The Secrets of Silk Read Online Free PDF Page A

good.”
    They rode along with Floyd jabbering a mile a minute, his conversation shifting back and forth from pest control to race relations. They were only five miles from Baton Rouge when Silk turned to Floyd with her face flustered in embarrassment. “I hate to trouble you, but I need a restroom something terrible. I tried, but I can’t hold it any longer. Would you mind pulling over so I can relieve myself in those bushes?” She pointed to the forest area on the right side of the darkened road.
    â€œI reckon it’ll be all right if I stop for a few minutes,” Floyd said, pumping the brakes.
    â€œDid your wife put any napkins in with your food?” Silk lowered her eyes demurely.
    â€œI forgot…you females can’t piss and shake your snake like men can.” He twisted around in his seat, reaching inside a large paper bag, scrounging around for napkins.
    While his back was turned, Silk reached into her bosom and pulled out her knife. When Floyd turned to hand her a napkin, she plunged the knife in his chest.
    â€œWhat did you do that for?” Floyd stared at Silk and then grimaced down at the knife that was sticking out of his chest. Dying painfully,Floyd beseeched her in a croaking voice, “Don’t let me die. Help me.” Not only did Silk ignore his plea, she gripped the protruding handle of the knife and twisted it cruelly. With Floyd now silent and still in death, she rifled through both pockets, relieving him of the thick wad of money he’d collected from the restaurants.
    Using Floyd’s pant leg, Silk wiped her knife clean and returned it to her bosom, and then calmly counted out four hundred and eighteen dollars. Woo wee. I hit the jackpot!
    â€œThanks for the ride,” she said to the dead man. She retrieved her suitcase, opened it up, adding Mr. Floyd’s money to the pile she’d stolen from Big Mama. Humming one of the songs she’d heard playing from the jukebox in The Low Moon tonight, she began the trek to Baton Rouge.

CHAPTER 4

    T he only bus going up north was headed for Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but it wouldn’t be pulling out of the station until six in the morning. Half-expecting Sheriff Thompson to burst inside with his hounds, Silk ambled over to the colored waiting room, steadily glancing over her shoulder. There wasn’t any point in trying to blend in with the straggling few late-night travelers. With her fair skin and straight hair, she stood out like a sore thumb. She considered hiding out in the restroom, but that was futile. The other colored travelers would only point the sheriff in that direction after he described her.
    Hoping her luck would hold out until sunrise, Silk sat on a bench and tried to relax herself. Three killings in one night had given her a sort of high unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It seemed like her whole body was tingling and buzzing with excitement.
    Clutching the handle of her suitcase that was filled with cash, Silk closed her eyes and began to reminisce about her childhood.
    â€œMiss Mattie ain’t your real mama,” Ozella Scott said to six-year-old Silk.
    â€œYes, she is,” Silk shot back.
    â€œI heard that some trampy white woman left you in Miss Mattie’s backyard.”
    â€œThat’s a lie.”
    â€œIt’s the truth,” Ozella insisted, giving Silk a hard shove that knocked her down and resulted in a scraped knee.
    When Silk went home, crying to big Mama, the old woman frowned in disapproval. “If you don’t stick up for yourself, those ornery churren jest gon’ keep on taunting you.”
    â€œBut Ozella is bigger than me; she’s a fifth-grader.”
    â€œThe bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Big Mama stated, whipping a switchblade out of her ample bosom. “You take this here knife and I want you to use it on that blubber-lipped gal the next time she starts deviling you. If you give her a deep slash