by Derek Slaton
He used the momentum to spin and fling the club at his furthest attacker as the armless body crumpled to the floor in shock. Spinning with the ferocity of a lawnmower blade, the weapon slicked clean through the demon’s throat, embedding itself in the far wall. Blood waterfalled downwards, staining the pink polo with crimson, and the glow of his eyes flickered out as he expired.
The head toppled over onto the floor and rolled perfectly into the doorframe, the dead shocked expression causing panic to bubble up in Moses like a fountain.
“What are you gonna do now, pimp?” He yelled at the man who had just single handedly killed his crew. “You’re unarmed!”
Silky simply grinned, gold grill glinting in the tungsten lights, illuminating the word SILKY embedded in his mouth. The severed arm dropped into his waiting hand with a squelch.
“You was sayin’?” He taunted, swinging his new weapon back and forth like a baseball bat. Blood spattered everywhere, bits of torn flesh bobbing back and forth with the motion.
Moses flexed his claws and stalked forward with purpose, heart pounding and eyes on fire.
Silky peered at the hand beneath the wrist he’d been using as a handle, and inspected the tight fist of the punch that had never landed. He glanced at Moses, who was shaking as he slowly moved across the dance floor.
“Naw, you’s looks like a bitch,” he teased, and peeled open the fingers of the dead hand. “So you’s gonna get slapped like a bitch.”
Moses lunged forward, claws extended, but Silky easily unleashed a hellish volley of slaps from a comfortable distance. Like a farmhand whipping a rented mule, he rained down a savage beating until the demon was cowering on the floor.
“Please, no more!” Moses cried, and Silky actually paused, staring down at him with disgust.
“For shit’s sake, ya can’t even take your whoopin’ like a man?” He asked, ignoring Rose’s humph of disapproval from the doorway. The frat demon didn’t move from the floor, still covering himself as best he could with his arms, and the pimp sighed in exasperation.
He tossed the arm behind him like a crumpled up piece of trash and turned away from the shivering demon. He opened his hands to Rose in a shrug, giving her a friendly smile, and she rolled her eyes. She reached up and wrenched the 9-iron free from the wall, tossing it to him like a good little caddy.
Moses let out a battle cry, and Silky turned on his heel, bringing the club up instinctively. Steel hit steel as the demon tried to come down with a pipe, but the pimp easily sput his body down the frat pug’s arms to flank him.
Moses tried to turn, but he wasn’t fast enough for Silky, who landed a crushing blow right on top of his head. The mouthiest and final frat boy fell to the dance floor with a wet slap.
Silky stood tall, his club upright in front of him, in a regal pose. He didn’t move at all, and Rose raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.
“Give it a rest already,” she urged, motioning to him.
“Wait for it,” he replied, and she crossed her arms, wondering what in the blazes he was talking about.
“Wait for wh-”
“Shhhhh, wait for it,” he repeated, and she looked around the room, exasperated and confused.
The front door burst open and a short guy bustled in, dragging a comically large fan behind him.
“Sorry boss,” he said in a thick Spanish accent, kicking aside demon bits to position the fan just right. He brushed a stray hunk of skin from the nearby outlet to insert the plug, and the fan whirred to life.
The breeze caught Silky’s jacket and blew it gently. “Oh yeah, that’s what Silky’s talkin’ about.” He leaned his head back, closing his eyes momentarily, decadent skin taut over high cheekbones. His heart shaped chin sported an impeccably trimmed goatee, soft full lips curling into a catlike grin.
“Who the fuck is this?” Rose blurted, motioning to the random Spanish guy she’d never seen before. Silky ignored her, spreading his legs into a power stance, shiny white penny loafers almost blinding and impossibly clean despite the carnage around them. His strong massive hands clasped each other on the handle of the 9-iron, fingers adorned with shiny baubles that glinted in the soft lights.
He was a statue of epic pimp and circumstance in a sea of devastation, with a firm brow that took no shit and gave no fucks.
“Okay Enrique, that’s enough,” Silky finally broke his pose to wave at the fan bearer. “Muy bueno, Silky’s dismissing ya.” He reached into his coat and held out a twenty to the short man.
“Thank you Mr. Silky, thank you!” Enrique praised thickly, and then unplugged the fan, dragging it back out the door. Rose stared down at the smear of demon blood left behind and then raised her eyes back to the smug pimp before her.
“You hired a little Mexican dude to make you look cool?” She raised a hand to her forehead, but in the grand scheme of things, she didn’t know why she was surprised.
“Hey now, Silky don’t need nobody to make him look cool,” he chastised with a click of his tongue. “Silky’s just tryin’ ta help a brotha out. He’s too young to be pimpin, y’know?”
“So you pay him to follow you around with a fan.” Rose stated, voice almost tired. She knew asking him anything more would just raise more questions, and she didn’t have the energy for that.
“It’s a hero pose, baby, every great hero’s gotta have one.” Silky grinned at her, and she shook her head.
“Un-fucking-believable,” she muttered.
CHAPTER THREE
Rose strode over to where Moses was softly groaning on the floor. His head was mostly caved in, but demons had stamina, and he was still coherent enough to talk to her.
She toed him onto his back, flopping him easily, and then pressed her boot into his crotch and leaned. A choked sob clawed its way out of his throat and she glared down at him.
“What are you doing this far out of town?” She demanded. “I didn’t think you demon frat boys left the college area. Not enough stupid drunk sorority girls around this week?”
“Actually, there aren’t,” Moses groaned.
Rose snarled and backhanded him, sick of these chauvinist frat dicks thinking they were gods gift to women.
“Damn baby, nice technique,” Silky complimented her.
“Thanks.” She continued to beat Moses’ face in, letting out her frustrations with him and his pack of douchebags harassing her.
While she was at that, Silky headed around to the rest of the bodies, using his ceremonial blade to dispatch the demons for good. Soon the dance floor was sticky with melted demonic goo.
Rose plonked down onto Moses’ chest hard, straddling his shoulders so she could press his cheek down into the pungent muck that was all that was left of his friends.
“You see that?” She cooed. “That’s going to be you in just a minute.” He simply whimpered at her words, trying to close his eyes against the carnage. “Now, you’re going to tell me what you’re doing this far away from home,” she demanded.
“There weren’t enough stupid drunk sorority girls around this week!” Moses cried, an edge of hysterical sarcasm to his gravelly voice.
She hauled off and punched him with three quick jabs to the throat.
“Stop that!” He gasped for air, croaking the words through a crushed larynx.
“Tell me what I want to know,” she said, voice cold as ice, “and I’ll make it go quickly.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?!” He cried hoarsely. “The sorority girls are all at Palm Meadows Resort! It’s spring break, you dumb bitch!”
Rose scowled at him and reached into her boot for her own ceremonial knife. She paused, then decided to punch him a few more times. She stood before plunging the knife into his chest to avoid getting melty demon goo all over her dress.
What a messy fucking night.
“Goddamn demon frat boy fucks.” Rose muttered as she wiped off her ceremonial knife to return it to her boot. “Christ, I need a fucking shower.”
“Settl
e down there, sista girl,” Silky said with a wink, and waved for her to follow him over to the bar. “We’s got some work to do first. Where your shit at?”
She reached into her left boot on the outer thigh, opposite the knife holster, and produced her phone.
“Whoo-eee, what else you got in them boots?” Silky waggled his eyebrows as they took a seat at the bar. She busied herself with unlocking her phone, not wanting to admit that she had rigged up the thigh highs because she couldn’t find her matching purse for this outfit.
The smooth pimp set his trusty golf club down on the bar, and leaned forward, peering down to see the cowering middle aged bartender still in the fetal position on the floor.
“Yo, cracka, can we get some muthafuckin’ service up in here?” Silky asked, and the bartender had to take a second to marvel at how jovial and compliant the man’s tone was even when barking orders.
“What… what were those guys?” He stammered, peeling his fingers out of their white knuckled fists. He hadn’t seen much, but what he had seen had been complete insanity. And what he had heard…
“Those honkies were part of a demon cult bent on destroying the world, ya dig?” Silky waved his hand with a flourish, motioning to the entire world revolving around him.
“The frat boys?” The bartender asked incredulously, slowly moving up into a sitting position. His eyes were massive and confused as he gazed up at the couple above him. He should have known as soon as a woman that hot wandered in that it was going to mean epic trouble.
“You’s goddamn right the frat dicks! Shit,” Silky leaned on one arm, lowering that shoulder to shoot the man on the floor a conspiratorial look. “Frat boys are bad enough, but these needledicks will do more than fuck your daughter in the ass. They’s gonna take her soul, too.”
“But…” The bartender let out a ragged breath, mind swirling with the information. “I don’t have a daughter,” He stammered.
“It’s a metaphor, you ignorant cracka!” Silky rolled his eyes. “Now you gonna give us some fuckin’ service or does Silky gotta come back there and do this shit?”
The bartender snapped out of his haze of fear, remembering that he was first and foremost the owner of this fine establishment. And serving these people that kept him from becoming demon chow might be in his best interests. It would also be a good distraction from the cold panic threatening to blow his sanity open over having almost just died at the hands of demonic university students.
He straightened up, smoothed his hair back, and pulled on his customer service face like a mask. He got to his feet and desperately tried to ignore the carnage of demon goo spattered all over his bar. He wondered how much a cleaning service would charge to deal with this, because he wasn’t sure that his mop bucket would be able to handle this.
Not now, not now. Customer service.
“Apologies,” he said with a slight bow of his head, setting his hands flat on the counter to address his customers directly. “What… what can I get for you, sir?”
“Gin and juice muthafucka, what else you think Silky’s gonna drink?” The pimp flashed him a wide smile, and then wagged a warning finger at him. “And don’t you go skimpin’ on the gin, either!”
“Coming right up,” the bartender nodded, and glanced at Rose, who was pumping away on her phone’s touchscreen. “Scotch for the lady?” She nodded her head absently in approval, and he turned to make their drinks, forcing his hands to stay steady.
The drink he’d made prior to the pink demons busting back inside had been knocked to the other end of the bar, half of it sloshed all over the wood.
“What you got, girl?” Silky peered over Rose’s shoulder to see there was a video call waiting to go through.
“Just getting set up with the Agency.” She propped the phone up on its case so they were facing it, and nodded her thanks to the bartender as he slid a glass to her. “Should be up in just a moment.”
Silky took a sip of his drink, and as soon as the ambrosia hit his tongue, elation washed over him. He pointed at the bartender with an appreciative smile.
“Goddamn, that’s my boy! Whoo-ha!”
“Good evening Silky,” a professional voice emanated from the phone and the pimp turned his grin on the screen.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Boss-man,” Silky raised his glass in a toast to the white collared man in the frame.
“How did the sting operation go?” The Boss asked, straight down to business. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back as always, beard perfectly manscaped on his hard edged face.
“The operation was a success, Sir, we got their destination,” Rose replied, straightening up as she spoke to her higher up. “Palm Meadows Resort, it looks like its down by the coast.”
“Palm Meadows?” The Boss furrowed his brow, and glanced away from the camera, likely looking up the place as Rose had before calling. “Hmm… this isn’t good.”
“What’s goin’ on, Boss-man?” Silky prompted, taking another swig of his delectable drink.
“Are either of you familiar with The Princess?” The Boss asked, finally turning his gaze back to them.
“Ain’t that the tall skinny bitch demon?” The pimp countered, lips twisting up in thought.
“She’s not just a tall skinny bitch, Silky,” the Boss replied, and the bartender blinked at the phone. He couldn’t help but to eavesdrop, and hearing the words ‘skinny bitch’ coming out of this professional looking guy’s mouth was surreal. But what came next made him almost drop the glass he was polishing. “She also has an enchanted rack.”
“Enchanted rack?” Rose blurted in exasperation. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I couldn’t be more serious, Rose,” the Boss said in a no-nonsense tone. “In most cases, diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but in her case, it’s those magnificent tits.”
Rose shot back the rest of her scotch and shoved the empty glass back at the bartender. He scrabbled for it, not wanting to look like he was listening intently to their conversation. But why would they be having it so openly in front of him if it wasn’t okay for him to hear it?
He had a sudden vision of being on the smooshing end of Silky’s golf club, and swallowed hard. No, if he’d heard or seen too much they’d have killed him already, right? They wouldn’t be keeping him around just to make drinks. These people seemed reasonable. They only killed demons, right?
The bartender fought to keep from shaking scotch all over the counter as he gave himself his mental pep talk.
“Several years ago,” the Boss began, his voice a lilting cadence comparable to a news reporter, “she sold her soul in order to win a beauty pageant. And if the swimsuit contest had been last, she would have won. She had the judges eating out of the palm of her hand with those hypnotic hooters.” There was a slight shift to his shoulders, and Rose imagined that out of frame he was holding an imaginary pair of tits on his chest for effect. Such professionalism. “Unfortunately for her, the evening gown she had chosen for the last phase of the contest covered up just a little too much cleavage. They lost their power, and she ended up tripping on the dress in her frustration and falling off of the stage.
“Before she could try to hypnotize the judges and the crowd again, she’d already lost the contest. After that, she set off across the east coast, leaving a trail of very happy looking corpses.” The Boss finished, and looked down out of frame again. A text rolled down from the top of Rose’s screen and she brought it up, revealing the Boss’ picture message of a few crime scene photos.
They all revealed very dead men, pelvises crushed to smithereens as if they’d been literally fucked to death. Each had a glassy eyed lifeless stare, but their mouths were curled up into the creepiest of happy smiles. Rigor mortis had locked their arms in their final resting position; straight out to the front with the hands in a clear groping position.
“Poor crackas,” Silky said with a sigh, shaking his head as Rose flipped back to the video feed. “So what does this
mean to Silky?”
“According to our intel, she was last spotted heading towards the Palm Meadows Resort,” the Boss said. “I need both of you to get down there as quickly as possible and find out what’s going on.”
“Silky’s callin’ the hos right now,” the pimp pulled his phone out of his inner jacket pocket and waved it as he spoke. “We’s be down there by mornin’.”
“Rose, I’m sending you the info on a safe house that you’ll be staying at.” The Boss met her eyes as she lifted her fresh glass of scotch to her lips. “It’s in a semi-nice neighborhood… so do try to take care of it.”