Smoothen Silky

by Derek Slaton

  “I don’t understand!” She cried, and tore the front of her shirt open, letting her milk bags fly free. “Why won’t you submit to my tits?!”

  “Cuz as voluptuous as them titties are…” Silky grinned toothily and then gave her a solid backhand, the smack reverberating in the night air. “That shit don’t work on angels.”

  The Princess started to crawl away, hand to her cheek in shock. Silky turned to Rose, bound to an altar in nothing but her skivvies, and rushed over. He’d never seen his partner so helpless, and it lit a vengeful fire in him that he normally reserved for protecting his hos.

  “We have to get out of here,” she insisted as he used his ceremonial knife to cut the ropes. “I think she summoned a legendary demon.”

  “Silky hears you, babydoll,” he assured her as he helped her to her feet. “As soon as Silky takes care of that bitch we’s be on our way.” He tightened his grip on the knife, but Rose slid a hand around his tricep.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, “that cunt is about to get what she deserves.”

  “Okay, Silky trusts ya.” He nodded to Kerr. “Let’s get our honky and get the fuck outta here.” They hurried through the sand to the recruit’s crumpled form, and Rose reached down, snatching up his gun.

  Silky smacked the kid a few times, getting quite a few good licks in before the lump started to stir.

  “What… what happened?” Kerr moaned, and Silky hauled him to his feet by the back of his collar.

  “You got caught staring at them enchanted titties, so Silky had to knock you the fuck out,” the pimp told him.

  “Fair enough.” Kerr rubbed the back of his neck, and upon realizing Rose was standing next to him in lacy black lingerie, tried very hard to ignore it.

  “Get yo ass movin, honky,” Silky urged, giving him a shove. “We’s gotta move.” Rose cocked the gun for effect, and the three took off down the beach.

  The Princess was still in shock. That ridiculously dressed man had raised his hand to her. Hit her like a common whore. She cradled her cheek, on her knees in the sand, tears streaming down her face.

  An angel. Her miracle tits didn’t work on angels. What was the point of all of this, then? She was supposed to get whatever she wanted. And right then, she wanted to finish the ritual.

  She stood on shaky legs and turned to the altar, finding it empty. She stumbled over, tears still flowing, pulling more and more mascara with it. She grasped the ropes with white knuckles, and let out a frustrated cry, cursing the heavens for their plan-ruining angels.

  She turned her head as something moved in her periphery, and her eyelids seemed to blink lazily of their own accord at the sight of a very wet and very naked toned god of a man slowly gliding through the sand.

  She licked her lips slowly, and cursed how crazed she must look with her makeup all over the place. But realization started to set in, as she noticed that he was literally gliding through the air. It wasn’t just a graceful illusion.

  When his eyes fell on her, zoning in on the blood spatters from Silky’s golf club, her veins turned to ice.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “No, no, NO!” Her voice rose and she turned to run, but the man moved like the wind, practically appearing in front of her.

  “Oh yeah, baby,” the King of the Beach sneered down at her with lusty, murderous eyes, “you’re mine.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” Kerr blurted, sick of silence. Silky had been pacing the shag carpet in the safe house living room for a solid ten minutes without a word.

  The only noise was the clickety-clack of Rose’s laptop and the occasional clang of a pot or pan from the kitchen. He wasn’t sure which two out of three hos was in there, but the tantalizing smell of baked goodies was distracting.

  “Hello?” Kerr waved his hands over his head. “What the fuck do we do now? Just sit here and hope everything magically works out?”

  “Calm down, cracka,” Silky replied, flicking his hand dismissively. “We’s don’t even know what we’s up against yet. Rose, baby, you’s got the Agency yet?”

  “Just holding for the Boss,” the redhead replied, and set her laptop down on the coffee table, turning it to face the room.

  “Aight, aight,” Silky rubbed his hands together and sat down on the couch, leaning into frame. Kerr shuffled forward to do the same, and Rose backed up to allow Mixie access to the table. She was wearing an apron, and as she bent over to set down a tray of coffee and cookies, Kerr realized she was wearing only an apron.

  Silky cleared his throat and the recruit crumpled up a twenty dollar bill and tossed it without his eyes leaving the hos shapely ass as she walked away.

  “You’s gonna be puttin my hos through college, mozzarella.” The pimp flattened the bill and slipped it into his jacket with a grin.

  “Silky, what the hell is going on down there?” The screen flickered and a very concerned looking man appeared. “Our satellite surveillance is going crazy! In the last half hour the demon activity near the beach is up two thousand percent! What the fuck happened?”

  “Well boss, it’s like this.” The pimp sighed. “That skinny bitch summoned a legendary fuckin’ demon.”

  “Oh sweet mother of god.” The Boss’ eyes widened to what seemed like double their normal size. “Which one?”

  “She called it the King of the Beach,” Rose piped up.

  “Excuse me,” the Boss replied, blinking at the camera and leaning in as if trying to hear better, “what did you say, Rose?”

  She leaned into frame to look at him. “The King of the Beach.”

  “Silky, I can’t stress this enough,” the Boss said hurriedly. “You must destroy it before it gets out of town.”

  “Silky plans on it Boss-man, but why’s the urgency?” Silky raised an eyebrow. “What happens if this cat gets out o’ the bag?”

  “I was part of the team that had to bring this demon down back in the sixties.” The Boss ran a hand up the back of his head shakily, and Rose marveled at the motion. She’d never seen her usually stoic and professional superior act so nervous. “This fucker is bad news, let me tell you.”

  “What was he trying to do? Kill everyone?” Rose inquired. “Wipe a town off the map?”

  “Worse.” The Boss pursed his lips. “His sole purpose was to turn the world into a giant spring break.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.” Kerr shrugged.

  “Think about it this way.” His superior’s eyes hardened. “Would you want to live in a world where every guy acts like an annoying drunken frat boy?”

  “No, that doesn’t sound appealing,” Kerr said immediately, mouth turning downward into a disgusted frown. “But what about the women?”

  “The women all act like drunken whores.”

  “Okay, that does sound appealing.” Kerr grinned.

  “Well,” the Boss replied, brow furrowing in annoyance, “much like in your everyday life, these women aren’t going to pay any attention to you. The only thing on their mind is the King of the Beach. And that’s the problem with this particular demon. If he gets his way, everyone in the world will be on permanent spring break. And since all of the men want to be like him and the women won’t put out for anyone but him…”

  “Nobody’s fucking,” Kerr finished, eyes round as saucers. “It’d be the end of the human race.”

  “Don’t be worryin’ Boss-man, Silky ain’t gonna let that happen.” The pimp saluted the laptop.

  “I should hope not,” the Boss said gravely. “I’m sending in the only reinforcements I have in the area.”

  “Who we gettin’?” Silky asked.

  “TnT.”

  “Shit balls covered in gravy, Boss, that’s all we need,” the pimp said, slapping his knee.

  “Good to hear that, Silky.” the Boss nodded. “Rose, I’m sending the satellite images to you, as well as the coordinates of where we think the King of the Beach is.”

  “Got it, Boss,” th
e redhead confirmed.

  “One more thing.” He put up a hand. “I don’t know if TnT will be able to reach you before you begin your assault. To be on the safe side, I am sending him directly to the site.”

  “Got it.”

  “Silky, if you fail this mission, we may never be able to get this close to the King again.” The Boss clenched his jaw. “The whole world is riding on your shoulders.”

  “Silky’s got you covered, Boss,” the pimp assured him. “Don’t you be worryin’ yo pretty little head about it.”

  “That’s good to hear.” The Boss gave a firm nod of his head. “Good luck.” The screen went black, and Silky scooped up a fresh chocolate chip cookie from the plate Mixie had brought.

  “Aight, let’s get this shit started,” he said, and shoved the whole cookie in his mouth.

  Silky stood and headed over to the bay window at the front of the house, where a long leather case was propped up in the corner. He pulled it from it’s leaning position, and caressed the worn fabric like it was the skin of his lover.

  “What are you doing?” Kerr asked, his curiosity getting the best of him as he approached, a cookie in each hand.

  “We be in some dangerous times, honky,” Silky said gravely, “so we be needin’ all the help we can get.”

  “So, what, is there a bazooka in there?” The recruit shrugged.

  “Bazooka’s ain’t got shit on this,” the pimp patted the top of the bag lovingly. “Sucka, you know what this is?”

  “Uh, no,” Kerr mumbled through a mouthful of sugary dough, “I thought that’s why we were having this conversation.” His vision momentarily exploded as his superior backhanded him, sending crumbs flying everywhere.

  “Don’t you be gettin’ smart around the Club, snowball,” Silky snapped, and slowly lifted the tip of the case. He reached in and wrapped his hand around the battle worn handle of a rusty golf club. He pulled it out, inch by inch, reveling in the feel of comfort and power thrumming through his nerves as he clutched it.

  “What in gods name is this?” Kerr threw his hands up.

  “This here is Silky’s Great-great-great grandfather’s 9-iron.” The pimp smiled fondly at the club, holding it horizontally in gentle hands. “Silky is a fifth generation pimp. And this Club is his connection to the past.”

  “But what good is this to us?” Kerr asked. “It doesn’t look like it could chip you out of a sand trap, how is it going to help us fight a demon?”

  “Boy, let Silky fuckin’ tell you somethin’,” his superior snapped. “When you’s at the demon killin’ level that Silky’s at, you’s be gettin’ a legendary weapon. This here be Silky’s.”

  “Legendary weapon?” Kerr blinked. “What the-”

  “See, when ole Silky here was transformed into an angelic demon bustin’ machine, they’s offered Silky a legendary weapon to fuck them demons up with,” he explained. “Silky coulda had anything. Swords, guns, a holy fuckin’ flame thrower, whatever ole Silky wanted.”

  “And you chose this rusted piece of-”

  “You best be watchin’ that fuckin’ mouth, boy,” Silky warned. “This here 9-iron’ll beat the shit outta you and rip yo soul right outta that little white ass. It’s been blessed by the highers ups at the Agency. Hell, even the muthafuckin’ Pope put his blessin’ on this here Club.”

  “Alright, that’s good enough for me.” Kerr put his hands up in surrender. “If you think that thing is going to be able to take this demon out, then by all means, use it.”

  “Aight.” Silky nodded. “You’s got yo shit together, cracka?”

  “You know it,” the recruit produced his trusty handgun and cocked it.

  Silky grinned his golden grin. “Let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Fueled by sugar and caffeine, the trio used the Agency’s intel to track the King of the Beach to a small warehouse out in the middle of nowhere. After ditching the car a little ways away, they crept through the trees to peer down at their target.

  The forest was eerily quiet, not a bird nor cricket to be heard. A dim ethereal glow fell over the roof of the warehouse from the moon above. Rose inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of wood and grass. She much preferred this atmosphere to the beach. Being covered in sand wasn’t her forte. She absently rubbed at her chafed wrists. Neither was being almost sacrificed to a legendary demon.

  “Okay, how are we doing this?” Kerr hissed eagerly, ready to spring into action.

  “Damn, you’s an impatient little muthafucka, ain’t ya?” Silky raised an eyebrow as the recruit bounced on the balls of his feet.

  “I’m just ready to get this over with,” Kerr replied with a sly smile. “I got a nice shiny ho waiting for me to save the world.”

  The pimp barked a laugh. “Aight, Silky likes your enthusiasm. You’s head down there and show this pimp what you be made of, honky.”

  Kerr gulped, bouncing stopping immediately. “By myself?”

  “You scared, boy?”

  “Well, no…”

  “What you be waitin’ for then?” Silky urged, motioning to the building below. “Hop to it, cracka, Silky ain’t got all fuckin’ night.”

  Kerr took a deep breath and drew his gun, cocking it with a flourish.

  “Whoa, cracka, the fuck d’you think you’s doin’?” Silky exclaimed.

  “Um,” the recruit raised his eyebrows. “Showing you what I’m made of?”

  “You can’t be goin’ around usin’ that hand cannon, dumbass,” the pimp hissed.

  “Why not?” Kerr argued defensively. He didn’t have a fancy legendary weapon, he deserved something.

  “Cuz we’s covert, muthafucka.” Silky sighed in frustration. “You go shootin that thing off and we be up to our asses in frat dicks. You want that?”

  “Well… no.” Kerr lowered his gaze.

  “Goddamn right you don’t, white bread fuckin’ meat head.” The pimp rolled his eyes. “Now go on and show ole Silky all them fancy moves you be learnin’ at the academy.”

  The recruit holstered his gun, cracked his neck, and then cracked his knuckles. “Aight,” he rolled his shoulders in tandem with Rose rolling her eyes.

  “This should be good,” she muttered as Kerr slipped off into the trees. He reappeared a few moments later, behind the two frat boys guarding the door.

  He brought the side of his hand down to chop one throat, while simultaneously lashing out with his leg to kick the second one in the ribs. As they both collapsed, he brought his feet together around the first one’s ears and twisted, snapping his neck in a clean break. He flipped forward, leg sailing up above him to land on the second one’s neck, effectively crushing his windpipe.

  Kerr stood, and cracked his knuckles again, admiring his handiwork as the second frat boy gasped the last few breaths of his life.

  Rose and Silky strutted up casually, as if out for an evening stroll, and Kerr puffed out his chest. Silky slapped him in the back of the head.

  “Cracka, this ain’t any time to be posing,” the pimp said, “we’s got work to do.” Rose snorted as she opened the door, motioning for the guys to enter with a pretty flick of her wrist. Kerr pouted at her as he slunk inside, shoulders slumped, and she rolled her eyes for the second time that night.

  The halls were dead quiet as they moved through the bare concrete building. The vague smell of oil lingered in the air, and Kerr wondered what the warehouse had been used for.

  “We’s got the right place, or what?” Silky hissed, and Rose lowered her gun to show him her phone’s screen. A blue glowing dot showed their location inside of a bright red hot zone on a map.

  “This is the right place,” she assured him. “There’s something here, we just have to find it.” They slowly moved in triangular formation into a large open space, likely the warehouse proper. There were cardboard boxes all over the place, adorned with large H’s in an old font and logo that Kerr didn’t recognize. This place must have been out of business for a long time.

>   As he was studying one of the boxes, it wiggled a touch, and he jumped back, raising his weapon.

  “What the fuck was that?” He whispered, more to himself than anything, but all three were at attention as more rustling happened behind them.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Rose said quietly, swinging her gun around, and Silky threw his hands up.

  “Goddamn woman, why’s you gotta go sayin’ shit like that?” He turned to her, exasperated. “Don’t you be watchin’ no horror movies? Every time somebody says that shit they end up fucked. And not in the good way.”