hurt.
Keith just drove off down the street enroute to Tangy Miller crib.
Chapter 45
Keith spent some time at Tangy Miller’s house. She was dressed in a sleek black grown, smelling hella fresh. There was several lines of cocaine on the table and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Keith was wearing a double x size white T-shirt with oversized blue jeans. His Wolf Pack baseball cap was on backwards.
They were both pretty high when Keith picked up Tangy and carried her in to the bedroom, sitting her down on the end of her pink queen-sized. She quickly removed his shirt as he took off her grown. She unbuttoned his jeans, pulled down the zipper, and brought his pant down to his knees.
When they finished making love, he rose from the bed with Tangy still laying there. He moved to the edge of the bed to the dresser where a half bottle of Jim Beam sat and four lines of cocaine. Keith took off the bottle cap. He took a long guzzle from the bottle and put it back.
He rolled a dollar bill to look like a stick. And stuck it up his left nostril, lowering his baldhead down to one of the lines. Put his finger down on his right nostril and snorted the first line. Then the next sniffing strongly like it was a girl.
Tangy moved up to the edge of the bed. Keith saved two lines for her. And with the same dollar she snorted the last two lines while he was guzzling the bourbon.
“Did you find Ridken yet?” she asked softly.
“Hell no!” he snapped.
“Where’s the necklace?”
“The po-pos have it,” he said strongly pulling back his underpants. “It’s all bull!”
“It’s not, bruh,” she snapped.
“Poop-eaters are shooting at me left and right,” he said harshly, pulling up his baggy jeans.
“Well Redkin’s putting them into spells to control those folks. You feel me?” she stated clearly.
“Hell no, girl!”
Keith was now completely dressed back up. His nose started bleeding. Tangy got him a damp cloth. He lay back for a couple of minutes to stop the bleeding.
“It’s some darkness stuff. I hope you kept that knife I gave you with the silver blade.”
“Yeah so? Can’t kill evil people with no knife.”
“The knife will save you against Ridken who’s a werewolf.”
“That girly-looking dude!”
“Yes, bruh. Trust me.”
“Slime that! It’s all bull, baby. I need some more weed. I’ll just some more behind my office. I just about killed off your bourbon,” Keith said sharply standing up.
Tangy went into the bathroom to take a shower. Keith finished off the Jim Beam and left.
Chapter 46
It was hella early when Keith finally decided get his butt up. He put on a purple hoody over t-shirt, baggy green jeans and white addidas. He placed a Beretta .32 in his back pocket. He smoked some crack cocaine some black dude on the corner last night sold him. He drank a Budweiser. And now was ready to take on the world.
He climbed into his Dodge Dart and started it up. He turned up the jazz radio. His car warmed up as he was heading towards Las Vegas about three hundred miles away. He watched kids on their way to school. They were playing and laughing. It made him think about when he was a kid.
The weather was sorta chilly as we coasted into October. The beautiful dark green leaves were now turning orange-yellow and falling off the tree branches. So every dude would have to get those jackets back out again. Keith was cool with that he was use to the weather now.
After a while on the highway, he saw a number of trucks, Rvs, tour buses, accidents, dumb hitchhikers, motorcycles, horse trailers, and homes. There was sagebrush everywhere. And farms where cattle were eating grass. A ton of noisy factories too.
Keith soon knew when he was getting to his exit he observed the huge casino towers ahead. Downtown Vegas. He might check out a few casinos and try his luck before heading back. But if you’d lived in Reno this casino shit don’t mean nothing Like it would be to most folks not from gambling states.
He thought about Mel’s parents and how they’d react to a black dude questioning them about their son. And what sorta people bring a psychopath fresh eating punk into this world. What are they witches? Are these folks human?
Keith was parked on E. 3rd Street number 115. There was a large white house that had been tree stories high, with huge square windows, a four-car garage, a red Cadillac, a white Chevy Silverado and a blue Chrysler Voyager were parked inside there. Three huge apple trees stood in front of the house, with leaves turning orange-yellow, many had fallen to the grass along with some rotten apples. The other houses in the neighborhood had been similar. He watched fancy hot ladies walking tiny dogs. People were jogging by in packs.
He sat in his car smoking dope, watching a pit-bull taking a poop on someone’s lawn. He saw some brats steal apples off a tree. And some black man steal a radio out of somebody’s BMW.
Well he got out of his car, locking it. He heard the sound of a hot engine. He pulled up his baggy jean as he started for a white gate. He went through the gate towards a porch with black plastic chairs. He saw a man wearing a Brook Brother suit carrying a dark briefcase getting into a Grand Cherokee and he quickly drove off. Everybody seemed to be rushing off to work or school.
Before Keith could knock on the door, it suddenly opened. A fragile looking woman stood there wearing a silk white rob. She seemed shock to see a black man standing at her door.
“Are you Mrs. Ridken?”
“Yes!”
“I’m Keith Jackson. I’m a private investigator,” he said strongly showing his ID.
She studied for a while and soon nodded in approval.
“An investigator?”
“Hell yeh.”
“What exactly are you investigating?”
“Singers are bodying up in Reno.”
“Why don’t you come in?” she suggest strongly. “This sounds serious.”
“All right, then,” he said sharply walking inside.
He sat in a green leather chair. The smell of eggs and bacon nearly knocked him out. Everything in the house was a winter green.
“What do you mean by bodying up?” she asked strongly, sipping on coffee.
“I’m mean hella dying!” he snapped.
“What does all this have to do with us?” Mr. Ridken asked strongly.
“I believe your son did it,” Keith said clearly, looking at a green piano against the wall. There were loads of family photos on it and a newspaper on the bench.
“That’s bull, man!” Mr. Ridken stated harshly and took a long sip of coffee.
“Yes. Our son would never murder anybody. He’s a good boy,” Mrs. Ridken said sharply.
“I’m sure he was. But he’s been curse by a Bleeder Eye. So this dudes flipped the script,” Keith stated strongly.
“The Bleeder Eye?” Mrs. Ridken said strongly.
“It’s a necklace with an eyeball soaking in blood. It’s a horrid piece of jewelry,” Keith said firmly.
“Well that sorta thing would be up Mel’s alley,” Mr. Ridken said strongly with a smile.
“Would you like so coffee?” She asked softly.
“I sure would.”
She ran off to the kitchen. Keith stare
d at Russian art.
“Dude you got the wrong guy,” Mr. Ridken snapped.
“No, sir. I know I’m on the right stage bruh,” Keith snapped.
“Well Mel is not here!”
“When is the last time you saw him?”
“A year or so.”
Mrs. Ridken returned with a silver tray loaded with toast and three steaming cups of coffee. She sat it down on a green marble table.
Keith grabbed a piece of toasted a spread some jelly on it. Mrs. Ridken panting from her trip from the kitchen grabbed a coffee cup.
“Where do you think he is?” Keith said sharply chewing on toast.
“He’s in Reno. You know he works there,” she said sharply, sipping her coffee.
“The dude ain’t there no more!”
“I ought to beat your face in man. But I’m too old,” Mr. Ridken stated coldly, drinking his coffee.
“I know your angry old-gee. I don’t like coming here and telling you this bad news but it’s my job as an investigator,” Keith stated strongly, finishing his toast.
Mr. Ridken was eating strawberry jam on his toast. Keith wanted very much to spice up his coffee with bourbon.
“What does he like to do?” Keith asked.
“Well he was very into his uncle Ty. He lives in Arizona, and runs a black magic shop. He’s all ways been involved in some type of Satanism of black magic,” she explained clearly.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Keith said cheerfully, finishing up his coffee.
“Yeh, that’s what scared me about him,” Mr. Ridken added.
“Is Mel into wolf like creatures?”
“Probably,” she said firmly.
“Won’t you eat breakfast?” Mr. Ridken asked sharply.
“All right, old-gee,” Keith said sharply.
“I can’t believe Mel would go as far as kill someone. Most of this evil stuff he does is just fun and games that’s all,” Mrs. Ridken said sharply.
They all set in the dining room. Keith soon started shoving mouthfuls of eggs down his throat with yoke running down his chin. Mr. Ridken put lots of salt & pepper and Tabasco sauce on his eggs before he ate them. Mrs. Ridken loaded her eggs and hash browns with catsup.
“Does Mel like clowns?” Keith asked smacking loudly.
“Of course. Like every child loves clowns and the circus. We brought Mel there a lot during his childhood,” she said strongly and shoved a forkful of hash browns and eggs into her small mouth.
“Why does Mel hate cabaret singers?” Keith asked firmly.
“I don’t know!” Mr. Ridken stated strongly.
“I was a singer that performed in nightclubs years ago,” she said strongly washing down her food with coffee.
Terror In Reno Page 14
