Smoothen Silky

by Derek Slaton

  The boxes in front of Kerr shuffled as three frat boys bumped their way around them, lopsided grins on their faces.

  “See?” Silky raised his club.

  “It’s just a couple of them,” Kerr insisted, “we aren’t fucked.”

  As if on cue, a multitude of frat dicks in pukey pink polo shirts slide out from boxes on all sides, circling the trio in a foreboding arc.

  Silky glared at Kerr, mouth twisted into a condescending knot.

  “Okay, now we’re fucked,” the recruit acquiesced, cursing his quick mouth.

  The frat dicks start to close their circle, getting closer to the trio of demon fighters that stood back to back in a protective triangle.

  “I hope you’s be ready for this, cracka.” Silky raised his trusty rusty club like a samurai sword. “This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

  Kerr cocked his gun for effect, locking his elbow. “I’m ready, let’s do this.”

  Rose slipped her phone into the side pocket of her tight cargo pants, and released her favorite retractable police baton with her free hand. “Let’s get it on.” She sneered, and with catlike speed, raised her gun and popped a bullet right between the eyes of the nearest frat boy.

  His body hitting the ground like a wet rag was the catalyst that drove everyone to action, and the battlefield was a blur of pink as the group descended on their foes.

  Kerr shot twice, then flipped his gun to smash another in the face, at too close a range to be firing. His free hand curled into a fist and he punched a nearby nutsack, bringing his knee up to crunch a nose.

  Rose fired a belly shot, and then used the back of her doubled over victim to launch herself up onto a stack of boxes. Luckily the cardboard was filled with something firm, so she had easy footing on the stack, and started popping off headshots to cover Kerr and Silky.

  The pimp himself whirled around with his club in a graceful swoop, white jacket fluttering behind him like angel wings. He raised his foot to kick a frat dick square in the chest, but a body flew into him from behind. He barely stumbled before flipping the guy over his head and righting himself, but his glasses fell off in the process.

  As they shattered against the concrete, it was as if time slowed down for the wide eyed demon slayer.

  “My glasses,” he said, his voice a low husk. “You muthafuckas broke Silky’s glasses.” He raised his gaze from the bits of his broken soul on the floor and his chocolate eyes blazed with a rage like no other. “Aww hells no! You muthafuckas is gonna fuckin’ DIE!”

  It was as if he’d been possessed by a lion, and he swung the club so hard he took one of their heads clean off. With a kick and a thunk he completely crushed a skull, and when a pair of thick arms circled him, he slammed his head back, shattering cartilage.

  Kerr drop kicked a pink shirt, and on the way down, managed to sink a bullet into his opponent’s throat. The concrete floor was a crimson slip and slide at this point, with the amount of blood flying. He used this environment to his advantage, shoes slick as he spun, flinging frat boys into each other in a twisted game of bowling.

  Rose ran out of bullets, and hopped from box to box, liberating another police baton from her other leg. She tapped the two together as if she were about to play a wicked drum solo, and dropped down onto one frat boy’s shoulders. He grinned at the woman’s crotch right up against his face, and died grinning as she snapped his neck with her strong thighs.

  Silky got into a tug of war with his golf club, and screamed, letting go so that the frat dick would slip and fall into a pool of his dead buddies. The pimp immediately hauled another towards him, twisting and tearing an arm clean off with a squelch.

  Hand firmly planted around the wrist, he used the decapitated shoulder to beat his foe, who was too grossed out by the removed arm to fight back with the club. Silky liberated his legendary weapon from his enemy’s grip, and swung it in a perfect golfer’s arc, taking the frat boy’s jaw with it.

  The bottom hinge of his mouth sailed through the air, skin and blood flapping behind it, and hit the concrete a good distance away, directly in front of a set of shiny black shoes.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was eerily quiet, the only sounds that of the trio’s heavy breathing, and that made the sharp clap even more jarring. The three warriors reunited in the center of the bloodbath, battle worn and disheveled and covered in sweat and gore. They faced the source of the noise, and saw a tall and square jawed man with broad shoulders, clapping his hands in stark applause.

  “Very impressive,” he said, and his voice dripped with so much manliness that Rose felt her core clench. “I did not think my army of frat boys would be beaten so easily.” He leaned down and gently lifted the jawbone from the floor, holding it up to his eyes for inspection.

  “Yeah, well you best be gettin’ used to disappointment, muthafucka, cuz you’s next,” Silky promised, widening his stance. He lowered his chin to shoot their foe a menacing glare, flanked by his teammates in an intimidating triangle.

  “You have no idea what you are up against,” the King of the Beach tossed the jawbone aside like a piece of trash, and flicked his hand clean of bodily fluids. “I have spent the last thirty years trapped in my own personal void. The only thing that I have done in that time is grow stronger. Far stronger than anything this world has ever seen.”

  “I can take him,” Kerr murmured under his breath, so only Silky could hear him.

  “What you talkin’ about, cracka?” The pimp asked quietly, barely moving his lips so that the King wouldn’t know they were whispering as he continued his speech.

  “I still have one shot left,” the recruit replied.

  “Why the fuck you tellin’ me about it?” Silky hissed. “Shoot the fucka and let’s go home.”

  “Prepare to meet your end,” the King bellowed, and spread his arms dramatically.

  “You first,” Kerr snapped, and raised his gun, firing a quick shot right for the demon’s forehead.

  The King grinned in the face of certain death, and raised his hand. The bullet slowed to a stop right in front of his face, and he plucked it out of the air as if it were no more dangerous than a butterfly.

  “Cracka, Silky hopes you brought yo A game, cuz Silky thinks you’s just made him mad,” the Pimp warned, as the King turned the bullet over in his hand.

  He smirked at it, then tossed it up in the air, bringing his hand down on top of it like a volleyball spike. The bullet flew as if shot from a barrel, and his Rose in the shoulder.

  She flew backwards from the impact, hurled into a pile of boxes behind a crumpled heap of pink clad bodies.

  “Rose!” Kerr dove over the corpses to her side, dropping his gun to check her over.

  “I’ll live,” she grunted, and pressed her hand hard against the wound. “Go get that son of a bitch.” She raised her green eyes to his sternly, and he nodded, recognizing it as an order from his superior.

  “If that is the best you can do, then you are not worth my time,” the King declared, his hands glowing and then bursting into flame.

  Kerr rejoined Silky, eyes wide at the fiery display of demon magic. He did not like the look of that.

  “You can deal with my army.” The King slammed his fist down onto the concrete floor of the warehouse, palm open, and a shockwave of red heat fluttered across the space. The pimp and his recruit recoiled as the wall of warmth flew through them, but recovered in confusion, having expected to be attacked by fire.

  “Uh, guys,” Rose piped up from behind them, and the two slowly turned to see the corpses on the floor starting to move. Slick bodies, writhing against each other to rise again, bits of flesh peeled back from exposed bone. Grins wide with shattered teeth and lolling tongues. Concave heads, exposed brains, eyeballs drooping from their sockets and swinging about by sinewy nerves.

  Kerr gulped. “Now what?”

  A loud rrrrrip and a whirr broke through the air, followed by the steady thrummmm of a chainsaw. All of the living pairs of eyes turned t
owards an opening between two piles of boxes, leading from a hallway that had been previously uninhabited.

  “What the fuck is that?” Kerr’s heart pounded in his ears. Flaming demons, zombie frat boys, an agent down, and now somebody was coming at them with a chainsaw? How could this get any worse?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “That’s TnT, baby,” Silky’s golden grin made Kerr’s heart unclench the tiniest bit when he realized the chainsaw was on their side. “He’s about to fuck some shit up.”

  A large shadow cast along the floor, a hulking frame holding what looked to be the biggest chainsaw Kerr had ever seen. He cracked his knuckles, ready for the tides to turn for them. Even the zombies seemed to be holding their breath.

  The shadow grew smaller and smaller as it approached, and Kerr grew more and more confused.

  When a legitimate midget walked into the warehouse, holding a regular sized chainsaw that looked oversized in his tiny hands, all blood drained from the recruit’s face.

  This was TnT? He was bald, he was buff, and had he not been just four feet tall he might have been intimidating.

  The zombie frat boys snickered, and the midget narrowed his eyes at them. His steel gaze was so rough around the edges that Kerr blinked, and he could tell this guy had been through some shit. The gaze and the ease at which he held that chainsaw, as if he’d cut up a million motherfuckers in his life, told Kerr that maybe what’d he’d seen at first glance wasn’t accurate.

  “Oh, you think I’m funny, do you?” He barked with the air of a man ten times his size as he strolled towards the group of pink shirts, now torn and stained with crimson.

  In a swift motion he sliced right through the midsection of the zombie closest to him, spraying blood and intestine everywhere.

  “Who’s next?” The tiny agent yelled, spittle flying from his mouth, and the zombies immediately stopped looking amused. The horde descended on him like a tidal wave, and Kerr took a step forward, but Silky blocked his path with the golf club as severed limbs started flying up out of the pack.

  “Goddamn, that is one pissed off midget,” Kerr raised an eyebrow, and Silky slapped him hard on the back of the head.

  “They prefer ‘little people’, you culturally insensitive honky ass cracka,” he scolded, and the recruit blinked at him, exasperated. “Now come on,” the pimp ordered, “let’s get that muthafucka.”

  They turned to face the King, Kerr throwing one more quick glance back at Rose, who seemed to be enjoying the decapitation circus happening in front of her.

  A flaming volleyball hit Kerr straight in the chest, and he looked down at it in shock before his back hit the cement floor, tearing the wind from his lungs.

  Silky lunged forward, club raised, as the King spiked another fiery ball at him with expert form. King of the Beach, indeed.

  “You best be keepin’ yo goddamn balls away from Silky, muthafucka,” the pimp declared as he dodged the projectile. The King simply smiled, and bumped two underhand serves in succession, sending multiple attacks.

  Silky ducked and rolled and dove out of the way as he advanced, slowly gaining ground until he was within clubbing distance of the King. He swung in a fierce uppercut, and the slithery demon managed to dodge gracefully, moving like an animal.

  Fire vs steel, spike vs Club, they danced, and finally the King managed to grab hold of the 9-iron in his large fist. His skin started to sizzle and spit at the contact, but he merely grinned, free hand exploding into little mushroom clouds of orange and yellow.

  His flaming fist hit Silky like a battering ram, flinging the pimp clean across the warehouse into a wall of cardboard, effectively burying him in kindling. His grin curled up into a sinister smile as he charged up another volleyball, ready to rain napalm down on his enemy.

  “Hey King Pussy, you want some of me?” Kerr snapped, and the King flung the ball at him instead, knocking him back to the ground.

  “Too easy.” The King sneered.

  TnT cut through the last few frat boys, rendering even their zombie forms useless, and headed over to Rose. He grasped the front of his tight T-shirt and jerked it down, ripping the thin fabric clean off of his chest.

  “Been awhile, Rosie,” he smiled, and she returned the expression, gratefully accepting the fabric. She wrapped her shoulder as tight as she could and tied it off, satisfied with her makeshift bandage.

  She inclined her head towards the King, who was gearing up to attack Silky again. TnT shot her a wicked grin and crept up to Kerr, who was slowly sitting up. She got to her feet, shuffling low to the ground and taking cover behind some boxes. She held one of her sticks in her good hand, ready to leap in if she was needed.

  The King turned back to Silky with a malicious smile. The pimp stood up and brushed himself off, wrinkling his nose a bit at the singed suede.

  “You be owin’ Silky a new jacket, cracka,” he said, wrapping his hands around the golf club tightly. “Silky’s gonna enjoy whoopin’ yo ass.”

  “There is nothing you can do to me!” The King declared with a laugh, spreading his arms in incredulity. “I have waited three decades to unleash my fury onto this world, and I am surely not going to be brought down by the likes of you!”

  “We’s gonna be seein’ ‘bout that,” Silky said with a sly grin, dodging two more volleyballs.

  “You cannot dodge my balls forever.” The King raised his chin in defiance.

  “Ain’t gonna have to,” the pimp dusted off his shoulder like he’d already won, and the King snarled, firing off another. Silky lifted his club with lightning speed, winding up and smacking it like a baseball.

  This caught the King off guard, and he took the ball in the chest, stunning him to his knees.

  During this, Kerr had TnT by the feet, and was swinging him around in a tight circle, chainsaw growling away. TnT opened his mouth, a loud battle cry bellowing across the massive expanse. Kerr let go of the little soldier’s feet, and the midget with the chainsaw flew across the room like an arrow.

  The King of the Beach turned just in time to take the chainsaw right to the face, blood splattering out in a wide arc as the top of his head slid clean off.

  TnT landed gracefully on his feet as the legendary demon’s body fell, disengaging the saw. An eerie silence fell over the warehouse.

  “Muthafucka,” Silky said, and kicked the corpse a few times in the ribs. He turned to Kerr, and slapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “Good job, my cracka.”

  “Death by midget tossing,” the recruit confirmed with a nod, offering the pimp a hopeful smile.

  “That one definitely gets some style points,” Silky replied with a grin. “To show my gratitude, Silky’s gonna let you pick out yo own ho.”

  “How about you just stop calling me ‘cracker?’” He raised an eyebrow, and his boss chuckled at his pronunciation.

  “Whatever you’s likin’, honky.” Silky’s grin widened.

  “No, no, just call me Kerr,” the recruit insisted, waving his hands in front of him. “Just once! I won’t tell anyone, I promise! I just want to know you have at least a little respect for me, after all this.”

  “You did a fine job, Kerr,” Silky said seriously, brow furrowed, and his recruit smiled brightly. “Wipe that shit off yo face and let’s get the fuck outta here.” He shoved Kerr’s shoulder, who immediately went stonefaced.

  But as soon as the pimp turned to check on Rose, the recruit let the smile erupt across his features once again. He puffed out his chest and followed his boss--who appreciated him!--over to where TnT was helping Rose to her feet.

  “Damn, baby, you fine,” the midget smirked. “Am I tall enough to ride, or what?”

  She rolled her eyes and brushed his hand off of her arm, pulling out her cell phone and leading the way out of the warehouse at a brisk pace.

  “What’d I say?” TnT opened his free hand in question and Kerr chuckled.

  “Don’t bother barking up that tree, man, she’s ice cold,” he offered, and the midget looked up
at him with an incredulous expression.

  “Maybe for an apple pie motherfucker like you,” he shot back, and Kerr crossed his arms with a scowl as Silky trilled a laugh.

  They started to pick their way through the heaps of dead frat boy zombies, Silky’s pastel loafers somehow still clean. Kerr wondered if that was another Angel power, the ability to stay perfectly polished even during a chainsaw battle.

  “I wonder what our next job will be?” He thought out loud.

  “Silky don’t care.” The pimp shrugged. “As long as ole Silky gets to hurt some fuckas, that’s all that matters.”