firmly.
“Was there any people hanging around the outdoor tent?” Newsham asked calmly.
“No,” Miss Gomez said.
“Who else knows he takes a break in his tent?” Newsham asked strongly.
“Every person at the celebration and dancer’s too,” Jackson said strongly. “And the damn killer.”
“I want all the dancers checked out,” Newsham said sharply. “I also want the people who put this event together questioned. And everyone who attended. I want this place sealed off. Nobody is to leave this area.”
“Ok,” the officer said firmly.
“What about the broad?” Sgt. Newsham asked sharply blowing smoke in everybody’s face.
“Maria didn’t do it. This nice lady is his dance partner,” Jackson said calmly with an evil look. “Bruh, she loved Luis.”
“I’m only interested in who hated this dead dude,” Newsham said bluntly.
“Hey man! Joel was a cool cat. So stop fronting on the man,” Keith said strongly.
“Joel was the nicest amigo. Who would want to kill him?” Miss Gomez said strongly.
“Maybe some drug dealers. Or gang members,” Newsham said firmly.
“Why drug dealers? Joel never hung out with those kinda people!” Jackson said sharply finishing his joint.
“All those folks at the Cinco De Mayo, any of these people could’ve killed him,” Marisa said firmly.
“Well, the motive wasn’t robbery. Mr. Luis still has his money and nice watch,” one officer said strongly.
“Let’s go forensics,” Sgt. Newsham barked sharply. “Move your butts!”
Sgt. Mark Newsham had been a good pal of Mr. Keith Jackson since he joined up with the force eight years ago. Newsham had been never too keen about him becoming a private investigator or him getting stoned all time, but that’s tough.
Forensic and police investigators made their way inside the outdoor tent, sporting rubber gloves, transporting brownish paper bags. One dude had taken pictures. The other dudes wandered about transporting little brushes, brushing the outdoor tent, floor and table and other areas they find prints.
The news folks got a few more photos before the coroner positioned the body on a stretcher and pushed it into the coroner van and took off.
“Well, there went a fantastic Cinco De Mayo special event down the toilet,” Mr. Jackson stated harshly. “Marisa lets jet.”
“Are we taking this case?” she asked strongly.
“Hell, no!” Jackson said firmly.
Marisa and Jackson got into his pimpmobile, a 1975 Dodge Dart and drove off. He turned the rap music on loud. It had taken them an hour to get through traffic.
“Marisa, you know something?” he asked calmly.
“What?” she snapped.
“Dog, at the murder scene, I smelled AQUA VELVA,” he said firmly.
“You believe the killer or killers might wear AQUA VELVA?” she said clearly.
“Hell, yeh, baby,” Mr. Jackson stated strongly.
“Dude, anybody may have been sporting that stuff---cops, Mr. Luis, a paramedic...etc,” she stated plainly.
“Dude, it’s just an idea. You feel me?” he stated strongly.
“Are we taking this case?” she asked strongly.
“Naw. Yo, baby, I don’t work for nothing,” Jackson said sharply with a smirk.
Keith opened a can of Country Club beer he had between his legs. He brought it up to his mouth and took a long swig.
“Sergeant Newsham will find the killer,” she said clearly.
“That Irish dude couldn’t find his nose,” Jackson said strongly.
Cinco De Mayo, a Mexican celebration of self-reliance. The Mexicans had been warring with the French over Mexico; the Mexicans had taken France butts out of the picture, and now Mexico owns their own territory. Everyone’s eligible to be a part of the fun; and that’s what Mr. Jackson had been doing here in Reno.
Mr. Joel Luis had been one of the dancers...good looking, with dark wavy hair. All of the ladies stared at Luis, while he danced with Maria Gomez. They put on a fantastic show.
On May 8, Monday, Mr. Jackson woke up late, caused by a long night from smoking crack cocaine, makinglove and drinking Cobra. He put a fat black woman that had been lying next to him out of his room. He looked out the window. It had been snowing.
Mr. Jackson arrived at his office an old veterinary clinic on Mill Street. The windows had been tinted. There was racist graffiti all over the building. The grass had been yellow, with piles of dog doo-doo all over the place. The door on the two-car garage had been coming off the hinges.
At 10:00am, Jackson parked his Dodge Dart inside the garage and entered the office. Marisa didn’t really feel like coming in, because she had been out drinking all night. He sat there taking a look at unclothed women on a poster, when the phone ring.
“Yo!” he snapped.
“Is this Jackson?” the voice said sharply.
“Maybe...maybe not,” Keith stated sharply.
“This is Colon Montoya. Bruh, I’ve been charged with Joel Luis’s Murder. Dog, I would like help,” he stated strongly.
“You got some money, dog?” Jackson snapped.
“Hell, yeh!” Mr. Montoya snapped.
“I got you,” he said strongly and hung up.
Jackson sat there for a short time smoking crack cocaine and drinking a huge bottle of Budweiser. Then he got sick and rushed into the bathroom to take a runny doo-doo.
Mr. Jackson arrived at the Reno jail at 12:00. Sgt. Newsham was there too.
“Dude, I found my killer, baby,” Newsham said strongly with a laugh.
“You have proof gee?” Keith snapped loudly.
“Hell, yeh,” Newsham snapped.
“Like what?” Jackson said firmly.
“Mr. Colon Montoya’s finger prints had been all over the murder weapon; in fact the knife had been his. Mover over, some of his prints had been inside the outdoor tent. He also had a motive. Mr. Montoya had been the lead dancer at the Cinco De Mayo for a long time, a position he loved dearly, right up until a young handsome man, Mr. Joel Luis, had taken it all away. Now Montoya’s nothing but a short order cook. So you’re backing a dead horse dude!” Newsham explained strongly.
“Very good my friend,” Jackson stated contentedly. “Maybe they’ll give you a medal frog-butt. But this stuff looks to padded. You feel me?”
“Where you going, dude?” Newsham snapped.
“To talk with my client, baby,” Jackson said calmly.
“Dog, only lies. The man will lie,” Newsham said firmly.
“Are you going to let me talk to this man?” Keith snapped loudly.
“Ok, dog!” Newsham said bluntly. “Go ahead. See if I care.”
The young officer came over with the keys and unlocked the cell door. Jackson sat inside with a sour Mr. Montoya.
“You got the money, baby?” Jackson said sharply.
“Yeh. Dog, the cops have it. Don’t worry. Man, I’ll get it,” Montoya snapped.
“Boy, you better have my money,” Jackson said bluntly and took a long swig from a can of Olde English. “Dude, I’ll whip your butt up in here. You hear what I’m saying?”
“For sure, dog,” Montoya said calmly. “I’ll get your money. I have a job as a cook.”
“So tell me your story gee!” Keith said strongly.
“I didn’t kill this homeboy, dog. I didn’t kill anybody,” Montoya said gruffly.
“How come your knife was in the dude’s back?” Mr. Jackson said firmly.
“Somebody stole my knife; I searched all over for it. Dude, I’m a cook. I need my knife for work,” Montoya explained frankly.
“With that knife lying around anybody could’ve picked up that thing,” Jackson said sharply.
“Yeh. We get hella busy around there for diner,” Montoya said strongly. “I can’t always keep a lookout. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Then the real killer knows where you work,” Jackson said firm
ly, taking another huge gulp from his beer.
Keith lit a joint and passed over to Montoya.
“He must,” Montoya snapped and took a long suck from the joint.
“Who would frame you, G?” Keith said strongly.
“I don’t know, homey,” Montoya said firmly.
“Think hard! There must be somebody baby,” Jackson said strongly as he guzzled the rest of the beer.
“I really don’t know,” Montoya said sharply and took another long hit from the brown stick.
“Have you ever been to Mr. Luis’s outdoor tent?” Keith said strongly.
“Hell, yeh. I went there to end our feud, but he wasn’t there,” Montoya said strongly. “That cat took my job, but it’s cool. It’s all good. I don’t have the stomach to kill him anyway. I’m no killer baby. I’m big-sexy. I’m a lover, not a fighter bruh.”
“Do you put on fragrance?” Keith asked as he took a long pull from the joint.
“Hell yeh, bruh. What Mexican doesn’t?” Montoya said firmly.
“Is it AQUA VELVA?” Keith snapped looking hella stoned.
“Homey, I’m not down with that cheap mess, man,” Montoya stated dramatically with a laugh.
“Who would hate that brother enough to kill him?” Keith stated firmly, finishing up his joint.
“There’s this girl, Felisa Lopez. She was likely to marry this dude, yet at the last minute he chickened-out, humiliating Felisa in front of her entire family. She had taken it real hard; she couldn’t go back to work; she couldn’t eat or sleep,” Montoya proceeded strongly, “and when she discovered that he was sleeping around with a blond blue-eyed model she was hella full of rage.”
“What’s the model’s name?” Keith said.
“I’m not sure, man,” montoya said bitterly.
“You want to tell me where I can find Miss Lopez?” Keith asked.
“She lives in those brown condos; you know