“I ain't no stool pigeon!” Larry squawked. “You ain't gonna make me sing!” The big guy was puffed up, ready to rumble.

“Unruffle yer feathers,” I muttered, bending slightly to peer at a crumb stuck to the back of Larry's heel. Bobbing back upright, I tilted my head and caught his eye. “I don't want you to sing. I just wanna know if you heard anything about the missing bread.”

“Mrs. McGregor's?”

I nodded.

Larry seemed wary, dark eyes darting here and there before responding. “Nah, I ain't heard nothing. But I know she kept her dough out in the open. If some went missing, seems like she was asking for it.”

Now that was language that got me puffed up. “Ain't no bird ever ‘asking’ for violence or to be taken advantage of, ya dodo.” Without being fully aware of it, I found that I'd advanced on the mook. He hopped back awkwardly.

“Whoa, whoa! Don't bite my head off. I hears ya.”

Shaking it off, I backed down a bit. “Mrs. McGregor is a good egg. That dough you think is up for grabs? She uses it to feed the orphans.”

Larry clucked his tongue, obviously surprised. “Coo-ee. I din't know that.” He rubbed his chin on his shoulder nervously. “I, uh…” From the way he was bobbing his head, I could tell he'd come to a decision. “You know that gang? Bunch of cuckoos - they’re real bullies. Always throwing their weight around.”

“Sure, sure.” I egged him on. “They’re the reason we have orphans.”

He nodded vigorously, gray head bouncing. “Yeah! That's right! Well, King… you know King-”

I knew King. A real high flyer, cock-of-the-walk type. Ruled the roost, where the roost was the bottom few rungs on the ladder of organized crime. He ran a gang of rough-and-tumbler types and always kept a fancy gal by his side. Scratching at my ear, I tuned back in to what Larry was saying.

“...she flew the coop…”

“Back up. Who? What?”

Aggravated, the big lug shot his head forward and gave me the stink-eye. “Are you even listening? I'm tryin’ to confess over here!”

“Sorry, sorry. I'm listening.”

“So King, he fell hard for this singer chick. Voice like a dove, he says. This bird, tho, she's way too fancy for him. Lives uptown, has a real protective handler, she's used to the upper crust. She don’t need King's bread. But he's obsessed. So he tries wooing her, like, and then when she turns him down, he gets angry and sends her a dead rat and a hard boiled egg.”

I gagged, appalled.

“Yeah, see? He was gone on this chick in a bad way. Anyways, that was it for her; she flew the coop and no one's seen her in a month. King still wants her, though, so he made a deal with them cuckoos. Hard boiled eggs ain't nothing to them.” He eyed me askance. “But you know all about that, huh?”

I advanced, jutting my head forward. “Watch your mouth before I trim your beak for you.”

He hopped back. “Sorry. So yesterday, somehow, King has enough bread to pay off Black Bill. In exchange, his gang is gonna shake the treetops, see what falls out.” He shakes his head. “All this fuss over a bit of tail.”