Smoothen Silky vs The WereCougar

by Derek Slaton

  “Nice to meet you, Thorn,” Baptiste said, inclining his head in the hostess’ direction. “The Agency would like to thank you for your assistance in taking down Ezra.”

  “My pleasure,” she replied with a little salute.

  “So now that the pleasantries have been exchanged, let us get down to business.” The man on the screen faced front. “Rose, what do you have for me?”

  “Late last night as Kerr was pursuing leads, he was infected by what I believe to be a WereCougar,” she explained.

  “Are you certain?” Baptiste blinked.

  “Well, we just had an encounter with one,” Rose informed him. “Silky was able to lop the bitch’s head off and it didn’t do a whole lot to slow her down. She just picked it up and reattached it like she was putting on a hat. And over the past twenty-four hours, Kerr has been exhibiting symptoms.”

  “Such as?”

  “Gaudy earrings appearing,” she listed off, “six inch fingernails, and as you can see, crushed velvet leopard print attire appearing out of nowhere.” As she motioned to her companion, they all realized that a very large set of breasts were threatening to bust out of the fabric across his chest.

  “Goddamn, them’s a fine set o’ titties there,” Silky complimented, and a dejected Kerr shook his head in defeat.

  “I need a fucking drink.” He scrubbed his hands down his face with a groan, and stood up to amble away to the kitchen.

  Thorn leaned forward. “Baptiste, how often have you seen-” There was a clatter and an ‘oof’ as Kerr fell onto his face, legs tangling up in the carpet from his newfound stiletto heels. “That’s two!” Thorn growled, holding up two fingers at him as he sat up in a daze.

  “I didn’t even say anything!” he argued petulantly.

  “Don’t matter, you interrupted me,” she replied. “That’s two.” She turned back to the computer as Kerr struggled to get to his feet, knees shaking.

  After a few failed attempts, he gave up and crawled on his hands and knees to the kitchen, muttering obscenities as he went.

  “As I was saying,” Thorn continued, “how often have you seen a WereCougar infection?”

  “They are exceedingly rare,” Baptiste replied, hammering away at his keyboard and looking at his screen to the left. “In fact, there are only two known cases of a WereCougar encounter in the Agency database. The first one was in the early eighties and the last one was in the mid-nineties.”

  “So what do you know about them?” Rose inquired.

  “Well, they stalk their prey over a three day period on the first and fifteenth of every month,” he replied, brow furrowing as he read his screen.

  “So every two weeks, then?” she asked.

  “No, always beginning on the first and fifteenth,” Baptiste corrected with a shake of his head. “We initially thought it was every two weeks, but the nineties attack happened over a four month period that started in January. Our team was caught off guard when March first rolled around and one of them was infected on the first night of the hunt. As you’ve witnessed with Kerr, the transformation into a WereCougar was a gradual one.”

  “How much time we got before we’s needin’ to get him a carton of Virginia Slims?” Silky piped up.

  “By the end of the third night, he’ll be fully transformed and under her control,” Baptiste replied.

  “Great, so we’ll have two of them running around?” Rose sighed.

  “For a few hours at most,” he continued with a nod.

  “What the fuck do you mean, for a few hours at most?” Kerr staggered back into the living room, barefoot and holding a beer. “What happens after I turn?”

  “For lack of a better term,” Baptiste explained slowly, “you will progress rapidly from a cougar to a turkey vulture.”

  “What in god’s name is a turkey vulture?!” Kerr exclaimed.

  “Let ole Silky break it down for ya,” the pimp said with a wave of his hand. “See, cougars be vicious unrelenting huntin’ machines that be pickin’ a target and rippin’ it to shreds in pursuit of its own selfish goals. Which, for most cougars, means havin’ a much younger man be servicin’ them until the point of exhaustion. A cougar’s prime typically bein’ a short one, given that old bitches ain’t that durable. Once they be losin’ a step and breakin’ a hip attempin’ a double deluxe with a couple of cubbies, they reach turkey vulture status.”

  There was a long moment of silence, before Kerr threw his free hand up. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  “It means that this time tomorrow, you’s gonna be lucky to pick up a middle aged man wearin’ a fanny pack,” Silky replied.

  “I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” Baptiste put in. “If the curse isn’t broken by the end of the hunt tomorrow, then Kerr is going to rapidly turn into a turkey vulture, aging years in a matter of minutes. The aging process will continue at that pace until he is incapable of movement.”

  “So if we don’t kill this bitch tomorrow, then I’m going to die?” Kerr rubbed his forehead, eyes big as saucers.

  “You’ll only wish you were dead, unfortunately,” Baptiste corrected. “For six days each month you’ll morph into the WereTurkeyVulture, and have an overwhelming desire to gum someone to death. The rest of the time you’ll be in a near vegetative state due to your extreme age.”

  “Alright, so how do we find and kill this bitch?” Kerr demanded.

  “The first part is easy, as she’ll find you,” Baptiste informed him. “Since you were cursed by her, she’ll be drawn to you.” At this, Thorn leapt to her feet, fists clenched.

  “I’ll secure the door,” she said quickly.

  “That won’t be necessary, Thorn,” the attache put up a hand. “If she was as injured as Rose said, she’ll spend the rest of the evening hunting and feeding so that she can regain her strength. And she only hunts during the evening, so you’ll be safe until tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Rose spoke up, and took a deep breath. “So, how do we kill her?”

  Baptiste sighed. “I wish I had an answer for you, Rose.”

  Another silence fell over the room, until Kerr barked a hysterical laugh. “That’s a good one, Baptiste!” He pointed his beer at the laptop, sloshing a little bit of the liquid over his hand. “But seriously, how do we kill her?”

  “I’m sorry Kerr, but it’s a mystery,” the man on the screen replied, shaking his head solemnly. “The WereCougar from the eighties just vanished from our radar, and the one from the nineties is locked up in storage. All the typical things that kill a WereCreature, and demons in general, are ineffective. Silver, beheadings, demon blade. But in the spirit of full disclosure, our research team hasn’t done much work on the issue since one hasn’t been seen in over twenty-five years.”

  “Well, this might be a good goddamn time to get them on it, don’t you think?!” Kerr cried.

  “Yes Kerr, I will put a rush on it,” Baptiste assured him.

  “In the meantime, we’ll brainstorm here and come up with a plan of attack,” Rose said, and received a nod in return.

  “Sounds good,” the man on the screen agreed. “We’ll be in touch.” The screen went dark, and Thorn heaved a sigh.

  She squeezed Rose’s shoulder gently before turning for the kitchen. “I’ll put some coffee on.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rose took a sip of her hot comforting brew and leaned forward on the couch, brow furrowed.

  “Okay, so we have a day to figure out how to kill a creature that the Agency hasn’t been able to kill in thirty years, so let’s get to it,” she began. “We know what doesn’t work, so let’s start thinking outside the box. What do we know about cougars?”

  “Well,” Kerr stretched out, leaning casually on one arm and inspecting the massive fingernails on his other hand. “In my many, many hours of internet research I’ve noticed a common theme. There is one thing that always seems to satisfy them, so maybe that can be her weakness?”

  There was an anticipatory silence as everyone
waited for him to continue, but he simply took a sip of his coffee and smiled.

  “Well?” Thorn prompted. “What is it?”

  Kerr blinked at his companions, as if it were obvious. “A BBC.”

  “A what?” Rose raised an eyebrow.

  He cleared his throat, suddenly remembering that he was in mixed company, and a light pink blush crept up his cheeks. “A big black cock.”

  There was another beat of silence, and then all three turned their gazes on the pimp in the chair opposite them. He flashed his signature silken grin, grill and all, and leaned forward from his previously lounging position.

  “As y’alls well knows,” he began, “Silky is all about takin’ one for the team, ‘specially when it be involvin’ gettin’ a piece o’ trim. That bein’ said, Silky has learned a very valuable lesson during his time with the ladies, which is…” He put up his hands and lowered his head, as if about to preach a sermon. “You nevah, evah be stickin’ yo dick in crazy. And based on what we’s witnessed thus far, this bitch be crazier than a methed up daytime stripper. So while Silky be appreciatin’ the request to deep dick this whore to death, Silky is gonna be humbly declinin’.”

  Rose nodded in understanding, and turned to the hostess.

  “Thorn, you know anybody else who may be up to the task?” the redhead asked.

  “Nobody I want to try to explain this shit to,” Thorn declined, crossing her arms.

  “Maybe we could just use a giant black dildo?” Kerr asked.

  “While there be no substitute for the real thang, beatin’ this demonic harlot to death with a big black dildo might be an option,” Silky agreed.

  “Alright, I’ll add it to the list,” Rose said, tapping away at her phone. “Thorn, you have any idea where we can get a massive black dildo?”

  “Yeah, pretty sure Abe has one in his room,” came the reply, and it was met with wide eyed stares. “What?” She shrugged. “He never learned Silky’s life lesson about not sticking your dick in crazy. Hell, based on the noises that come out of that room I’m leaning towards he likes the challenge.”

  “Finally, a cracka Silky can be respectin’,” the pimp piped up, tipping his hat.

  “Alright,” Rose said, bringing the conversation back around, “death by dildo is on the list. What else can we possibly use against her?”

  “Don’t older white women love white wine?” Thorn tried.

  “Yeah.” The redhead nodded. “White zin or chardonnay.”

  “So, whatcha thinkin?” Silky mused. “Forcin’ her to be binge drinkin’?”

  “I was thinking we drown her in it,” Thorn finished with a shrug.

  “Silky can get behind that.”

  “So which one do we get?” Rose asked.

  “Well, if she is a true cougar then she’ll have a few racks of the stuff,” Kerr theorized.

  “And if we can’t find her house?” Thorn held out her palms. “Then what?”

  “I guess before we can answer that we need to figure out where we want to bait her into coming,” the animal print clad Agent replied, pursing his lips.

  “I have my show tomorrow night,” Thorn suggested. “If the guys in the pit think I’m being threatened they’ll throw down.”

  “Given how powerful she is, I think we could use all the help we can get,” Rose added.

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess the club y’all play at isn’t known for their wine selection?” Kerr asked.

  Thorn chuckled. “Does Boone’s Farm count?”

  “Maybe if we were trying to drown a sorority girl,” Rose replied.

  “I’ll make a wine run in the morning,” Kerr confirmed.

  “Given your current appearance, I’ll have Abe go get some stuff for you,” Thorn cut in. “He owes me some beer anyway.”

  “I appreciate it,” the half-cougar replied sincerely.

  “Oh, oh, I got one.” Rose leaned forward. “What if we stab her with designer heels? Maybe in the heart?”

  “Good one, girl!” Thorn commended. “Given Cindy Crawford here and her magically appearing cougar gear, we’ll just borrow a pair when we get to the club.”

  “Well what about-” Kerr’s voice suddenly became muffled around the lit cigarette that appeared between his lips. “Goddammit.” He took it out, looked at it with disgust, and then tossed it in his almost finished mug of coffee. “As I was saying, why don’t we-” Another cigarette cut him off, a tendril of smoke curling up directly into his eye. He hissed and threw his hand against his burning eyeball, trying not to inhale at the same time.

  “Maybe we be settin’ the hussy on fire with a Virginia Slim?” Silky asked.

  Rose nodded. “Couldn’t hurt to try.”

  “Oh!” Thorn snapped her fingers. “We could use a martini as an accelerant! Cougars like martinis, don’t they?”

  The pimp put up his hands as if to say whoa, nelly. “Silky does not condone the wastin’ of good alcohol.”

  “It’s a dive bar.” Thorn rolled her eyes. “The only good stuff that will ever be drunk in that place is brought in by a customer underneath their jacket.”

  “Silky withdraws his objection,” the pimp conceded.

  “I like it, but I was thinking I could gouge her eyes out with my nails,” Kerr said quickly as he snuffed out the second cigarette in his coffee.

  “Not sure eye gouging is going to be enough,” Rose countered.

  “Yeah but it’d make me feel better.” Kerr scoffed, happy to note that another cigarette didn’t immediately grow in his mouth.

  “Well if you be feelin’ it, live it up, homie,” Silky said.

  Rose looked around to her comrades. “Anybody got any other ideas?” There was a thick silence, and then she turned to her infected coworker. “Okay. Kerr, it’s your life on the line. If there’s anything we can do, just name it.”

  “Well, I could use some help learning to walk in heels,” he replied sheepishly.

  “Goddamit honky, how difficult is it?” Silky retorted. “Heel toe, heel toe!”

  “You ever tried doing it with double fucking d’s?” Kerr snapped.

  The pimp sighed in defeat. “Silky withdraws his taunt.”

  “I got you, Kerr,” Rose patted his crushed velvet shoulder.

  “Alright y’all, it’s late as hell,” Thorn said, and got to her feet. “We need to get some rest. Tomorrow is gonna be a beast of a day.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bong… bong… the bass twanged across the dingy one room club as the band did their sound check. Thorn nodded over some sheet music with the drummer as Abe leaned on one of the speakers, drinking a cheap beer and perusing a dirty magazine.

  “So, you be thinkin’ that any of that shit we came up with last night gonna work?” Silky asked as he leaned on the bar, chest puffing out at the fact that he was clearly the best dressed present.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Rose replied with a shrug. “But we’re going to try every single of one them. We owe Kerr that much.”

  “You know, Silky be givin’ that cracka a lot o’ shit, but damned if he don’t take it and keep on truckin’,” the pimp said with a respectful shake of his head. “White bread be deservin’ a better end than being a zombified turkey vulture.”

  “You know,” the redhead said, avoiding his gaze and taking a long sip of the swill the bartender had assured her was a Long Island Iced Tea. “This has got me thinking about the life… and I don’t know if I’m cut out for it anymore.”

  “Aw come on girl.” Silky waved her off. “Don’t be talkin’ like that.”

  “I’m serious,” she replied, eyes bright but firm as she raised her gaze to his. “Just in the last few months I’ve nearly been sacrificed to a legendary demon, nearly involuntarily impregnated by an ancient vampire, and now I’m more than likely going to watch someone I’ve fought beside be condemned to a fate worse than death. I mean, there has to be more to life than this, doesn’t there?”

  “You’s wanna shack up w
ith Thorn, don’t ya?” Silky raised a knowing eyebrow, and she lowered her gaze again.

  “That is playing a part in this,” she admitted. “But that’s not the only reason.”

  “Silky be understandin’ where you comin’ from,” he said, and reached out to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “And afta we be gettin’ through this situation, Silky’ll be lendin’ his ear and hear yo concerns. We’s got a deal?”

  Rose smiled. “Deal.”

  “Aight, so where is our cougarlicious mothafucka at?” Silky asked, rubbing his hands together.

  “He’ll be in shortly,” Rose informed him, back straightening as she fell back into work mode. “Last I saw he was getting his nerve up in the car.”

  The front door of the club swung open as if on cue, revealing a completely cougarified Kerr. He stood proudly on black stiletto heels, clad from ankles to shoulders in leopard printed crushed velvet. His massive tits looked like they were struggling to escape a push-up bra to punch him in the chin. His dirty blonde hair was a teased mop on top of his head, accentuating the thick makeup caked onto his face. To complete the look he had an oversized animal print purse slung over his elbow, and a lit cigarette glued to his bottom lip.

  “God help the poor sucka that be hittin’ on that tonight,” Silky muttered, shaking his head.

  Kerr strutted in with surprising grace, heels stomping as he crossed the dance floor to the bar. He hopped up on the bar stool like he owned the place, a few seats down from his coworkers.

  “That was impressive,” Rose said as she watched him.

  “Even ole’ Silky will be givin’ that cat some props,” the pimp declared. “If we’s ever have to be infiltratin’ a band of demon drag queens, that fierce bitch be takin’ point.”

  “You just don’t want to wear a dress,” Rose teased.

  Silky nodded. “You ain’t wrong, Rosie-girl.”

  Kerr smacked the bar to get the attention of the bartender, who finally turned around and lazily leaned towards him.

  “Yeah, what’ll it be?” the bartender asked, tone bored.

  “Martini, two olives,” Kerr replied.