Eminently Respectable Capers

by Tony Brennan

  He nodded curtly to Father Spotels and Miss Wright, and marched out of the room. The constable lingered.

  “Seven o’clock all right, Amy?”

  “Fine, Bello, but it’ll have to be fish, it’s Friday.”

  “Suits me – always fish on Fridays for me too.”

  As the two people left the office, the buzzer went and the cardinal’s voice came clearly through the intercom:

  “Well, if you’re finished sleeping in there, Father Spotels, dreaming of a new career in Opera, may I remind you that we have not yet begun the day’s work! You most probably have forgotten, but the Armenian Patriarch is calling for a courtesy visit this morning, and staying to lunch …”

  “No, I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been busy. The police have been here, and I’ve just saved you from being arrested.”

  “What a pity! It would have been exciting, and I wouldn’t have had to eat a vegetarian lunch …”

  “A vegetarian lunch?”

  “Ah! I see you’ve forgotten haven’t you? This Patriarch is a vegetarian, so it’s all salads with nuts and things – can’t stand the stuff.”

  “No, it’s you who has it wrong, Eminence; this Patriarch is not the vegetarian, he’s the one into model aeroplanes …”

  “Well, get in here quickly and brief me, Sammy. Security has just advised me that he has entered the crypt with his entourage.”

  Sammy grabbed his notes and fled to the cardinal’s office.

  THE GREAT SANTA BANK HEIST

  “Well, I am surprised, Inspector Naseby,” Father Sammy Spotels remarked as he ushered his visitor into his office. “Last time you were here you said you hoped never to have to set foot in this place again …”

  “And I meant it!” snapped the inspector. “Last time was enough to send one crazy in this lunatic asylum you’ve got here … but,” he paused for breath, “needs must! Another of your ridiculous fellow-priests up to no good …”

  “Impossible!” protested Sammy indignantly, although he had a sinking feeling in his stomach – who could it be this time, he wondered? “As if a fellow priest would be up to no good …”

  “No, it’s no use you trying to bamboozle me again with words, as you did on the last occasion. We’ve got him in the lock-up at the station – him in his fancy Santa suit.”

  “In his WHAT?” exclaimed Sammy, genuinely startled. “And where was this fellow in a Santa suit may I ask, before you nabbed him?”

  “On the roof near the chimney, of course, where the hell do you think he would have been?”

  Sammy paused. This looked like becoming one of their usual peculiar interactions with the law. He thought it prudent to use a neutral tone. “Let’s sit down, Inspector, and please tell me all about it; I honestly don’t know what the dickens you’re talking about.”

  ‘I’ll sit down, but don’t think you’ll befuddle me again, you young …Well, never mind that … we found this bloke dressed all in red with white fur, and he was …”

  “Yes, I’ve got that. This chap was acting as Santa, and he was up on the roof near a chimney. Well, as I remember from my childhood, that’s where Santa’s supposed to be, isn’t it?”

  “It depends on the chimney,” the inspector said enigmatically, his eye-brows coming together over his large nose.

  “The chimney?” Sammy was lost. “Where was the chimney?”

  “It was the chimney that leads down to the vaults of the bank.”

  “Oh, that does make a big difference, I can see that, Inspector, but what has that got to do with us? Why must it be a priest? It could be anybody.”

  The inspector looked triumphant. “Ah hah! I’ve got you now! We know it’s a priest because he gave your name, as a reference, to prove it.”

  “He, WHAT?” Sammy actually stood up in his shock. “Who the hell is this bloke …?” but even as he asked the question, a dreadful suspicion was beginning to form in Sammy’s mind. He cast his mind around furiously, trying to think of any sane reason – for the person he suspected – being on the rooftop of a bank! The inspector continued:

  “He said he would only give me his nickname – from Uni, it seems – and it was …”

  “No, don’t tell me, Inspector. It wasn’t that idiot Father Pongo Black again was it?” Sammy sat down again, hardly bearing to hear his suspicions confirmed.

  “Well I don’t know about the surname, but the ‘Pongo’ bit is correct. Then,” the policeman’s eyes glittered in triumph, “he is telling the truth; he is one of you lot?”

  Father Spotels closed his eyes: the trouble that that crazy priest had caused was enough to send you round the bend – and the idiot always had the nerve to think what he did was funny! He’d give him ‘funny’ next time they met – which actually looked like being sooner than he expected! The inspector stood up and spoke officially:

  “Reverend Spotels, I have to inform you that the gentleman, now in our cells at the Station, has declared that you are his confederate, and so …”

  Sammy again leapt to his feet. “He didn’t! … He couldn’t! … He wouldn’t … would he? … He didn’t, did he?”

  “He did! Before witnesses too!”

  “I must inform the Cardinal at once; he must be notified of this scandalous situation …” Sammy’s voice was cut short by the cardinal’s voice coming through the intercom.

  “Where the dickens are you, Sammy, off robbing a bank or something? Come in, I need you; I have to count all this money we’ve …”

  The inspector actually shouted in his excitement. “Now we’ve got you! The pair of you! Your own boss is in it too! Boy, Oh Boy! Wait until the newspapers get hold of this!”

  “No,” shouted Sammy desperately, in return. “You’ve got it all wrong …” He turned to the intercom and interrupted the cardinal, ‘Eminence, come in here at once; the police are arresting me on account of what that idiot Father Pongo Black has said – he’s in their cells down at the Station …”

  The cardinal’s voice came through clearly, its tone a mixture of sadness and resignation.

  “I knew it would happen one day, Sammy. Well, I’ll write to your mother, don’t you worry about that, and of course if you need clean undies, I see to them being sent to you in prison … I’ll pray for you as I do for all prisoners; for all those poor misguided ones who have gone astray; who …”

  Whatever else the cardinal was going to say was stifled by Sammy grabbing the machine, and throwing it through the plate glass window. He then turned and faced the policeman who was staring at the shattered glass.

  “Inspector, you’re making a terrible mistake and the cardinal has made it worse; he has a fiendish sense of humour – he doesn’t realise this is serious. I’ll come with you but I’m warning you: it will all end as some kind of childish joke of that retarded, so-called, friend of mine, Pongo. And, I’m warning you in advance, Inspector, that when I see him at the station, I’m going to give him two of the blackest eyes you’ve ever seen.” He gathered his notebook, his wallet and keys.

  “Right, Inspector, let’s go ... … What are you doing? … There’s no need for handcuffs, I give you my word of honour I shall not try to escape … Oh, very well; put them on, if it makes you feel better.”

  ***

  The first person Sammy saw in the Charge room was his so-called ‘friend’, Father Pongo Black. Pongo was dressed as the inspector had said: a full Santa suit complete with whiskers and cap. Being handcuffed, Sammy couldn’t do what he would have liked to do, so had to be content with lunging forward and butting his erstwhile friend in the chest with his head, knocking him to the ground.

  Pongo pretended to be badly frightened, and squealed for police protection. Burly policemen rapidly pinned Sammy to the wall, and helped the priest on the floor to rise. Actually Pongo was not hurt at all, being stuffed with two large pillows in his middle region which took the force of the blow.

  The inspector was delighted. He rushed to the priest who had been attacked: “Sir, do you wis
h to charge this dangerous man – this Spotels character – with assault. It was an unprovoked assault, and witnessed by several policeman. You could send him up for at least a couple of years.” Pongo put on a heroic, saintly expression of sickening piety.

  “No, Inspector. I realise how kind it is of you to suggest such a course of action, but my Calling prevents me from following a path of revenge; I must turn the other cheek. You see, I forgive this poor, wretched sinner who has strayed from the straight and … … Look out! He’s coming at me again!”

  During the scrimmage that followed, Pongo managed to get near to Sammy. He whispered: “The cardinal knows all about it; he’ll explain everything. Don’t worry, just relax and enjoy the adventure!”

  “Adventure, you cretin! You Homo without the Sapiens … you evolutionary product in reverse … you …”

  The inspector intervened. “Put this Spotels character in a cell on his own; he’s too dangerous to put with the others,” he instructed, “and I want a couple to you to go and arrest the Head Santa – have forgotten what his title is – he’s part of the syndicate.”

  “Head Santa,” a Constable asked, “what’s a Head Santa?”

  “Well, Santa means ‘holy’ – young Costello told me that – that’s why that fat Italian singer was always singing about holy Lucia being Santa.”

  “A woman Santa?” queried another.

  “No, you idiot, but if Santa means holy, then the top priest must be called something holy. Perhaps your Santi-ness?”

  “That would be something like, ‘Your Holiness’ then,” another reasoned. “I’ve seen that one on television, but I think he wears white. You said this one wears red …”

  “Yes, just like a Santa, so it has to be something like Santa.” The inspector made a decision. “Well, let’s just stick with ‘sir’; you can’t go wrong with that. Off you go and be careful, he could be dangerous – he’s old, but he’s tricky.”

  Sammy’s handcuffs were unlocked, and he was thrust unceremoniously into a cell which was really a cage, and so close to the main office that he could hear all that was being said there.

  The inspector was coordinating the arrest of the cardinal from a speaker phone, and the reports of the police on the ground were clearly audible from the cell.

  The inspector’s voice was raised in anger: “What do you mean you can’t find him? Isn’t he in his fancy house? Well, alert all squads to be on the lookout for him …What? Say that again! The press have just informed you where he is! God help us! …What has the press got to do with it? Send out a message to all men: ‘be careful’. If the press is covering this we mustn’t put one foot wrong – you know what they’re like … … Ah! You see the cardinal? …

  “Where did you say you’ve seen him? … This must be a bad connection, say it again! No! It just isn’t possible. You say he’s now on the roof of the same bank that the other weasel was – before he was arrested? What’s he doing? He’s dressed as a Santa as well! … And, he’s doing WHAT? … He has one leg over the chimney leading to the vaults! What is happening to this city? Yes, of course you have to get him ... What? The Television News team are recording all of this from other high buildings? Well … wait now … be very careful; everything we do will appear on tonight’s television news ... Let me think for a moment …

  “What did you say? A police helicopter is moving in? What a wonderful idea – you can certainly trust our police to have everything under control; they’ll most probably have a special services squad hiding in the chopper. Yes, I thought so; they’re letting down a ladder … What! … They’re helping the old idiot to escape! This is beyond belief … he’s hanging onto the last three rungs of the ladder, and the chopper has taken off again …What? What’s that? … … It flew too close to the top of the Old Men’s Refuge and an old bloke has leapt onto the cardinal’s leg! … The chopper’s moving towards the park carrying both of them! Good Grief! Send a squad there immediately …What! The cardinal shook the man off over the duck pond … badly hurt? … Oh, only muddy, not much water in the pond … send an ambulance anyway – looks good for the press. Where’s the damn chopper now? Coming this way? … … You’re joking! It’s settling the old geezer down gently on our roof. Well … get up there, you clowns, and arrest him!”

  Sammy, sitting tense with fear and dread, listened to the report and prayed fervently for the cardinal: he was an old man – and nuisance that he was, Sammy was very fond of him. His heart had been in his mouth as he saw, in his mind’s eye, the terrifying journey of the old man flying through the air at the end of a ladder suspended from a helicopter! His thoughts were interrupted by more talk from the front desk …

  “Yes, Sergeant I can hear you perfectly. You’re still back at the Bank scene. Yes, that was the right thing to do …What did you say? There’s more trouble? What? Two more Santas have entered the main ground-floor doors, their guns drawn, and have locked the doors behind them! Are the press covering this as well? They are! … Curse them! Well, act the gentlemen; treat these gangsters with courtesy – hard as that may be … … They’re coming out? Right, be ready! … Are the guns still drawn? They are! WHAT! They’ve put their gun barrels into their mouths? Good grief! … They must be going to commit suicide – you’ll have to rush them – we can’t let the press see us just standing still, and letting men kill themselves – looks bad on the front pages …

  “Are you ready? Wait! What did you say they were doing? They’re eating the gun barrels – they appear to be made of, WHAT? … Liquorice? … I think I’m going mad; or the world is … No, Sergeant, just bring them in – they can join the other escapees from the Asylum here.”

  ***

  The cardinal was brought down from the roof and appeared in the main office between two policemen. He looked quite happy but decidedly wind-blown. He was a tall, thin man, but now he was a tall and very fat man having several pillows inside his santa suit; his journey through the air had played havoc with his big snowy beard, his wig and his cap – in short, he looked a shocking caricature of himself. He was put in the same cage as Sammy, who rushed to his side.

  “Are you all right, Eminence,” Sammy began, “I’ve been so worried about you; I’ve …”

  “Oh, I’m so disappointed, Sammy,” the Cardinal interrupted, sorrowfully, “you sound just the same, even with that awful grey prison pallor. I see that prison life has not improved you – I was hoping a good long stint behind bars would do the trick …”

  “What do you mean a good long stint? I’ve only been in here two hours.” Sammy started to become suspicious.

  “Just a minute, Eminence, just a minute; would you mind just telling me – what the hell’s going on?”

  “Ssh! Sammy, they’re bringing in the last two bank robbers now.” Two young priests in their Santa outfits, came past the cardinal’s cell, smiling happily as they chewed on the remainder of their guns, and appeared well satisfied, as they made their way to the cell next door to Pongo’s. The cardinal was scanning the area of the front office. He suddenly breathed a big sigh of relief. “At last, I thought they were never coming.”

  As Charles Cardinal York uttered these words, a horde of pressmen came storming in ignoring Inspector Naseby completely, as other policemen let the priests out of their cells. Flash bulbs were going off like Cracker Night, and then the press made way for the Commissioner of Police, who shook hands with the cardinal and Father Pongo Black. Only then did the commissioner acknowledge the presence of the inspector. Aware that all he would say would be on the television news that night, and in the evening papers, the commissioner spoke solemnly, and with careful enunciation:

  “Gentlemen, I cannot congratulate you enough for the wonderful work you have done today, on behalf of the Police Welfare Fund. Never in the history of the Fund have we collected such a huge amount of money. It will be used to benefit all those killed, or injured, in the line of duty for their widows and dependents.

  “Your Eminence, to you we owe our grea
test thanks. To allow yourself to be thought a common bank robber, the ring leader of a robber syndicate, and even to permit us to arrest you, was an act of such generosity that the police will never forget.

  “A special word of thanks must go to the other priests involved, especially Father Black, who suggested the whole scheme, and who arranged with the press to cover the entire escapade, and now I’ll hand you over to Inspector Naseby.”

  The cardinal and the priests were standing near their cells, but Sammy was standing next to Naseby. The poor inspector was standing with his mouth gaping wide, in astonishment, and was looking plainly ridiculous! Sammy turned sideways so that the newsmen would not see him, and spoke out of the corner of his mouth:

  “Inspector, just repeat the words I tell you.”

  The policeman nodded, and swallowed. Sammy began to whisper, but it seemed as if the inspector was making his own speech as he repeated the words he heard in his ear.

  “Commissioner, Gentlemen of the Clergy and Gentlemen of the Press, this has been a red-letter day in my career on this wonderful Force that we serve. The hardest part for me, and my men, was to keep up the pretence that we thought it was all for real – we tried our very hardest to make it seem real, so as to keep the whole plan secret.

  “I want to thank his Santa … I mean, His Eminence … for entering so whole-heartedly into the scheme; he is an elderly man and my heart was in my mouth, when I knew he was dangling on a ladder from a helicopter! However, he’s a real trooper and did us proud. And, finally, to all the priests involved, I can only say two very sincere words: thank you.”

  There was vociferous clapping and hand-shaking all around. Only two men refused to shake hands with Pongo: they were the inspector and Sammy.