3. The Solicitor Calls

The good Reverend Pickle certainly needs a solicitor

THE REVEREND ROBBER

3. The Solicitor Calls

“I don’t know why I’m in here and what’s more I don’t like it!” declared the Reverend Barney Pickle to the solicitor that had been appointed to guide him through the intricacies of the legal system and advise him of his best defence. Mr Zane Stewart shook his head sadly and looked wearily at the sad vicar.

They were in the visiting hall and sitting at a table under the scrutiny of a prison officer who had already decided he didn;’t trust vicars if they were bank robbers on the sly.

The solicitor half-smiled ta him “You’re not meant to like it, Barney,” he told him, “I’ve seen dozens of men in your position and I can’t recall one of them telling me that he liked it. But there you are. That’s the way it is. It’s punishment.”

“But why? What have I done?” asked the unhappy prisoner, “I don’t think I did anything wrong, not like those two Scumbags,” Then, seeing the expression of disbelief on the other’s face he burst into tears. And not just self-centred little trickling tears but the sort you might find on a child’s face if the teacher slapped him on the back of his head, like some teachers used to do, and probably still do even though it’s illegal, and made him bawl loud and long.

“You tried to rob a bank and were caught red-handed,” explained Mr Stewart, a tone of unrestrained disbelief coupled with surprise that a clergyman should be so stupid as to assume that a solicitor might help negate his wrong doings and might even be taken in by floods of tears.. “And by red handed I mean just that, with your hands firmly on the money,” he added.

“I went into the bank to arrange a small overdraft of maybe ten pounds,” sobbed the Reverend Barney, “I owed something or other to Mrs Dresden, a widow women who does for me once a week and popped out for a bottle of milk, I don’t know how much that is exactly, you’ll have to ask her if it’s important, so I tried to withdraw ten pounds but there wasn’t that much in my account and thr woman behind the counter went to see the manager to find out if I could slightly overdraw, and the Scumbag brothers came in and tried to hold the bank up by disguising an illustrated bible as some sort of gin and wafting a big bat about. I know it was the Scumbags because when they were little they attended my Sunday School, I was only a curate back then, and got into heaps of trouble by stealing the wine when I wasn’t looking. You know, the communion wine which wasn’t really wine at all, but they didn’t know that much, and made out they got drunk…”

The solicitor became slightly (only slightly) alerted by so lengthy a sob-stained explanation.

“You saw those miscreants, what did you call them, the Scrumbag brothers? With a big bat?

Barney sniffled and shook his head. “I think it was a big rolling pin,” he snuffled. “But it looked like a big bat to me. And the book. I’d swear it was a sawn off shot gun like you see on the telly on Vera, only it was really a Bible in pictures made to look like a weapon, but it was dead convincing.”

Zane Stewart shook his head. “You expect me to believe that a clergyman with a detailed knowledge of the scriptures was taken in by a mere illustration of a weapon even if it was on the cover of a biblical work?” he asked, “I’m having to stretch my imagination to get my head round that!”

“Like I said, it was really very convincing,” sniffed the Reverend Barley Pickle, “ask anyone.”

“I may well, though I’m afraid I’ll look like a fool when I do,” muttered the solicitor sceptically, “however, I’m being paid by a very reluctant government to defend you, so defend you I shall!”

“I haven’t done anything as God is my witness, so I shouldn’t need to be defended!” groaned the Reverend Pickle, the odd tear still finding its way out of his eyes and drying on its way down his face.

“Well, its the law that says that you are defended. Now tell me, who else might I look up, who might have inside information of the botched robbery?” asked Mr Stewart, already preparing in his mind to leave the depressing inside of Brumpton Jail.

“There’s the lady who served me in the bank, or rather who didn’t serve me because she said she needed to see the manager or I’d be overdrawn, She’ll tell you why I was there. And my Bishop from the city. He’ll tell you I wouldn’t so much as steal an egg from a dying sparrow’s nest even if I was starving. And that constable who walked in on the event. He’ll tell you who really tried to rob the bank, and it wasn’t me,”

“But it was he who arrested you,” sighed Mr Stewart, “it was that same constable who swore he’d seen you in the act of pocketing the money,.so he won’t but be much help, don’t you think?”

The Reverend Barney Pickle blinked at him, his red-rimmed eyes a picture of utmost misery

“And I’ll pray,” he muttered, “I’ll pray herder than ever prayed before, and everything will turn out right.”

“If you say so,” sighed his solicitor.

“I do, Of course I do! And if you asked thw Scumbag brothers, well, if they’re in an honest mood they’ll confess it was them. They’re not all bad, you know.”

“Even though as young boys they stole your communion wine?” queried Mr Stewart, “I think I’d be best advised to steer clear of them because it would be in their own favour if the water gets to be more muddied than it already seems to be, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so,” replied Barney, and the weary Zane Stewart stood up, smiled, went to shake the hand of his client before, at a moment’s whim, withdrawing his hand and walking out.

“So he’ll get you off, then?” asked Sid Walnut, prison officer on duty and ready to escort the good Reverend back to his cell, “Old Amos will be really glad to see you,” he added.

© Peter Rogerson, 29.03.24