“Excuse me?”
“I read the file when you were out. Ain’t nothing in there but a bunch of blank paper. Do I look like a two-dollar hoe with a twenty-dollar habit?”
Craps! I forgot the file! “Did you murder your husbands, Mrs. Davis?”
Perry cleared her throat and bit her bottom lip. “What do you think?”
“You want to know what I think? I think you fed Tyrone Banks enough Sildenafil to kill a horse. I think you pushed Lester Perkins to his death. I think you flipped a boat over on Willie Davis.”
“Prove it!”
“Oh, I will prove it--I guarantee you that!”
“You’re full of shit!”
“Am I? Well, explain to me,” raising her voice, “how is it that according to everyone else, Willie couldn’t swim a lick, terribly afraid of bath water. With you he couldn’t wait to get in a boat…at night!…by himself!”
Perry glared at her, saying nothing.
“You can dispense with the dirty looks, girlfriend! I know, the insurance companies know and you know that each time one of your husbands died, hours later you were at the bank cashing a fat life insurance check.”
“I’m not your fucking girlfriend!”
Bob entered the room.
Tasha ignored him. “Mrs. Davis, do you honestly think that we believe three men, each with a substantial insurance policy, could befall an accidental death, and one woman--you!--would be fortunate enough to collect handsomely on all three policies?”
Perry, breathing loud, did not respond.
Tasha stood up and leaned within inches of Perry’s face. “You collected four hundred and fifty thousand from Tyrone Banks’ death, and another four hundred thousand from Lester Perkins’ death. Wasn’t enough, was it, girlfriend? You channeled the three hundred thousand from Willie Davis’ death through your daughter, who probably doesn’t know Willie from SpongeBob Squarepants.”
Perry closed her eyes.
“Robert Stubbs, you remember him, don’t you? The old white man down in Dawson? The one you robbed of all his furniture. The petunias in his yard!”
Tasha paused, smiling, as if engaging an old friend. “How do you do it? Huh? Tell me. How? Color it up, flash it at them, like you did back at your house. Is that what lures men to their death, Mrs. Davis? Huh? A bright shade of dye?”
Suddenly, Perry jumped up, fists clenched. “You bitch!”
Tasha braced herself, expecting and hoping Perry would strike.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Bob said, inserting himself between the two. “No need for this.” He guided Perry back to her seat. To Tasha: “Why don’t you take a break?”
Tasha started out the door, then stopped and looked at Perry. “The women’s unit in Pine Bluff is in bad need of a horticulturist. I’ll call and tell them I got the perfect woman for the job. You!”
* * * * *
The second the door closed, Perry said, “You keep that bitch away from me, you hear!”
“Now hold on!”
“I mean it!” Her voice shrill. “I mean it, keep her away from me!”
“Mrs. Davis, just calm down. Just calm down.”
Perry stood again, fist still clenched, the veins in her neck engorged and pulsating. “Are you going to charge me with something?”
“Mrs. Davis, if you would just relax for a moment maybe I can help you sort this out. Take a deep breath and relax.”
“You heard her! She didn’t have to talk to me like I was a piece of trash. I came down here willingly to help you guys, and look how she treated me. Like shit!” Hyperventilating: “I didn’t deserve that, and you know I didn’t!”
“Ma’am, will you please sit down and relax. You’re working yourself in--”
“I want a damn lawyer!”
Bob grimaced.
“Now!”
Bob sighed. Those five words ended further discussion; he had no other choice but to let her go.
Tasha was standing by the coke machine, sipping on a coke, when he walked out the interrogation room with Perry on his heels, her eyes locked on the back of his head.
Catching Bob’s attention, Tasha mouthed: “What in the world is going on?”
Bob shook his head. When Perry disappeared through the doors that led downstairs to outside, he said, “She said the magic words.”
Tasha threw the coke in the trash. “Craps!” she shouted. “Craps! Craps! Shit!”
Chapter 10
Perry stormed out of Little Rock police headquarters and started walking on South Gaines Street. Her house was some ten miles away. She couldn’t have cared less; she was furious--no, she was pissed with an open wound.
A man driving a red BMW stopped and asked if she needed a ride. She answered with a finger.
“Fuck you!” the man said and sped off.
People were all the same, Perry thought. They just want to use me…get what they can get…and then throw me away like trash…She could deal with the users; she understood their motivation…But the jealous ones, the haters, they’re sick.
Like that bumpy-faced swine back there at the station masquerading as a detective. Nothing’s worse than a fat, ugly, bad breath, bumpy-faced bitch. Nothing!
She probably couldn’t get a man if her life depended on it. Hey, Detective Montgomery, here’s a surefire remedy for bad skin: A good fuck!
She turned south on State Capitol Street and walked past two parked taxicabs, one driver opening the passenger door for her.
Wicked wench put all those blank pages in that folder and told a flat-foot lie! ‘I have a witness, Mrs. Davis, who can put you at Fourche Creek.’ Yeah right, like you have an award-winning skin complexion.
Her feet hurt. The pumps were a poor choice for a long walk. Now she was in front of the state capitol; water sprinklers fanned the verdant lawn and sidewalk. Perry walked through the spray, her thoughts elsewhere…and who is she to throw Robert’s name in my face! Who told her? Someone from Dawson? Probably that lard-ass Sheriff Anus.
A Central Arkansas Transit bus stopped before her on the corner of State Capitol and Marshall and several people got on.
The bus driver held the door open. “Are you getting on, ma’am?”
Perry stared at him as if he were insane, reversed her direction and started walking north on State Capitol, her mind and body in two different decades…
She and her cousin Erica Robinson were walking to the Country Store. She had money; Erica, as usual, did not.
“I can get money anytime I need it,” Erica said, walking ahead.
“Is that right?” Perry replied, waving her five-dollar bill like a flag.
“Girl, that ain’t nothing. I can get twenty dollars just like that,” snapping her fingers.
“Get it then. Show me, I’ve been to Missouri.”
“Follow me.” Erica started walking in the opposite direction to the store. Perry followed her cousin through the woods to the back of Robert Stubbs’ house.
“What are we doing here?” Perry asked, as Erica walked up to the back door of the house that reminded Perry of the southern estates she’d read about in school.
Erica knocked on the door. “You’ll see.”
A heavyset, dark-skinned woman opened the door. “What you two girls doing here? Y’all git home ‘fore I call y’all mammies! Git!”
“You git!” Erica shot back. “Is that how you s’posed to answer the door, with your non-English-speaking ass? If you the maid go wipe something!”
The woman, horrified, hooked the screen door.
Erica kicked it and the latch popped. “Where’s Mr. Stubbs?” barging in.
Perry caught a glimpse of the woman running to another room.
“Come on in,” Erica invited.
Inside, in the kitchen area, Perry marveled at an array of stainless steel pots and pans hanging from what looked to her large fishhooks. The kitchen was huge, with gadgets and machines she had never seen before.
“Come on, girl,” Erica said. “Ain’t yo
u never seen what white folks’ kitchen look like?”
She hadn’t seen one quite like this, not even on television. Not only was the kitchen opulent but every room they ventured into, with Erica calling “Mr. Stubbs? Oh, Mr. Stubbs,” was lavishly decorated.
Abstract paintings, oriental rugs, exotic chandeliers, antique furniture in mint condition. Inside one room, which Perry figured was the dining room, there was a magnificent grand piano, its veneer so shiny it reflected her image.
She couldn’t play, but oh how she’d longed for a piano.
“What the hell is going on?” said a gruff, raspy voice.
Terrified, Perry grabbed her cousin’s hand. Erica jerked free. “Let me go!”
The voice came into view. He posed a grotesque figure: body bent like a cane in a tattered pair of blue jean overalls, urine streaked top to bottom; his nose long and crooked; eyes light-blue and liquid; face lined incongruously with wrinkles; hair dirt-silver, flecked with dandruff.
And he stank! Stale piss and a whiff of BenGay.
Grinning, he said, “What can I do for you two gals?”
“Came to show you something,” Erica said.
“Wait a minute.” Taking tiny baby steps, he crossed to the door and yelled, “Emma! I’m in the parlor.” He coughed harshly. “Don’t disturb me!” He turned toward Erica. “What you wanna show me?”
“How bad you wanna see it?” Erica said.
He squinted hard at Erica, at Perry, back to Erica. “Really bad. Really bad,” smiling, rotten teeth and black gums.
To Perry’s astonishment, her sixteen-year-old cousin raised her blue sun dress.
His eyes danced inside their watery sockets. He started to speak but was seized by a spasm, coughing, face turning beet red. Liver-spotted hand covering his mouth, he struggled to a chair and sat down.
“Come get it,” he said after his coughing subsided. Erica stepped to him, reached inside his pocket and retrieved a wad of money. “You didn’t get the change,” he said.
Again her hand disappeared inside the pocket…This time it lingered…Perry noticed two bulges and wondered which was Erica’s hand.
Later, as they were walking back through the woods, Perry asked, “How much you get?”
“Thirty-three dollars. Why?”
“You’re nasty! You’re flypaper nasty!”
“Wasn’t for nasty you wouldn’t be here.” Perry thought that over; it made sense. “Too bad you think it’s nasty ‘cause Mr. Stubbs asked me about you.”
“Me!” Perry said. “What did he say?”
Erica stopped and turned on her. “You said it was nasty!”
“I did--it is! I still wanna know what he said.”
“Hmmph!” Erica snorted. “I catch you over there I’ll snatch a chunka meat out you, you hear!”
“I’m not going back to his house. Not without you.”
“I bet! He told me to tell you you’re welcome at his house anytime.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means.”
“You’re nasty!”
The next day, Perry knocked softly on Robert Stubbs’ front door. She’d given the matter considerable thought: only a fool would pass up easy money.
Besides, if her bubble-lip, gap-toothed cousin, whose hair looked like broccoli gone bad, could obtain thirty-three dollars from the man, then she herself could gain hundreds, perhaps thousands. She was sure of that.
Though unsure of a major concern: how could she abstain from doing what Erica had done and still get paid? She was a virgin and intended to stay pristine.
“I’m not showing my panties to no-damn-body!” she said to herself. “I’m damn sure not digging into his pockets.”
Robert Stubbs opened the door, his face displaying pleasant surprise. “Come in, gal.”
Perry stood there, staring at him, debating if she should turn tail and run.
“Come on in, gal,” grabbing her hand, pulling her inside. “I ain’t gon’ bite.” He led her to the room where Erica had exposed herself. “You want something to drink? Tea? Soda water?”
Perry shook her head.
“What you wanna show me?” His grin reminded her of Burt, her stepfather, when he had entered her room, drunk, and had exposed himself.
“Where’s your maid?”
“Who, Emma? She’s off today. Don’t worry ’bout Emma. She works for me. Show me the honey!”
Hesitantly, Perry undid the top two buttons of her white blouse, showing only the divide.
“That’s it?” Robert Stubbs said. “That’s all you showing? Now how much you think you getting for that?”
“A hundred dollars,” Perry mumbled.
“A hundred dollars! For half a titty! Gal, you must think yo black ass is auriferous!”
“Yes,” though she wasn’t sure what auriferous meant.
Robert Stubbs stared hard at her, then erupted into a raspy, raucous laugh that culminated in another coughing spasm. “Okay…okay…come…get it.”
Perry started toward him, stopped. “I’m not reaching in your pocket.”
He reached inside his pocket and extended a fist. She could see the edges of a bill sticking out.
“Come and get it, gal.”
She moved to retrieve it…and he grabbed her wrist.
“Let me go!” she shouted. With a twist and a pull she broke free and started running…Before she reached the hallway, Robert Stubbs caught her, pulling her hair.
Perry pleaded, “Stop it! Please stop! Stop!” She tried to fight him, and was surprised by his strength and agility.
She fell on the hardwood floor, convinced she’d broken her right elbow, with him on top. She screamed, a high-pitched yodel that reverberated off the walls.
His forearm pinning her neck, he tugged at her jeans, tight Levis she’d worn to prevent any possibility of exposure.
She resisted the best she could, wildly kicking, scratching, wiggling, cursing; but still Robert Stubbs managed to pull her jeans down.
Suddenly he stopped, and for a moment she thought it was over…He coughed, cleared his throat…and resumed the attack.
Witch Hazel filled her nostrils, and long after the smell would sicken her. In a flash her white cotton panties were ripped away.
“Ah!” Robert Stubbs laughed…and buried his face inside her pubis.
Perry passed out.
When she revived, Robert Stubbs was sitting in a chair, grinning. He ran his tongue across his top lip. “Mmm mmm good!”
She jumped up, grabbed her jeans and shoes and ran. She didn’t stop until she was deep into the woods, where she sat on a stump and cried. Tearlessly.
Then she remembered: the money! All she’d gone through she didn’t have a dime to show for it. She had to go back.
He answered the door.
“I want my damn money!” she demanded.
Robert Stubbs reached inside his pocket and handed her a hundred-dollar bill. She snatched it and started down the steps.
“Hey,” he called after her. She didn’t stop. “There’s a lot more where that came from.” She kept going. “When you want it washed again, come see me.”
Perry stopped, turned on him. “You rotten, dirty old bastard! I’m going to the police, tell them what you did to me!”
Robert Stubbs laughed. “I’ll be here.”
When she said it, she meant it, with every fiber of her being, yet she didn’t tell anyone. A decision that confounded and agonized her for years.
Three days later she was back inside Robert Stubbs’ house, upstairs, in his four-poster bed, staring wistfully at the intricate lacing in the blue canopy as Robert Stubbs’ varicose-tattooed head undulated between her thighs.
Two weeks later she fired the maid, Emma, who had worked for the Stubbs family fifty years.
And approximately two months after the day Robert Stubbs, a terminally ill septuagenarian, had violated her on a hardwood floor, Perry ran away from home and moved into the three-s
tory antebellum.
A truck horn blared and startled Perry into the present. The truck driver honked his horn again as he whizzed by. She continued gimping along the shoulder of Wilbur Mills Highway, her right shoe missing the heel, deserted a few miles back.
“Timidity, passivity, and magnanimity will get you no where,” Robert Stubbs had told her a hundred times. “Take it! If a sumbitch gets in your way, knock him down and take his shit, too!”
Up ahead she saw the traffic lights that marked the end of Wilbur Mills Highway. A few blocks beyond that was her street, Chenal Valley Parkway.
She’d walked almost ten miles. Her clothes drenched with sweat, feet hurting with each step, the sun beaming on her neck like a magnifying glass, she increased her pace; she had a job to do, and the sooner she started, the better.
Her pink house was in sight now…She smiled, though not because nearing the end of a long walk. She had a plan. A damn good plan.
“If a sumbitch gets in your way, knock him down and take his shit, too!”
It was the best advice she’d ever heard.
Chapter 11
“No, Neal,” Tasha repeated the third time, “I do not have a boyfriend.”
“Why you get your hair fixed?”
Tasha sat in a wicker barstool while Neal lounged on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table.
“Neal, I decided a new look, okay. It’s no big deal. How long has Derrick been asleep?”
“Since we hit the road. You know how road trips knock him out.”
“No, I don’t. You never allow me to tag along.”
Neal picked up the remote control, aimed it at her and clicked it several times.
He wish it were that easy.
Neal pointed the remote at the television and clicked it on. “Who is this guy? Are you sleeping with him already?”
“I get my hair fixed means I’m sleeping with some guy?”
“Uh-huh, it sure does.”
“Please!” She’d intended to ask him if she were gaining weight, but he was making such a fuss about her new hairstyle, she decided not.
“When was the last time?” Neal asked.
“Last time what?”
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