The Secrets of Silk (35 page)

In the lot of the motel, her Caddy appeared to be in pristine condition despite the fact that the convertible top had been down, exposing her car to the elements for three days. Silk thanked her lucky stars that it hadn't rained during her confinement.

She opened the passenger door and Ed grabbed her by the shoulder. “Is it okay if I come inside and spend some time with you?”

“Not today, Ed,” she said, sniffling and pretending to cry. “Can't you see I'm in bad shape? I know you'd like a roll in the hay, but that's gonna have to wait until tomorrow when you come by to pick up the money I owe you.”

Disappointment crumpled the features of Ed's handsome face. “What time should I stop by?”

“Around-about eleven in the morning, I suppose.” Anxious to get rid of Ed, she said with finality as she hopped out of the car, “I'll see you in the morning.”

In the motel room, she took a big gulp of Scotch before shedding the clothing she'd been forced to wear for three days in a row. After a quick shower, she changed into the only other outfit she possessed: a pair of pink Wrangler jeans, a pink ruffle blouse, and white tennis shoes. On her way out of the room, she grabbed the bottle of Johnnie Walker, taking it along to keep her nerves steady while she tracked down Tate.

•  •  •

Cruising in her Caddy with a scowl on her face, Silk made stops at all of Tate's known hangouts. But she was repeatedly told that he hadn't been around in days. It appeared that Tate had fallen off the face of the earth.
I know one thing: every penny of my goddamn money better still be in my bank account.

The thought that Tate may have swindled her, made her nauseous. After leaving the pool hall, Silk swung by Franny's place to pick up Dallas before heading to the bank to find out the status of her account.
I'm gonna kill that bastard if he withdrew even one lousy dollar of my insurance money.

Franny was sitting outside her house on the stoop, combing her youngest daughter, Tootsie's hair with a jumbo-sized, wide-tooth comb. “Goodness, gracious, you're a sight for sore eyes. I've been praying for you night and day. The word around town is that you were underneath the jail and facing the electric chair.”

Silk winced.

“People love to spread rumors, honey chile. But I knew in my heart that you was gonna clear your good name and get out of the slammer,” Franny exclaimed, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Her hands never stopped moving as she worked on her daughter's hair.

Briefly distracted by the orchestration of Franny's dancing fingers
as she rhythmically combed, parted, and plaited hair, Silk watched with curiosity. Franny stuck her middle finger into a jar of Royal Crown hair pomade, rubbed the glob of greasy substance onto Tootsie's coarse hair, and then swiftly wove and intertwined sections of hair into a style that Silk considered frightful.

Silk would never let Dallas be caught dead with a bunch of pickaninny-plaits all over her head. She paid Carmalee good money to keep Dallas' hair hard-pressed and glossy. It was on the tip of Silk's tongue to tell Franny that she had Tootsie looking like she belonged on a slave plantation, but she kept the thought to herself.

“Where's Dallas?” Silk asked, feeling irritated by the summer heat, Tootsie's awful hairdo, and Franny's shit-eating grin.

A look of surprise came over Franny's face, and her poppy eyes bulged worse than ever. “You didn't hear what happened to Dallas?”

Silk's heart plummeted. “What about her? Where's my child?”

“Miss Arvetta and Mr. Bob came and picked her up the other day. Before coming here, they went over to Mr. Bowes and had him draw up some paperwork, naming them as her foster parents.”

“They can't steal Dallas from me!” It seemed as if bombs were detonating inside Silk's head. As her world exploded, she took a few steps forward and steadied herself by pressing her palm against the brick structure of Franny's house. “No, no, no,” Silk moaned, holding her head with both hands.

“You got a headache, Silk? I got a few Anacin tablets if you need one.”

“I don't need any fucking Anacin. I left Dallas in your care. How could you turn her over to that whoremonger, Arvetta?”

“Looky here, Silk. You need to simmer down. What was I supposed to say when they stuck those official documents that were
stamped with the county seal in my face? Now, if you want to get Dallas back, then you need to go see Mr. Bowes and file your own paperwork.”

“Fuck Mr. Bowes. That man's corrupt, and so are Mr. Bob Lewis and Arvetta. They're all snakes. Every one of them.”

“I don't consider Mr. Bob a snake. That man got out of his sick bed, pushing an oxygen tank, just so he could ensure that Dallas would have a good home. Quiet is as kept, Mr. Bob looked like death eating soda crackers. I doubt if he'll make it 'til Christmas. I wonder if Miss Arvetta plans on raising Dallas by herself or if she's gonna get Tate to help her? I hope she doesn't raise sweet, little Dallas around all that prostitution she's involved in.” Franny scratched her head in thought. “Anyway, Miss Arvetta said they're going to legally adopt the poor little orphaned child as soon as possible.”

“Dallas is not an orphan.” Silk jabbed a finger in her chest. “I'm her mother!”

“What I heard is that Sister Beverly got ahold of one of Dallas' blood relatives. An aunt who lives in Mississippi. The aunt told Sister Beverly that she'd fallen on hard times and wasn't able to take her niece in at this time. She said her husband is out of work and they can barely feed their own three kids. Sister Beverly put in a good word for Arvetta, and the aunt said she wouldn't fight the adoption.” Franny paused briefly and gave Silk a sidelong glance. “By the way, I was told the aunt took it real hard when she was informed that you had killed her brother and her nephews.”

“I didn't kill anybody,” Silk shouted. “How many times do I have to tell folks that Myron had a bad habit of playing with matches?”

Franny shrugged. “I'm only repeating what I heard.”

“I have to go,” Silk said abruptly, whirling around.

“Where are you running off to? You gonna drive to Ridley Park and give Miss Arvetta and Mr. Bob a piece of your mind? You better be careful because Miss Arvetta is known to carry a gun. I'd think twice before I stepped foot on her property.”

Silk kept walking without bothering to respond. She wanted so badly to ask Franny if she had seen or heard from Tate, but at this point, Silk couldn't take any more bad news.

While driving to the bank, she silently prayed that the man she loved and intended to marry hadn't wiped out her account.
Please, Tate. Don't make me have to kill you, too.

S
ilk almost collapsed when the bank manager informed her that there was only one dollar left in her account—the exact amount required to keep the account open. Instead of falling out on the floor, kicking and screaming, Silk did her best to maintain her composure. She pretended to be aware of the withdrawal, telling the manager that she had merely stopped by the bank to make sure Mr. Simmons, her trusted friend, hadn't mistakenly closed her account.

“I plan on making another large deposit,” she said, wishing her words were true. But the fact was, Silk was flat broke.

Having read about Silk's notoriety, the bank manager stood there for a few awkward moments, and then, unwilling to continue conversing with an accused murderer, he began backing away.

Somehow she managed to exit the bank without showing signs of deep distress. Outside the building, her footfalls were heavy, her feet felt like cement blocks. Unable to take another step, she slumped against the building next to the bank—gasping and sobbing. Completely defeated, Silk hung her head and allowed a stream of tears to run down her face.

That pimp-bastard stole all of my fucking money and left me in jail to rot.
Silk was certain that Tate and Arvetta had plotted against her together, and she'd fallen for their scheme hook, line, and sinker.
Gathering her wits about her, Silk straightened her shoulders and began plotting her revenge. Tate couldn't hide from her forever, and he was going to have to answer for what he'd done. She supposed that Arvetta was tired of waiting for Mr. Bob to die. She and Tate probably had big plans to use Silk's money to run off somewhere together.

But what was the purpose in snatching Dallas? Did Arvetta actually want a little girl of her own or had she taken Dallas as a way of twisting the knife in Silk's back?

It was difficult to fight for Dallas when Silk had to fight to save her own neck. The whole town had turned against her, labeling her a murderer without any evidence. There was no doubt in Silk's mind that Arvetta would utilize her husband's political power to make sure that Silk was convicted and sent to the electric chair.

Facing the sorrowful facts, Silk came to the realization that she had to leave Dallas behind and get out of Chester while the getting was good.

But before she left town, she was going to hunt down Tate and make him pay for what he'd done. The overwhelming feeling of love she'd once felt for him had turned into a seething hatred that consumed her. Tate Simmons deserved nothing less than a slow, painful death.

•  •  •

Silk parked her Cadillac in a deserted area behind Rainey Street, about a quarter-mile from the Flower Hill bar. In the dark of night, she took off on foot. Lurking in the shadows, Silk tiptoed up the steps that led to the whores' apartments over top of the bar. She tapped softly on the door of apartment number two, and when the door cracked open, Silk forced her way in. She put her switchblade
up to the neck of Peaches, the whore that she'd caught in bed with Tate.

“Where's Tate?” Silk hissed.

“I don't know.” Peaches trembled in terror.

“You better act like you got some sense.” Silk put Peaches in a chokehold and brought the knife downward, resting the tip of the blade against the prostitute's crotch. “Don't make me cut out your whoring pussy. You won't make it very far in your profession with your shit all sliced up.”

Peaches murmured prayers and shuddered in fear.

“If you want to keep your pussy in one piece, you better get on the phone and call Tate. Tell him that a trick is getting rough with you and refuses to pay for the goods. Say whatever it takes to get Tate over here as quick as possible.”

She brought the knife up to the prostitute's throat, and walked her over to a rotary phone that was set on a table near the couch.

Peaches made the call, and there was genuine terror in her voice when she whispered into the phone that a drunken John had beaten her and stolen the money from her purse. “He's in the bathroom, but I think he's planning to beat and rob all the other girls.” Peaches paused, listening to Tate and then nodded her head. “You want me to trick him into staying a little longer? Okay…I'll try.”

Silk could hear Tate yelling at Peaches on the other end of the phone.

“All right, Sweet Daddy. I won't
try,
I'll do it!”

Peaches hung up the phone and said in a somber tone, “He's on his way.”

Having no more use for Peaches, Silk took great pleasure in walking her into the bedroom at knifepoint. “This is for Arvetta,” Silk said quietly.

“What's for Arvetta?” Peaches asked.

Wearing a smile, Silk calmly slit the prostitute's throat. When she toppled to the floor, Silk used her foot to push her body out of sight, sliding it under the bed. She closed the door and waited for Tate in the front room.

It seemed to take an eternity for Take to arrive, but finally she heard his pounding footsteps climbing the metal stairs. Silk rose from her seat. Bracing herself, she pressed her back against the wall next to the door. She heard the jangle of keys, and took a deep breath as Tate turned the lock and opened the door.

“Peach—” was all he managed to get out before Silk lunged at him, driving her switchblade deeply into his gut. She twisted it several times, inciting him to cry out in pain.

“I cried worse than that when I discovered you'd wiped out my bank account,” Silk hissed, giving him a scathing look as she took in his fashionable attire. The black silk shirt with white trim around the collar and the crisp white slacks he wore was a painful revelation that Tate and Arvetta had used Silk's money to go on a shopping spree.

“I love you, baby, I never meant to hurt you,” Tate said in an anguished voice.

“Liar!” Silk twisted the knife again, causing Tate such excruciating pain, he let out a long groan as his legs gave out.

“It was Arvetta's idea, not mine,” he said, choking out the words.

Silk kneeled down next to him. “Where's my money, motherfucker?”

“Arvetta has it.”

“Yeah, well, since I can't get to Arvetta, I suppose you're gonna have to pay the price for both of y'all.” Silk pulled the knife from his gut and Tate promptly clutched the gaping wound, all the while pleading for Silk to call an ambulance.