At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Sunday, March 03, 2013

WAITING FOR THE WEASELS

The cigarette nearly burned his fingers. He had dozed off, and the Camel had smoldered down almost to the filter. He tossed it in a puddle and lit another. Have to stay awake, have to stay awake!
The deep portico of the abandoned church was perfect; no one would see him in the shadows, and only the bums would resent his being there. He knew they wanted to sleep, but he had a job to do. They would just have to wait.
A horde of shadowy figures carrying cardboard and old rugs lurked under the nearby trees. They could smell a cop from a mile off. If it had just been another civilian, they would no doubt have rushed him, stifling his screams with their filthy pillows and smelly blankets, then ripped him apart and feasted. Before settling in for the night.

But officers of the peace are dangerous.
And he probably wasn't alone.

He wasn't alone.

Around the corner, quietly and patiently, his colleagues waited. If the sting went as planned they would all be eating donuts before dawn.

A shot rang out.

Dang, stuff was happening. The three men erupted out of the unmarked van simultaneously, and raced up the street swearing. Their service pistols were drawn. There were more shots, and they could hear someone moaning.
When they got to the church it was all over.

Stanko still had the second cigarette in his mouth.
A long ash drooped, about to fall.
He looked twitchy.

"We should've known they'd be packing."

Fifteen wounded weasels. And two small furry corpses.
The gang had planned to rendezvous at their hideout in the basement of the church, entering through the hole in the door. Yes, they were fully armed.
And when they found the cop waiting for them, instead of the cannibalistic street-urchins that normally guarded the place, they intended to kill him.

It is quite unfortunate that hunting rifles are rather cumbersome, and require considerably more manual dexterity than small wildlife is capable of.
As well as opposable thumbs.

It wasn't the massacre they intended.

With the elimination of this gang of feral miscreants -- the survivors were sent to jail for several years -- the threat to the city's pigeon population decreased. The police knew that tax-paying citizens needed protection. And the pigeons had complained to city hall about so many of their number being eaten; do something! Apprehend the carnivorous vermin!
Pigeons were an important voting-bloc.
Smelly, but influential.



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4 Comments:

  • At 9:18 AM, Anonymous e-kvetcher said…

  • At 9:37 AM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    Immortalizing a stoat. With Frankenbeer.
    Strangely fitting.

    Too early in the day to drink beer.
    But it's already evening where the brewdogs are.

    Hmmmm.

     
  • At 9:58 AM, Anonymous e-k said…

    it's a 55% ABV beer which is packaged inside stuffed animals e.g. squirrels etc. $750...

     
  • At 10:58 AM, Anonymous squiffily amphibious said…

    The strongest beer ever made by a human, penguin, German, or forest animals.

     

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