Free Pernicious by James Henderson, Larry Rains

from that direction: “Who’s at the door, Donny?”
              “A detective.” He sat up straight and pointed a remote at the television: Gilligan running from the Skipper. “She’s looking for you.”
              “Tell her to come back here in the kitchen.” The voice rose sharply: “And didn’t I tell you to get up and go cut the grass!”
              He got up, grumbled something and stomped out the door.
              Tasha could smell greens cooking.
              “Come back here,” said the voice.
              Tasha crossed a hallway, past a bathroom and into the kitchen area. There, three women of various ages sat around a dinette table.
              “Hello,” Tasha said. “I’m Detective Montgomery.”
              The oldest-looking of the three stood up. “Damn, girlfriend. I thought you were white on the phone. You sure sounded white, had me fooled.”
              “Mrs. Banks?” Tasha said.
              “I better be,” the woman said, grinning. “I’ve been cashing all her checks.”
              The other two women laughed, somewhat nervously, Tasha thought. “Mrs. Banks, is this a good time for you? I can come back another time.”
              “Naw, girl. This is a good time as any. Uh…” She paused, fingering an earlobe. “Uh, it wouldn’t bother you if we continue playing cards, would it?”
              “No, it wouldn’t. I’m a guest in your home.”
              The other two women cast furtive glances at Mrs. Banks. “Uh…we’re sorta playing for money. Just a friendly game of tonk. We talk a lot of shit. We don’t get mad, stab and shoot each other--not yet at least. Do you mind?”
              Tasha shook her head. “It wouldn’t bother me.”
              That said, a deck of cards suddenly appeared on the table, along with a half-gallon of Gibley’s Gin, a quart of orange juice and three money purses.
              Mrs. Banks, a cigarette dangling from her lips, started shuffling cards.
              Tasha observed her: hair, dark and thick, uncombed, spilling past her broad shoulders. She had a manly face, square chin, high cheekbones, broad nose and piercing brown eyes. When she talked, her mouth slanted, as if she were attempting to throw her voice.    
              “You want to play a hand or two?” she asked Tasha.
              “No thanks,” Tasha said. Still, Mrs. Banks dealt her five cards.
              “Wait a minute,” Mrs. Banks said. “You haven’t been properly introduced yet.” She touched the shoulder of the woman to her left. “This my neighbor, Joanne.”
              “Nice to meet you,” Joanne said.
              “And big mama here,” Mrs. Banks said, indicating the heaviest and youngest of the three, “is Kimberly Banks, my favorite sister-in-law.”
              “Nice to meet you,” Kimberly said. To Mrs. Banks: “When I hit you, you’ll never talk out the side of your mouth again. I’m not fat!”
              “Ain’t she fat, Detective?” Mrs. Banks asked.
                The three women sat there, waiting for her to respond.
              Yes, she’s fat--why you asking me? You don’t need a detective to figure that out.
              “Ain’t she?” Mrs. Banks insisted.
              “Well…” Tasha said, looking for an exit. “Are you also related to Tyrone Banks?”
              “She’s his baby sister,” Mrs. Banks answered.
              “I can speak for myself, Shirley. Yes, Tyrone is my brother.”
              “Now let’s play cards,” Mrs. Banks said. “Hey, wait a minute! There’s only fifteen dollars here. Somebody’s not up.” All three women stared at Tasha.
              “Guess it’s me,” Tasha said. “How much are you playing