The Secrets of Silk (32 page)

Silk stood at the locked screen door. “Hello, Tate.”

He gazed at her with anger sparkling in his light-brown eyes. “Are you gonna invite me in or what?”

“You know I can't do that.”

“Why not? Your husband won't be home for hours, and I can hear the kids playing in the backyard. That girl, Sharita won't say anything if I slip her a couple dollars.”

“I don't know.”

“All I wanna do is talk to you in private for a few minutes. Come on, Silk. Open the door, baby.”

Persuaded by the words that emerged from Tate's mouth, which sounded as sweet as honey, Silk unlocked the screen door. She pushed it open, and welcomed her lover inside.

Tate entered slowly, but in a sudden flurry of movements, he gripped Silk by the collar with one hand and smacked her across the face with the other. “You thought it was cute standing me up last night, didn't you?”

“No! I can explain.”

“Do you think I'm a joke?” He smacked her again; this time the blow landed on her ear, and Silk heard bells ringing.

“Tate, please!” She pulled away and fled toward the stairs. She made it to the middle of the staircase before he caught her by the hem of her dress and dragged her back down.

“You must love getting your ass beat,” he exclaimed as he roughed her up.

“Listen to me, Tate. It's not what you think.”

“Then, what is it?” he asked sneeringly, clutching her jaw and forcing her to look him in the eyes.

“I got a plan that'll put us on easy street. I got a way to get my hands on a lot of money. Way more money than Arvetta has.”

“How much are you talking?” Suddenly interested, Tate released his grip on Silk's jawline.

“Seventy-five thousand dollars,” Silk said with a wide grin.

Tate let out a whistle. “With that kind of scratch I could get out of Mr. Bob's shadow, and be my own man.”

“And you could cut Arvetta and those whores loose, too.”

“Yeah,” Tate muttered, running a hand down the side of his face. “How do you plan on getting that kind of dough? What's your angle?”

Silk smirked. “Buddy took out an accidental death insurance policy.”

Tate held up his hands. “Whoa. I know you're not thinking about going so far as to murder your husband.”

Silk nodded.

“Are you nuts? I'm a hustler, not a gun for hire.”

“You don't have to get involved. I got a plan all worked out in my head. I'm gonna set it up where Buddy becomes a victim of a tragic accident, and after I collect the money, I'm gonna sell the house and skip town.” She gazed at Tate. “I wanna move to Chicago and open up a nightclub. I'm hoping you'll join me.”

“What's in it for me?”

“As my husband, I'll share everything I own with you.”

“I'm not the marrying kind, baby. No woman is gonna tie me down.”

A superior smile spread across Silk's face. “Maybe you'll have a
change of heart after you have a look at all those greenbacks I'm gonna inherit from Buddy's demise.”

“What about his kids?”

“What about 'em?”

“Do you plan on dragging a bunch of kids to Chicago with us?”

“Hell, no. Most likely, I'll ship 'em to Buddy's family in Mississippi.”

Tate grew pensive. “Seventy-five thousand will go a long way.”

“It sure will. We could sell our cars, fly out to Chicago, and buy ourselves a Rolls-Royce when we get there.”

“A Rolls-Royce! Hot damn, you're talking my language, now. But you sound like a fool suggesting that I get inside an airplane. That ain't gonna happen. No way, no how. When I travel, I like to be close to the ground,” Tate said with a nervous chuckle.

Tate's mood had lightened, and Silk could tell that he had begun to take a shine to her idea. Deciding to butter him up a little more, she caressed his clean-shaven face. “I missed you like crazy, Tate.”

Tate put an arm around her waist. “How much did you miss me, baby?” His voice was a low, sensual growl.

“Why don't you come on upstairs with me and find out.”

Without hesitation, Tate followed Silk up the stairs. When they reached the top, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the threshold of her marital bedroom.

A
lthough it was a weeknight, Silk strayed from their normal routine and enticed Buddy into having sex. And she really whipped it on him. She fucked and sucked him dry, and now he was sleeping so hard, he seemed dead to the world. Unable to fall asleep with Buddy's loud snores rattling the windows, Silk sat on the edge of the bed, trying to decide if tonight should be the night to put her plan in motion.

I want to, but I'm not sure if it'll work.
I should have asked Franny to let me hold a couple of those sedatives she uses to calm herself down when her little brats get on her nerves.

Silk's friend Franny had mentioned that whenever she took a sedative, she could sleep through a hurricane or even an earthquake. Silk didn't want the medication for herself; she wanted to slip a couple pills into Buddy's whiskey to make sure he stayed asleep through the night, allowing her the freedom to chase behind Tate.

Silk glanced at Buddy and rolled her eyes at the way he was sleeping with his mouth wide open. She couldn't wait until the day came when she could lie in bed next to Tate and wake up in his arms in the morning light. The more Silk imagined sharing her life with Tate, the more irritated with Buddy she became.

Franny had been throwing hints trying to find out if Silk had a thing going on with Tate, but Silk refused to satisfy the nosey
woman's curiosity. But earlier today, when Silk had stopped by the bar, pretending she wanted a drink, while actually looking for Tate, Franny had made several remarks that Silk found upsetting.

“Honey chile, did you hear about Mr. Bob Lewis?” Franny had said while wearing a shit-eating grin.

“What about him?” Silk responded with her face contorted in aggravation.

“The ambulance took him away a couple of days ago—in the wee hours of the morning. He's over at Chester Hospital in grave condition. They say he might not make it.”

“What's wrong with him?”

“Some kind of respiratory infection. Pneumonia, I think. Whatever it is, it's serious enough that Sweet Daddy done moved in with Miss Arvetta over there in the big house.”

“What big house?”

“Didn't you know that Mr. Bob and Miss Arvetta have a beautiful, split-level home with a pool and everything out in the suburbs?” Franny continued without waiting for Silk's response, “Yeah, honey chile, they got a nice place over there in Ridley Park. You gotta drive along the Conchester Highway to get to where they live. Folks say that Sweet Daddy and Miss Arvetta ain't bothering to sneak around no more. They done brought their love affair out in the open now that Mr. Bob is almost dead. I heard that Miss Arvetta took Sweet Daddy to Philly and bought him all kinds of expensive menswear. She bought him a bunch of suits from Krass Brothers on South Street and then she took him somewhere on Market Street in downtown Philly, and paid big money for some tailor-made suits. You know how Sweet Daddy is—that man stays sharp, and Miss Arvetta doesn't mind spending her husband's money to keep him dressed to kill.”

A streak of pain shot through Silk's heart as she recalled how
Franny had insinuated that Arvetta had stolen her lover man. With Tate being busy, going on shopping sprees with Arvetta, there wasn't any wonder that Silk hadn't been able to catch up with him lately.

She looked over at Buddy and sucked her teeth in disgust. Buddy was suffocating her by keeping her holed up in the house. She needed to be out and about, tracking down Tate. She wondered if Tate was out in the suburbs in bed with Arvetta at that very moment. A sudden ache in the center of her chest caused Silk to wince. It was painful to think of him kissing and making sweet love to another woman.

Sedatives or not, tonight was the night she had to make her move and get her man away from that ol', wrinkly-faced Miss Sepia.

Fueled by envy, greed, and passion, Silk threw a bathrobe over her nightgown, and tucked a cigarette lighter in one pocket and her switchblade in the other. Fondling her knife, she approached Buddy and stood over his sleeping form. She took a few deep breaths and then said softly, “It was nice knowing you, but it's time to say goodbye.” She bent over and before second thoughts seeped into her mind, she quickly slit his throat. As Buddy gasped and made gurgling sounds, Silk left the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

Killing felt so good, she wanted to dance and sing. She had to force herself to step quietly down the hallway. Elated, she eased inside the bathroom.
Everybody knows that Myron loves to play with fire,
she thought to herself as she withdrew the cigarette lighter from the pocket of her robe. She glided up to the bathroom window, flicked the lighter, and set the curtains afire. Mesmerized, she watched the curtains go up in flames. A few moments later, she snapped out of her trance and quickly exited the bathroom.

Silk was about to go inside the boys' room and rouse them out
their sleep, but she made a snap decision. Those two big-headed brats weren't worth saving. They could burn up with their father for all Silk cared. Swiftly, she moved along the hallway to Dallas' room.

“Wake up, sweetiekins, we have to get out of here,” Silk said urgently. But Dallas didn't stir. “Get the hell up, Dallas. Your brother was playing with matches, again, and this time he set the damn house on fire.”

“What?” Dallas asked, sluggishly rubbing her eyes.

“We have to get out of here before the house burns down.”

“Where's Daddy? And what about Bruce and Myron?”

“Ain't no time for Twenty Questions. Let's go!” Silk yanked Dallas by the arm and nearly dragged the child toward the direction of the stairs. When flames burst from the bathroom and into the hall, Silk watched the raging fire in fascination. The flames writhed and danced like gleeful demons, eager to cause chaos and claim lives.

Silk tore her eyes away, and with Dallas in tow, she scrambled down the stairs.

By the time they made it to the back porch, Dallas was fully alert and hysterical. “What happened to my daddy and my brothers?”

“They're safe. They made it out ahead of us, and the three of 'em got in the car and rode to the fire department. When this is all over, I hope your daddy whips Myron's tail for playing with matches again.”

“Myron doesn't play with matches.”

“Yes, he does, but he's real sneaky about it. Your daddy had to whip his butt the other night when he found matches in his pocket. Now, look what that bad boy has done.”

Hugging herself, Dallas looked around uncertainly. Out of view, Buddy's car was parked in the driveway in the front of the
house, and Dallas had no way of knowing that her father and brothers were inside the burning house.

“I'm sure they'll be back real soon. I bet the boys are having fun riding in that fire engine,” Silk added, trying to lift Dallas' spirits.

Dallas cracked a slight smile while picturing her brothers riding in a fire truck, but a few moments later, tears began to pool in her eyes. “My ballet outfit for the recital is in my room. We have to get it, M'dear.” Dallas reached for the door handle.

“Are you nuts? You can't go back in the house. I'll get you a brand-new outfit. Now stand here like a good girl and wait for the firemen to get here.”

Silk stood with an arm around Dallas' shoulders. The house was eerily silent. There were no shouts and no sounds of either of the boys struggling to get out. Silk concluded that Myron and Bruce had succumbed to smoke inhalation while they slept. She decided to stand around for another ten minutes or so and allow the fire to burn out of control before she ran screaming into the night, pleading to use a neighbor's telephone.

Suddenly, the back door opened and there was Bruce, standing between the main door and the screen door. He looked traumatized with eyes that were large circles of fear.

Seeing Bruce was like looking at a phantom, and Silk nearly jumped out of her skin.
That boy is supposed to be dead, goddammit. Now what am I supposed to do?

Bruce pushed the door open and rushed toward Silk. Crying hysterically, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Myron is trapped upstairs. I think Daddy is too.”

“I didn't know you all were trapped up there. I thought you boys and your daddy drove to the firehouse,” Silk said for Dallas' benefit. She was stumped for a few moments, wondering about her next
move. When a good idea came to mind, she gave Dallas a stern look and said, “You stay out here on the porch and don't you move. I gotta take Bruce back inside to help me save your daddy and Myron.”

“I won't move,” Dallas murmured in a frightened voice.

“But…but…how can we save them? All the bedrooms upstairs are on fire,” Bruce whined.