Crimes Of Murder

by Darryl Harrison

f Murder

  By Darryl Harrison

  Copyright 2012, 2015 Darryl Harrison

  Table Of Contents

  The Truth About The Shoestring Killer

  The Situation of Dancer Joel Luis

  The Ugliest Superhero vs Oakland CA

  About The Author

  The Truth About The Shoestring Killer

  Mrs. Rose Day had been a gorgeous black woman with chestnut skin sat in a Reno courtroom. She was convicted of the murder of her prosperous white husband Walter Day. The mostly female and white jury found her not guilty.

  She turned and hugged her lawyer.

  “Thank God it’s over,” she said strongly with relief.

  “You did fantastic,” he stated strongly with a laugh.

  “Yo, I can go home now. Dog, I can go back to work,” she stated cheerfully.

  “Why in the hell would you do that? The old geezer left all his money to you,” he snapped.

  “Dog, I don’t know. Man, I still love my job,” she said sharply.

  “Well, you can do whatever you want. You can work whenever you choose. You own the damn casino, baby,” he said firmly with a laugh.

  “I’m going on vacation,” she said firmly with a smile.

  “Hell, yeh. That sounds great. Let’s bounce out of here,” he said strongly with a big grin, grabbing her by the arm.

  Prior to leaving, she gave a thank you sign towards the jury.

  About the night of the murder Mr. Day had been drinking and Mrs. Day came home later than usual. She’d been fooling around with some dude. They got into a disagreement. Next, he started smacking her around until she had the courage to run away...he did this often. She refused to leave him. After enough beating she final decided to buy a gun. She feared that someday this evil dude might beat her to death. She wasn’t going to take that chance. So the next time he started beating on her she pulled out that .22 caliber pistol and shot him dead.

  Many folks think that the tale was very different. They think she plotted his death, because she had bought that gun earlier. The talk around the town was she was fed up with this old dude and wanted to get rid of him for his money. And many people believed she had been just simply too spicy for the sickly old dude.

  In spite of the overwhelming, evidence against her the jury still made a decision to give her ass a break. Maybe some of the woman on the jury had abusive husbands too or they were just tired of convicting black woman.

  Mrs. Day had just got off work at the Green Leaf Casino. She labored there as a dealer, that's exactly where she met her husband. She appeared conquered as she sat at the bar next to her gay friend Delmar Sousa. He had been a short fat guy.

  “Hey girl,” he stated softly in a girly voice. “Boo, I heard you’re going on a vacation.”

  “That’s correct,” she said strongly. “Dude, I need to get away for awhile.”

  “You do look beat up a bit,” he said strongly and he took a long swig from a glass filled with some pink stuff.

  She ordered a beer.

  “You know my step children are suing me?” Mrs. Day said bitterly.

  “Oh, girl,” Mr. Sousa said hotly with a frown.

  “They never liked my black butt. Boy, I’m sorry I got fed up with waiting for that old man to died,” she stated candidly.

  “I hear ya, girl,” he said firmly, sipping his drink.

  “Now I’m free, baby. Those slimeballs can’t charge me even if I confess. You feel me?” she said sharply and took a long swig from her beer bottle.

  “Hell, Yeah. Boo, I know. It’s called double jeopardy. Hey, girl, you get to spend all that money,” he said strongly as he sipped his drink.

  “Dog, I’m leaving Friday,” Mrs. Day said.

  “Well, I almost forgot to tell you. The Shoestring Killer escaped,” Mr. Sousa said strongly and ordered another drink.

  “Well, that’s cool. Because I’m going to Tahoe, to ski. And so that Shoestring slime-brain can kiss my foot,” she said harshly.

  “Can I come?” he asked softly, smiling.

  “No, I’m going solo on this one, baby,” she snapped as she finished her beer.

  A dark haired gay dude was giving Mr. Sousa the eye from across the bar.

  “Dog, I think I’ve found my boyfriend for tonight,” Mr. Sousa said strongly with a laugh, rising from the bar.

  “Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow, baby,” she said strongly, smiling.

  “Have a safe trip,” he barked, walking over to the man.

  After four more beers, Mrs. Day finally went up to her penthouse suite.

  Losa Cufay was a big Tonga guy and a brilliant dude. He had been accountable for catching The Shoestring Killer, who murdered hundreds of folks, strangling his victims with a shoestring.

  Sgt. Cufay had been irritated.

  “That turd-brains on the move once again. Man, I need every accessible police officer in Nevada out there. You may already know this cat doesn’t mess around, he’s killed so many ladies,” he explained bluntly to his men.

  “Don’t worry, sir. We’re on it,” the officers said sharply.

  Walter Day was tall, around six-foot-five, silky white skin, and green eyes, bouncy hair, a lean body and had been sixty-eight. He did a couple tours in Vietnam. He had a mean streak. After the war, he ended up in Nevada, selling real estate. Once he got very big, he started buying up casinos. And he soon flourished in the casino business. And years later on Mr. Day began to get sick and drink alcohol. He'd three children from earlier awful marriages. He never got along with his kids. He fell over hard for this chocolate woman, dealing cards in one of his casino. They’d been married for ten years. His drinking made him a scumbag. He’d beat on his wife regularly. When he died, he left everything to his wife. His family members have filed a wrongful death suit against Mrs. Day.

  The shoestring killer’s real name was Kirk Evans. It was apparent that he seized the name “The Shoestring Killer” asphyxiate his victims using a shoestring. He was believed to have murdered at least 2,650 people mostly women. Finally, he was caught ten years ago. It's no surprise that he'd such a horrid childhood. His mother labored at Wal-Mart all day long and closed him in the basement. He'd a bowl of cereal to eat. There were reports that when he had been hungry he’d eaten his bowl movements and his entire dog to survive. Once he stayed with his father over the summer, he raped him all day long. He had long light-brown oily hair, a full beard, having a ferocious face, and dark brown eyes. He was sort of tall. Once he escaped from a Nevada mental institution, he was sporting a white shirt and white pants and white shoes. He wiped out five women already after his escape.

  The Reno police found another woman strangled to death. She was tall and lanky blonde-haired. She was obviously a cocktail waitress from the looks of her. The Cal-Neva gambling establishment discovered her body. She had been thirty and pretty. Moreover, two hours later on a Mexican woman, a maid worked at the Peppermill was discovered deceased by the bus stop. There was a shoestring by her body.

  Reno, Nevada was known as ‘The Biggest Little City In The World’ And criminal activity was low. But The Shoestring Killer was going to change that. Folks were friendly. But the city acquired it’s name sin city as a result of gambling and legal prostitution. The city was a hundred and sixty years old or so.

  The Reno police had a giant crime web over the city to stop this creep. There officers had been posing as casino personal, gamblers, bums and they worked around the clock often not having time to eat. There were mainly woman young and really pretty.

  Mrs. Rose Day jam-packed her luggage enough to stay for a year. She planned to stay a week. The snow dropped hard for some time. The weatherman was telling folks to stay indoors and if you need to go out dress properly, and put sn
ow chains on your vehicle. The cop’s spokesperson was informing folks to stay in their homes and lock the doors.

  Mrs. Day lugged her luggage into the backside of her peach colored Jeep Eagle falling in the snow at times. She was about six-foot-one and lanky. She may have been a good runway model. She wore a pink blazer, with matching wool cap, gloves, pants and boots. Her cellular phone rang and it was Mr. Sousa.

  “I’m fine baby,” she stated strongly into the phone.

  “Hey, girl, I just called to find out how you were,” Mr. Sousa said cheerfully. “Do you need me?”

  “No baby,” she said softly. “Boy, I would like to be alone. Child, I would like to do some skiing. Skiing eases my mind. If it wasn’t for Walter I'd have never got on skies. You probably know this not very many black folks ski.”

  “I know. Hey, girl, not many Mexicans ski either,” he said strongly with a laugh.

  “How did your sex date go?” she asked strongly.

  “Hella banging! Girl, we played house all night,” Sousa said strongly with a laugh.

  “Boo, I’m glad you had fun,” she said strongly.

  “When will you be back?” he