“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.
CHAPTER 38
Although 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 h
ere 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.
“We have to be brave, son. Come on, let’s go.”
Clutching Bruce by the hand, Silk pulled the terrified child through the kitchen and dining room. “Don’t be scared. Everything is gonna be all right,” Silk said in a croaking voice as smoke clogged her lungs. Through the thick smoke, she journeyed to the living room with a reluctant Bruce by her side. The boy was coughing and choking as she determinedly tugged him along.
In the living room she could hear Myron yelling for help at the top of the stairs. She couldn’t save Myron if she wanted to, not with vicious flames dancing wildly up and down the wooden staircase.
“What are we gonna do, M’dear?” Bruce asked with a petrified look on his face.
“One thing is for sure, we can’t fight our way through that fire. All we can do is pray that the firemen hurry up and get here. While we’re waiting, I want you to say a special prayer and ask the Lord to please spare your daddy and your brother,” Silk advised while stealthily sticking her hand inside the pocket of her robe. She glanced up at the top of the stairs. Myron was no longer standing upright, but his screams hadn’t died down. In fact, his plaintive wail had gone up several pitches higher. From what she could tell, the boy seemed to be curled up in a fiery ball on the floor, rolling around and screaming.
Beside her, Bruce had his head bowed and his eyes squeezed tight. His lips moved swiftly as he prayed on behalf of his father and brother. But his prayer was halted when Silk drew her knife from her pocket and suddenly lunged for Bruce and plunged the switchblade into his stomach.
Reflexively, Bruce doubled over and grabbed his stomach. In shock, he was oddly silent as Silk yanked and dragged him over to the burning staircase. With a forceful shove, she pushed the injured child into the inferno that had once served as the family’s staircase. Fascinated, she watched him burn and listened to his high-pitched screams that suddenly went silent when the staircase collapsed on top of him.
CHAPTER 39
The front page article in the Chester Times depicted Silk as a heroine who had managed to save Dallas Dixon from a house fire that claimed the lives of her father, Richard Dixon and her two brothers, Myron and Bruce Dixon. The fatal fire was the latest misfortune of a family that had been plagued by one tragedy after another, all in the course of one summer.
Red Cross workers assisted Silk and Dallas with temporary lodging at a motel outside of Chester. Tate never left Silk’s side, surprising her with his attentiveness and support. Being the sole beneficiary of Buddy’s and the boys’ insurance policies as well as being the new owner of the fire-damaged home, Silk was required to sign mountains of paperwork, and Tate dutifully accompanied her from one end of the city to the next as she filed insurance claims and made funeral arrangements.
Waking up in Tate’s arms in the morning was a dream come true for Silk. But it was a shame that Dallas’ presence deprived them of the privacy they deserved. All in good time, she told herself. As soon as she received the checks she was expecting, she, Tate, and Dallas would be moving to Chicago.
Dallas didn’t warm up to Tate at first, but after a while, he won her over when he exposed his playful side. He tirelessly gave Dallas piggyback rides, played hide-and-seek with her, and brought her shopping bags filled with coloring books, crayons, paper dolls, and an assortment of board games that he patiently played with her.
Silk was happy to see him and Dallas getting along. After all, Tate was going to be Dallas’ new daddy, and Silk didn’t want any friction between the two of them.
Mr. Bob Lewis had miraculously pulled through his bout with pneumonia, and although he continued to battle ill health, the stubborn old man insisted on continuing to run his businesses. Eager to be his own man, Tate assured Silk that running numbers for Mr. Bob and assisting Arvetta with the whores was a thing of the past. He was Silk’s man now—body and soul. He admitted to warming up to the idea of getting married once they settled down in Chicago.
Silk knew shit-talk when she heard it, and she was certain that Tate was speaking truth. Now that he no longer had to carry himself like a hard-core pimp, he was free to express his inner feelings. At night after Dallas fell asleep, he made love to Silk with such love and tenderness, Silk was moved to tears. She could feel his love with every stroke, and concluded that a man couldn’t fake the kind of feelings that Tate revealed.
Early one morning after Tate had left to go to his mother’s house to change his clothes, there was an unexpected knock at the door of Silk’s motel room. She peeked through the peephole and was stunned to see Deacon Whiteside accompanied by Sister Beverly.
Silk held up a finger to her lips, informing Dallas to be quiet. She knew what those two pests wanted. They’d heard
the news that she was having a private service for Buddy and the boys at Hunt’s Funeral Home, and they had come by the motel to try to talk her into having the triple funeral at the church. But Silk’s mind was made up. She planned to get her family’s charred bones in the ground as soon as possible and without any fuss.
“It’s about time,” Silk muttered after the deacon and Sister Beverly finally gave up and left.
Feeling even more in a rush to get the funeral business over and done with, Silk made phone calls to both insurance companies and was delighted to learn that her checks had been cut. “I’ll pick the checks up, personally,” she volunteered when she was told that the checks would be put in the mail.
Silk was giddy with the knowledge that she had struck it rich. Booze, good food, and lots of sex were perfect ways to celebrate her windfall with Tate. But there was one problem—Dallas was in the way. Silk regretted the bad blood between her and Mrs. Sudler. The woman was a good babysitter, always available with little advance notice.
• • •
After collecting the insurance checks, Silk drove straight to Fidelity Bank. She thought the bank manager’s eyes would pop out of his head when he saw the amount of money she planned to deposit into her account.
If they could see me now, she said to herself, thinking of all the pampered white women whose homes she often visited while dropping off Big Mama’s potions. Those bitches thought they were so much better than she was. It didn’t matter that her skin was damn near as pale as theirs, they still turned their noses up at her while urgently snatching the bottles of potion out of her hands.
Back then, Silk had her own unique way of dealing with those uppity bitches. She fucked all their husbands and made sure that she was receiving the special treatment as well as backdoor tongue licking from every one of them before sending them back to their snotty wives. Now Silk had just as much money as the cracker bitches who looked down on her.
As it turned out, she hadn’t needed Nathan Lee or any other white man to give her the luxury lifestyle she craved. She’d gotten it for herself and she couldn’t be prouder of her accomplishments.
The Secrets of Silk Page 23