The Anti-Social Behaviour of Horace Rumpole by John Mortimer Read Free Book Online Page B

blessing.’
    â€˜Oh, has he indeed? What ingratitude!’
    â€˜It’s not just our leader, Rumpole. The staff of the chambers have told us that firm steps must be taken to see that you become more environmentally friendly. Now, if you’ll consent to sign along the dotted lines…’
    â€˜Consent? I’m not consenting to anything. I may eat steak and kidney pie, I may seek comfort in Pommeroy’s Very Ordinary, I may need a small cigar.
You
may feed on nut cutlets and drink carrot juice enlivened with a few bubbles. But I know which of us a client would rather have on his side when the dark shadows of the law begin to close in against him. So that’s what I think of your ridiculous bit of paper.’ At this I tore the so-called legal document Claude had attempted to serve on me into small fragments, which I tipped into my wastepaper basket.
    â€˜That was very foolish of you, Rumpole.’ Claude spoke more in sorrow than in anger. ‘I can prove service of the notice and the law will have to take its course.’
    Claude withdrew and I sat back in my chair. I thought I could understand how young Peter Timson felt when he was hauled up in court for kicking a football down a street. He must have experienced a strong desire to go on kicking it. I went over to the cabinet to unearth the bottle of Château Thames Embankment I kept filed under the XYZs for emergencies. I drew the cork and, having filled a glass, drank a silent toast to antisocial behaviour. Then I came to my senses. I hadsomething far more serious to concentrate on. A new brief had arrived in the case I had learned of in Pommeroy’s a few weeks before from my client, the ASBO boy’s father. It was the affair of Scottie Thompson and his unintentional importation of Russian beauties.

12
    So many cases have started in the interview room in Brixton Prison that the place has become a sort of home from home. It was there that I met Scottie Thompson. He was a short, high-shouldered, perpetually smiling man who seemed very anxious to please. When I asked him where he came from north of the border, it turned out that he was not really a Scot, but had so much enjoyed a holiday tour of the Highlands, and had talked about it so much, that his friends had named him Scottie. Hehad set up a business named, of course, Highlands Transport.
    Scottie had known Fred Atkins since they were at school together. He knew that Fred drove a lot over in Europe for what he said was an ‘import and export company’. Fred had a pick-up job in Europe on the day of his daughter’s wedding, and Scottie was not particularly surprised when his friend asked him to do it for him.
    â€˜He gave me the paperwork and all that. I couldn’t see no problem and it was good pay. Fred gave me the lot.’
    I asked him where he picked up the crates.
    â€˜Romanian border. I had a meet there. The man said he’d brought the load over from Russia. Said he couldn’t drive the load to Dover “because they knew him too well”. I didn’t quite know what he meant by that.’
    â€˜Did you know then where you were supposed to be taking them?’
    â€˜Fred had told me to deliver at a warehouse in the Canary Wharf area. I was to ring him when I’d got through Customs.’
    â€˜And did you ring him?’
    â€˜Yes. I could hear the sounds of the wedding party. I was talking to him when Customs wereopening the crates. I told him what was happening and he slammed the phone down on me. Never heard a word from him since. It was then that I saw what I’d brought over. Girls, good-lookers too. They must have had a terrible journey. I wanted to find out more, but I got arrested.’
    â€˜And Fred?’
    â€˜He’s done a runner.’
    â€˜We’ve given all this information to the police,’ Bonny Bernard told me. ‘There’s a search on for Fred. All the ports and airports.’
    â€˜So