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FROM THE ANNALS OF PEST CONTROL : SLY FOXX VS. THE BUNNY GIRLS
By C
Part I
Like other vulpiform bipeds, Sly Foxx was a handsome fellow, with
his bright red fur, his big pointed ears, and his toothy grin. His hands
and feet were black-furred, and looked just like pretty boots and mittens.
Though he was tall for his kind (almost five feet), he kept the solid build
normal to human-fox hybrids. Like other vulpiforms as well, he was a gifted
hunter. His teeth were sharp syringes, dripping with an incapacitating venom.
The claws that tipped his fingers could hold tight even the most desperately
struggling prey. His legs made him as fast as a human sprinter, but with
more staying power. Something else, however, set him apart from all the other
foxy hunters: a weapon below his waist that long ago had won the nickname "Lady
Killer." The Lady Killer was immune to all fairy poisons, and no fay
whom it penetrated ever got up again. It was the Lady Killer that took Sly
to the verge of greatness. He had used it, after all, to bring to justice
the Lavender Bikini Gang. Sixty of the most ruthless bikini girls alive had
done everything in their power to kill him; but now sixty lavender bikini
bottoms graced his trophy room.
That had been an exhausting assignment. Sly needed something easy
now. And "easy" seemed the perfect word for the McGillicuddy proposal.
McGillicuddy's Farm, the biggest agricultural concern in the state,
was under new management. Old Mrs. McGillicuddy, who'd always been a soft
touch, had finally gone to her reward. Her son, Hiram McGillicuddy III, was
a different customer altogether: ruthlessly bottom line.
Hiram spelled it out for Sly, when the two met in his posh New Gotham
office. He was an intense, bullet-headed little man with an aggressive handshake. "Damned
glad to meet you," he told the hunter as he pumped his paw. Then he
sat Sly down in a comfortable chair facing his mammoth, marble-topped desk.
Once he'd seated himself, he got right to business. "Our production
is maybe fifteen per cent of what it could be. Fifteen per cent! Can you
believe it?" Sly just sat up a little in his chair and nodded politely.
"Would you like to know why?"
"Of course."
"Because my dear, sainted mother didn't have the backbone to
do what needed doing! Well, Mr. Foxx, I do. I do, and that's why I called
you. I hear you're just about tops in your field."
"Well, I certainly give it my best effort," said Sly with
a happy smirk.
"I don't doubt it," said Hiram. "Now let me show you
what I'm dealing with here." He pushed a button on the desk, and an
image immediately appeared on the far wall. It was of an exceptionally pretty
brunette, dressed in a pink, long-sleeved blouse, black high heels, and nothing
else. She had her rear to the camera and was looking back over her shoulder
with an expression of studied insolence. Because the shot was from behind,
it was impossible to miss her fluffy white cottontail, jutting up smartly
above what would have been her panty-line, if she'd ever worn panties. The
whiskers on either side of her nose were plainly visible as well--as were
her ears, white like her tail and much longer than human ears should be.
"Ah, a bunny girl infestation," said Sly, and he smiled
a big, toothsome smile. "I'm definitely the fox for the job."
"Well," said Hiram, "there's a little more to the story
than that. What you're seeing is one of the saucy misses right after she
entered our Garden, about ten years ago."
Hiram pressed the same button, and a new picture appeared. It was
the same girl, as pert and pretty as before, but at least a hundred pounds
heavier. Her posture was the same, her tail as jaunty as ever; but she was
now vastly more--succulent.
"Oh dear," said Sly, feeling himself stiffen below the waist. "Oh
dear."
"Yup," said Hiram. "After years of helping themselves to our
Garden, and years of my mother letting them have everything their own way--that's
how they all look now! 'Oh no, Hiram!' she said. 'Laying traps would be cruel!
Letting in predators would be cruel!' Well, you know what, Mr. Foxx? I am cruel--at
least, more cruel than my brainless ditz of a mom! I want a full yield from
my property, and I want these fuzzy-tailed bitches to snuff it! Can you help
me?"
"Well, of course I can," said Sly. "But to be honest
with you, Sir, I'm a little puzzled. A bunny girl problem wouldn't seem to
require--how should I put it?--heavy hitting. And with these girls as plump
and out of shape as you say they are . . .. "
"It should be a breeze, shouldn't it?" said Hiram.
"Well, yes."
"And I'm insulting you by even asking you to take on this job,
right?"
"Well no, not that, but . . .."
"Mr. Foxx, it's like this: I've sent out the usual pest control
people--competent of course, but nothing more. And, believe it or not, they've
all failed. Something about these cotton-tailed cunts makes them harder to
catch than you might think. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you bring
down the Lavender Bikini Gang?"
"Yes, I did," said Sly, straightening up once again.
"Without assistance?"
"Yes."
"At the end of the day, was there a bitch in the bunch who still
had her bikini bottom?"
"I stripped them, one and all."
"Well, I need someone to do the same sort of number on these
. . . plundering, thieving, greedy, wicked . . . bunny girls!" (He brought
his fist down on the desk for punctuation.) "Are you game?"
"Well, yes," said Sly. "Though I'd like a briefing
on what I'm up against."
"No problem," said Hiram.
"And be assured, Mr. McGillicuddy, whatever difficulties they
caused the previous folks you sent after them--this'll be different. I aim
to catch them all."
"Fabulous," said Hiram. And he got up, strode out from behind his desk, and once again pumped Sly's paw.
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