The Secrets of Silk (34 page)

“Alrighty. I'll take good care of her.”

“Thanks, Franny.” Deep in thought, Silk walked slowly to her car.

“Oh, by the way,” Franny called out. “Sister Beverly and the deacon said you came to Chester pretending to be a teacher working for a Christian school, but they investigated and there's no such school. Is it true that you told folks you were a schoolteacher?”

“They're lying on me. And whatever Sharita said about me is a lie, too.”

I should have cut that hare-lipped bitch's throat when I had the chance.
That butt-ugly Sharita better not be trying to point the finger at me. I know damn well she doesn't have any useful information that could build a case against me. I didn't tell a soul—not even Tate—that I was going to start a fire. That bitch is lying on me, and I've got to figure out a way to shut her up. But if the police are on my trail, then I'm going to have to withdraw that money I put in the bank and hightail it out of
Chester first thing tomorrow. I'm not paying that mortician a goddamn
cent. Fuck a funeral; I ain't got time for all that! I gots to get out of Dodge before the lawmen try to catch up with me.

S
itting on the bed in her motel room, Silk took a swig out of a bottle of Johnnie Walker that she'd been nipping on for the past few days. She had planned on restocking her liquor supply, and also picking up some fried butterfly shrimp and coleslaw to celebrate with Tate. But after getting hit with the news that Franny had divulged, Silk was no longer in the mood to celebrate her windfall. It had taken all of her willpower not to get in her car and drive herself clear out of Chester after learning that Sharita was running her mouth to the police.

If it weren't for the fact that the insurance money was sitting in the bank, Silk and Dallas would be on the highway, speeding out of Chester.

The liquor she was drinking provided little comfort, and she wished Tate would soon arrive at the motel and take her mind off her troubles by making sweet love to her.

Finally, she heard a car engine and a loud radio.
Tate!
Silk rushed to the window and gazed out. It was Tate all right, but judging from his somber expression, he had something serious on his mind. Silk swung the door open before Tate raised his fist to knock.

“What's wrong, Tate?”

“We got troubles, baby. That girl you had cleaning for you went to the police station and gave them a story.”

“What did she tell the cops?”

Tate let out a long sigh. “Apparently, she was being nosey that day I stopped by your house to see you. She told them that she heard you telling a man that you were going to give your husband an accidental death so that you could collect his insurance money.”

“Did she name you as the man I supposedly told this to?”

“No. For some strange reason, she pretended that she'd never seen the man before. Sharita may have wanted to protect me. I think she has a little crush on me. She's always blushing and grinning whenever she sees me.”

Silk covered her face with both hands, and then looked up. “What are we gonna do, Tate?”

“I spoke to Mr. Bob Lewis, and he used his connections to slow things down. The magistrate of Chester, Mr. Bowes, was going to issue a warrant for your arrest, but Mr. Bob gave him a call and convinced him to hold off on the warrant.”

Silk wobbled when she heard the devastating news. Tate steadied her and assured her that he had everything under control.

“I can't go to jail, Tate. That's out of the question. I'll die if I was cooped up in a cell.”

“You won't be cooped up for long. Mr. Bob doesn't think the charges are gonna stick. Baby, listen…no jury in their right mind is to believe that dim-witted girl.”

Silk made a scornful sound. “I can't take the risk of standing before a jury. With all the money I put in the bank, we can get out of town right after the bank opens tomorrow.”

“I didn't know you got the insurance checks already.”

“Yeah, I picked them up today. I was gonna surprise you with the news.”

“Checks don't clear overnight; you know that, don't you?”

“No, I didn't know that.” Silk didn't have any banking experience. She'd never walked into a bank until today.

“It could take up to three or more business days for those checks to clear.”

“Shit. What am I gonna do?”

“I have an idea. We can go see Mr. Bowes, fill out some forms and have him notarize them.”

“Are you crazy? I don't want to walk into the office of the man who's planning to issue a warrant for my arrest.”

“I told you Mr. Bowes is holding off on that warrant until you get your affairs in order.”

“What kind of forms are you talking about?”

“Forms that will give me access to your bank account. Listen, baby, if you get picked up by the cops while you're waiting for that money to clear, there won't be a thing I can do to help you. But if you give me permission to make withdrawals from your account, I can act on your behalf in a swift manner. I'll use some of the money to get you out on bail and also to get you a good lawyer…” Tate paused and gazed at Silk intently. “Or you can run away tonight and let the state have all that money.” With those ominous words, Tate raised an eyebrow as he waited for Silk's response.

“Fuck that. I went through too much trouble to get that money, and I'll be damned if I'd be stupid enough to let the state bamboozle me out of what's mine,” Silk said, expressing her usual fiery temperament.

“That's my girl. Now you're talking.” Wearing a satisfied smile, Tate embraced Silk. “Don't worry, everything's gonna be all right, baby. We're going through a rough patch, but it won't last long. I'll be sticking by your side through thick and thin.”

Silk buried her head in Tate's chest. “Oh, Tate, I hope you know what you're talking about. I don't know what I'd do if I got jammed up with murder charges.”

“Put your faith in me, baby. You won't have to sit for more than a few hours before I bail you out. I've bailed quite a few of Arvetta's girls out of jail, and I know how the system works. Once you're out on bail, we'll skip town. But we can't leave until we have that cash money in our hands, Silk.”

Silk bit down on her lip nervously. “I'm scared, Tate.”

“There's nothing to be afraid of.” He caressed the side of Silk's face and softly kissed her lips. “Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked, taking the conversation in a different direction.

Silk shrugged.

“I know you have a lot on your mind, but I need you to hear me out. I want you to understand how strong my love is for you. I fell for you the first time I saw you at The Melody Lounge,” Tate confessed. “I've never chased after a girl the way I chased after you. You kept shooting me down and I kept coming back for more until I finally won your heart. As hard as it was to get you, do you think I'd ever let you get away from me again? I'm the man that risked his life coming to your house and making love to you in the same bed you shared with your husband. That's love, baby. Niggas have been shot and killed for less.

“Think about Chicago,” Tate continued. “Think about you, and me, and Dallas starting a new life together. We'll open our classy nightclub and get ourselves a new Rolls-Royce.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Hey, I have an idea! Why don't we name our nightclub, The Rolls-Royce?”

Silk smiled through the tears that were brimming in her eyes. She didn't want to go to jail—not even for a minute. But with Tate
using his street smarts and his connections to get her out of the jam she was in, she was certain she'd come out smelling like a rose.

•  •  •

Mr. Bowes was a white-haired, elderly gentleman who wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses. He spoke slowly and deliberately, and sounded like an educated man. But the stoop in his back, his sluggish movements, and the way his false teeth clattered up and down, made it difficult for Silk to take him seriously.

Using a hand that trembled from some sort of old folks' infirmity, it was with great effort that Mr. Bowes slid three documents across his desk for Silk to sign.

“This gives Mr. Tate Simmons access to your bank account,” Mr. Bowes informed in his crisp, scholarly tone.

Frowning, Silk glanced at Tate and whispered, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“We don't have any other options, baby. Go on and sign.” The irritation in Tate's voice prompted Silk to affix her signature on the lines marked with an
X
. After Silk signed the documents, slow-moving Mr. Bowes took forever to stamp the papers with his notary public seal.

Unsure if she'd made the right decision, Silk began rubbing her chest, trying to slow down her fast-beating heart. Tate placed a protective arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead.

“Thanks, Mr. Bowes,” Tate said, clutching the signed documents as he escorted Silk out of the magistrate's office.

No sooner had they stepped outside, when suddenly sirens blared, and two squad cars sped into the parking lot that was shared by Max's store, Fred's barbershop, The Flower Hill bar, and the Office of the Magistrate.

“Silk Dixon, we have a warrant for your arrest,” one of the officers said, immediately handcuffing her as he read Silk her rights.

“Don't worry, baby. I'm gonna have you out in a few hours,” Tate promised as Silk was put into the patrol car.

Residents of the projects swarmed the area to get a closer look. Patrons from the barbershop and the Flower Hill bar streamed out of the establishments, chattering excitedly as they witnessed Silk's arrest. Above the bar, Arvetta, joined by the prostitute named Peaches, leaned over the railing, looking down at Silk with eyes alit with triumph.

W
hen one day stretched into two, and then three, Silk began to panic as she sat behind bars. Had Tate run into problems when he tried to withdraw her money from the bank? Perhaps the bank manager had refused to accept the papers that Mr. Bowes had drawn up. Where she came from, a colored man who presided over the affairs of Negroes didn't have much clout with white bankers. Most likely those documents Mr. Bowes had notarized were worthless.

Silk charmed her jailer into allowing her to make numerous phone calls. Looking for Tate, she called the hoagie shop, the pool hall, and several bars that Tate was known to frequent. But no one had seen him in days.

She stood by the pay phone racking her brain, trying to figure out whom to call on for help. She thought of Buddy's coworker, Cephus.
No, Cephus is probably holding a grudge over the way I rejected
him.
Scratching her head, she thought some more, and then remembered Ed, her part-time lover and former driving instructor. Ed's family owned the driving school and a dry-cleaning business. Surely Ed would loan her the bail money she desperately needed.

Ed would drink my dirty bathwater and do anything in the world for me,
she reminded herself as she dialed his number. “Hello, Ed?” she said when he picked up. “I'm in a jam, sweetheart. You read
about the fire and the deaths of my family members in the paper, didn't you? Well, they got me locked up—they're trying to pin the blame on me, which is ridiculous because everybody knows that Buddy's son, Myron—may he rest in peace—wasn't nothing but a little fire bug.

“Anyway, Ed, I'm over here at the police station, and I need you to gather up seven hundred dollars to bail me out.”

Ed balked at the amount of money, but after Silk assured him that she would pay him back first thing in the morning, he agreed to come to her rescue.

Putting on an act to garner sympathy from Ed, Silk emerged from her cell appearing extremely shaken. Her flushed face and watery, red-rimmed eyes announced that she'd been through hell and back. Inside the driving school car, Silk pretended to sob into her hands while giving Ed directions to her motel.