The Secrets of Silk (3 page)

Silk figured that since it was technically her own money, Big Mama wouldn't have too much to complain about when she discovered her savings were gone. But where was the bulk of the money? With no time to search any further, Silk smoothed out the crumpled bills from the breadbox, and concluded that she'd have to make do with whatever amount she'd scrounged from the tin money vault.

She dressed hurriedly in a navy-and-white, polka dot swing dress with a sailor collar. It was a decent-looking garment with a full skirt and a tight bodice that showed off her trim waistline. It was pretty enough to travel in, but not so provocative that it would draw unwanted attention to Silk. She didn't feel the pain of her cut feet until she slipped her feet halfway into a pair of navy patent leather shoes that were tucked beneath the bed. No time to give in to discomfort, she pushed her right foot and then the left into the glossy, flat shoes.

Next, she doused her hands in the bowl of water and applied her wet hands to her hair, slicking it back and twisting it into a hastily styled bun. Unable to see her reflection in the dark, she imagined she looked as innocent as a schoolteacher.

Ready to go, she picked up the suitcase. But before she made it out of the cabin, the door burst open and the shimmering moonlight lit up the place. With her shotgun pointed at Silk, Big Mama's wide body filled the doorframe. The snow-white, coarse, little beads of hair that covered her dark-brown head seemed to glow ethereally in the darkness.

Silk gasped in alarm. “Big Mama!”

Big Mama sniffed at the air. “I can smell your blood on the floor and someone else's is on that dress you hid under the mattress. What have you done, chile?”

“I ain't done nothing,” Silk protested in a quavering voice.

Big Mama lowered the shotgun and came inside, slowly closing the door behind her. Wearing a man's shirt, a long, wide skirt, and a pair of black brogan boots, she lifted the skirt and sat down heavily on a wooden chair.

“Don't lie to me, Silk. You know Big Mama's got eyes in the back of her head. I had a vision about you,” Big Mama said in an
ominous tone and then nudged her head toward the bedroom area. “These blind eyes saw the vision right there in that basin of water that's now red with blood.” She shook her head. “Stealing my money and running up North ain't gonna solve your problems. From what I seen, it ain't likely that you'll ever find the easy living you're hoping for. If you could be faithful to one man, you could live like a queen. But you ain't nothing but a tramp. You'll spread your legs for any man who got hisself a shiny car and some folding money in his pocket. I tried to keep your nature down with my potions and the womanly attention I gave you. But you're jest like that white-trash woman who borned you—headed for disaster.”

Despite her blindness, Big Mama was always several steps ahead of Silk. No matter how hard she tried, Silk had never been able to outslick Big Mama, and it was frustrating.

“I'm sorry, Big Mama, but I ain't got time to go back and forth with you. I gots to get out of town before the sheriff and his men come looking for me.”

“Don't sass me, gal. Sit yo' yella tail down before I go outside and pull up some switches or better yet, I'll grab my leather strap to tan your ornery hide,” Big Mama said menacingly.

Intimidated, Silk immediately sat on a crude wooden chair that was identical to the one Big Mama sat upon. Although Silk was close to twenty years old, Big Mama didn't think twice about turning the young woman over her knee, pulling her panties down, and giving her a sound whipping when she felt Silk needed discipline.

“The sheriff ain't looking for you, not yet. He ain't coming for you until morning. Now, tell me, something…” Big Mama looked at Silk intently as if she could actually see her.

“What do you want to know, Big Mama?”

“Do I have to interrupt my hunting to go drag another dead
body out of the woods and bury it on my property to keep you out of the hands of the law?”

“No, ma'am,” Silk said respectfully. “I didn't leave him in the woods. He's in his car with his throat slit…in the parking lot behind The Low Moon. Old man Roland won't find him for a few more hours.”

“Who's
him
? Who'd you kill this time?” Big Mama inquired as she reached in her shirt pocket and pulled out a pinch of snuff, which she promptly tucked in between her bottom lip and gums.

“I killed Nathan Lee Willard, but I didn't mean to, Big Mama. It was an accident; I loved him.”

Big Mama snorted and then spat out excess, brown-colored saliva into a rusty bucket. “That's hogwash. You was born bad, and you don't have it in your heart to love nobody except yourself.”

“That's not true. I loved me some Nathan Lee, with all my heart.”

“Hush up and let me think.” Big Mama closed her eyes, screwed up her lips, and rocked forward and backward as she contemplated Silk's dilemma. From deep in her throat, she made a discordant humming sound. A few minutes later, she opened her eyes and pronounced, “This ain't gonna be easy to cover up like that other one. Nathan Lee Willard is a big-time politician with a pregnant wife. White folks will want you to hang for what you done did.”

“I know; that's why I'm trying to get out of Devil's Swamp and make it to the bus depot in Baton Rouge,” Silk said, her eyes darting around nervously as she stood up, prepared to hightail it out of the cabin.

“Not so fast. We got business to handle. How much of my cash did you steal?”

“I don't know, I didn't have time to count it. But don't worry, Big Mama, I'm going to pay you back every dollar…I promise.”

Big Mama got up and shook the tin breadbox, rattling around the small change that Silk had left behind.

Accurately estimating the amount of money Silk had taken, she said, “Your promises ain't worth spit. You owe me a hunnid and sixty-two dollars…plus interest.”

“I'll send you the money as soon as I get settled up North.”

“There you go, telling falsehoods. You don't intend to pay me back one red cent. After all these years of raising you up, you jest gonna steal my money and try to make fast tracks outta here.”

“I'm sorry, Big Mama. I really am.”

“You ain't sorry about nothing, except for the fact that you got caught. I reckon I need to collect on the interest while I still got you here,” Big Mama said, hitching up her wide skirt.

“Please, Big Mama; not tonight,” Silk whined.

“Hush up and get your yella tail in that bed and spread your legs for me. I don't see you closing your legs to none of the menfolk you like to entice, so don't try to close your legs to me.”

“I don't have time, Big Mama. I gotta get going before the sheriff catches up with me.”

Big Mama stroked her shotgun threateningly. “All that sass coming out yo' mouth is gon' be your ruination. Now, go get in that bed and gimme some poontang! Don't make me do Sheriff Thompson a favor by putting a bullet hole through your thieving hide.”

Resignedly, Silk felt along the walls as she moved in the dark, making her way to the big iron bed. She took off her traveling dress to keep from wrinkling it. And then she took off her panties, uncovering her privates for Big Mama's pleasure.

The heavy weight of Big Mama's plump body on top of her was as normal to Silk as getting her butt tanned, and as normal as breathing. For as long as she could remember, she'd been giving
Big Mama poontang whenever she wanted it—before she went to bed at night and oftentimes, Big Mama wanted more poontang first thing in the morning.

But tonight was the first time Silk felt inconvenienced and violated. There could be a lynch mob heading her way while Big Mama was writhing on top of her and dripping tobacco down Silk's neck.

It seemed like Big Mama was taking an extra-long time to get her thrills. Trying to speed her along, Silk reached under her manly shirt and squeezed her floppy, big tits. This action resulted in Big Mama groaning louder and drooling more dark saliva on Silk's neck.

“Come on, Big Mama, don't hold back; let it go,” Silk purred in a coaxing voice.

“Stop trying to rush me, gal!” Frustrated, Big Mama rolled off of Silk and lay on her back, huffing and puffing. “The half-moon and the smell of that dead man's blood on your hands is messing with my nature. I think I'ma need me some special treatment tonight.”

Silk was appalled. She didn't have time to give Big Mama the special treatment, but she dared not refuse the irritable woman who ruled with an iron fist. With her brogan boots on, Big Mama propped her legs up and spread them wide. Silk shimmed downward to the middle of the bed, but instead of giving Big Mama the special treatment she desired, Silk slipped out her switchblade and shoved the blade into the large flap of flesh that was Big Mama's lower abdomen.

“Here's your special treatment,” Silk said through clenched teeth. Enraged, she yanked the impaled knife upward and then downward, trying her best to gut Big Mama like a pig. But Big
Mama's excess flesh prevented Silk from getting the job done. Big Mama flailed around on the bed for a moment or two and then attempted to pull the knife out of her gut.

Frustrated, Silk wrenched the knife free and promptly plunged it into Big Mama's neck. With her eyes wide open in surprise, Big Mama lay choking on a mouthful of blood and tobacco. Using her index finger, she circled the air and made zigzag motions, putting a hex on Silk before taking her last breath.

U
sing the red-tinted water in the basin, Silk washed the blood off her hands and her knife, mixing Big Mama's blood in with Nathan Lee's. Although she couldn't bring herself to look at Big Mama's sprawled-out, dead body, she felt oddly exhilarated by the same mixture of fear and adrenaline she'd felt immediately after killing Nathan Lee.

She quickly threw on the polka dot dress and shoved her feet into the patent leather shoes. Without bothering to spruce up her hair, she picked up the suitcase that had a big dent in the front and hurried out of the shack. Guided by the light of the half-moon, she found her way to Highway 61. She stuck out her thumb when she saw approaching headlights.

A light-colored station wagon screeched to a halt. “Where you heading, Missy?” a white man with a toothy smile asked. The words “Jimbo's Exterminating” were painted on the side of the station wagon.

“I'm going to Baton Rouge, sir.”

“You're in luck; that's where I'm going, so hop on in.” Being helpful, the driver got out and relieved Silk of her suitcase, putting it on the floor of the back of the car that was crowded with exterminating equipment, large paper bags, boxes, and all manner of junk.

Silk rushed around to the passenger's side and climbed into the station wagon that stank of roach spray and cigarettes.

“You sho' is a pretty lil' gal,” he observed, acknowledging her good looks in a tone that sounded more fatherly than flirtatious.

“Thank you for the compliment, sir.”

“It's mighty peculiar for you to be hitching a ride in the middle of the night, but I shouldn't be surprised. I done seen many a strange thing while driving through Devil's Swamp at night. So, who are you running from this hour of the night? You got a no-good husband chasing after you?”

“I'm not running from anyone. I got me a teaching job up North and if I don't get there on time, I'm likely to lose the position,” Silk said, reinventing herself on the fly.

“Ain't that something—a hitchhiking, mulatto schoolteacher.” He laughed uproariously.

As the station wagon sped along the asphalt road, Silk, relieved to be putting distance between her and the murders she'd committed, smiled broadly.

The driver introduced himself as Floyd.

“Oh, I thought your name was Jimbo,” Silk said cheerily, looking out the window as they swiftly left Devil's Swamp behind. She became practically giddy with the knowledge that Sheriff Thompson would come up empty-handed when he came looking for her with a pack of hound dogs and a pair of handcuffs.

“No, I work for Jimbo. I cover hundreds of miles of territory, exterminating restaurants and diners all over Louisiana. You'd be shocked at the amount of cockroaches and vermin that food establishments have crawling all over the meals they serve to customers. I remind my wife of that fact every time she tries to get me to take her out to dinner.” Floyd gave another hearty burst of laughter.

“Cockroaches in the food…that's awful.”

Floyd turned his mouth down in disgust. “I done seen worse than cockroaches. Eateries are the worst when it comes to breaking all sorts of health codes. They don't bother to call for Jimbo's Exterminating until the Board of Health is about to shut them down. And that's when I make my side money.”

Silk's ears perked up. “What do you mean?”

“I tell the customers they're gonna need an extra-strong mixture to get rid of their infestation of bugs and vermin, and then I charge 'em an extra twenty bucks. That's my side money that goes right inside my pocket,” he boasted, holding the steering wheel with one hand and smacking his bulging left pocket with the other.