Free Pernicious by James Henderson, Larry Rains Page A

for?”
              “Five dollars a game,” the women chorused. Kimberly added: “No extra rounds on hits, and if you go down and get caught, that’s double.”
              Tasha held up a wrinkled fifty-dollar bill. “Can anyone change this?”
              “Lay it out there,” Kimberly said. “Money will change itself.”
              Since when? Tasha thought, tossing the bill on the table.
              Mrs. Banks won the first three games, and Tasha said nothing as the woman debated how much she had in her fifty-dollar bill.
              As Kimberly dealt the fourth game, Mrs. Banks got up and retrieved a mason jar from the cabinet. She placed it in front of Tasha.
              “Say when,” she said, pouring gin.
              “Ma’am,” Tasha said, the glass filling more than half full. “When!”
              “Well,” Mrs. Banks said, resuming her seat, “what you want to know ’bout Ty?”
              Tasha glanced uneasily at Joanne and Kimberly.
              “Never mind them,” Mrs. Banks said. “Everybody already knows everything there is to know. No secrets here.”
              Tasha sipped her drink. Too strong. “Ma’am, forgive me if I’m being forward. Your husband’s death was in part attributed to the drug Sildenafil. Do you have any idea where he got this drug?”
              Mrs. Banks, mouth agape, stared at Tasha. Turning to Kimberly: “Didn’t I tell you she talk like a white woman?”
              Tasha sipped her drink again. “Ma’am, it’s important. If we can determine where your husband got this drug, we may be able to determine whether or not foul play was involved.”
              “Hell,” Mrs. Banks said. “I can tell you what killed him. A low-down, dirty skank named Perry Banks. That’s what killed him. Don’t waste your time looking for a drug. Perry Banks killed him. Years ago I was begging you people to arrest her, and y’all wouldn’t listen. Now, just when everybody is starting to accept what happened, here y’all come asking questions.”
              “Check yourself,” Kimberly said.
              “I apologize,” Mrs. Banks said. “I didn’t mean to sound like it’s your fault. I just get upset thinking ’bout it, you know. If it was some white woman’s husband, it would’ve been different. The trial would be over and the low-down skank would be in jail. Me? A nappy-headed black woman? Uh-uh! One of your people told me to get a life. I went down to the station--me and Kimberly--and told the man what I knew was true. He said, ‘Get a life.’ Didn’t he, Kimberly?”
              Kimberly nodded.
              “You know I was married to Ty twenty-nine years. Twenty-nine years. Bam! A koochie mama pops up and snatches him away from me. Of course, I couldn’t blame him. He’s a man, couldn’t help himself. What man could resist something like her. Young, gorgeous, sexy--everything I ain’t. She probably did stuff to him I wouldn’t dream of--”
              “Shirley, puh-leeeeasse!” Kimberly said. “She ain’t all that!”
              “Yes, she is,” Mrs. Banks said dryly. “Might as well admit it. She’s all that and a bag of ice. Ty wouldna left me and his kids for some crackhead he let crawl up in his truck. Uh-uh, no way! He was getting old and he wanted to feel young again, you know. How men are when they start getting old. And he knew I wasn’t doing anything I hadn’t been doing.” She stopped and stared at her cards.
              “Your play,” Joanne reminded her.
              She pulled from the deck, dissed the card. “She didn’t even go to the funeral. She had all that money and she buried poor Ty in a pine box with knotholes all over it. Wasn’t nothing I could do--she had all the rights. She’d asked me, I would’ve scrounged up