The Sting

The Sting

The early morning sun glinted off the diner door below. From his perch on the opposite roof, Grunge smiled with satisfaction and cocked his head at his two companions.

"The key to our success is how quickly we spring into action. We got to hit the mark as soon as he walks out and is blinded by the sunlight."

Swoop glanced down at the street. "What's the plan, Boss?"

"As soon as he comes out the door I'll get in his face and distract him while you snatch the goods from his hands. Fats..."

Grunge stared at Fats who had his face stuck in a feed bowl. "Fats! Are you listening?"

Fats straightened up and hopped over. "Yea Boss. What you want me to do?"

"Follow me in and unload on him. Got it?"

Fats nodded grimly. All three turned their heads when they heard the diner door open.

"It's the fat, bald one," Grunge squawked, "and he has the package. Ready? Tallyhoooe!"

Horace, Lord Mayor of Dublin, stepped out of the diner and shielded his eyes from the sun's glare. He screamed as a flurry of feathers filled his vision. His breakfast roll was snatched from his grip and he was hit repeatedly by soft, wet goo.

"That does it!" he yelled, shaking his fists at his winged assailants as they flew away. "Seagulls have now made the vermin list."

He wiped green-white dung from his face and stomped back into the diner.