The next morning, The Three-Headed Mob stood outside of what looked like a vast, sterile academic looking building. Bootsy was disguised in a brown overcoat and a large bushy moustache. Steletta wore a nurse’s outfit with a white bonnet, and Heely was dressed as a short-panted schoolboy with a straw hat, which seemed appropriate since he had already tucked his head into his copy of Oliver Twist.
“All-right, Heely? Are you all clear with the plan?” Steletta asked.
“I dunno, Steletta,” Helly said in a reluctant tone. “Yous all know dat I’m not very good at schools.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Heely.” Bootsy said with a bold tone. “This is a special school, made especially for the sluggishly stupefied.”
“Also, you’re not nearly going in as a student.” Steletta said slyly. “You’re going to be our inside idiot. You’ll keep an eye around the grounds until you see an opportunity to pull a grandiose scam. Then, you can send Bootsy and me a letter, and we’ll be by your side to yank the lunch money out of every last colorful nitwit. Do you understand?”
Heely didn’t reply, in the length of the explanation, he’d returned to his book. Steletta gave a huff and yanked the book out of his hands, tucking it into her purse. “Let’s just go.”
The two entered the grounds and made a right turn into the registration office. There they found a broad-shouldered man with slicked-back hair and a thin pencil moustache sitting at the registration desk.
“Ah, you must be my one o‘clock appointment. Welcome to The Home of Wayward Idiots. I’m Tom Saris Stonily, the ward-Uh, I mean, headmaster.”