The Gentleman Pickpocket

I was waiting at the bus stop when I noticed the old gentleman.

"Waiting for a bus?" I asked trying to be friendly.

He shook his head and looked at me with mournful eyes. "No. I'm waiting for people," he said with a sad smile.

"For people?"

"Yes to pick their pockets," the man said sorrowfully.

I was instantly alert. "Are you a pickpocket?"

"A gentleman pickpocket," he sighed unhappily.

"What's the difference between the two?" I asked surprised.

"I always ask permission before I pick someone's pocket," the old man said with a nod.

"Oh!"

"They usually respond by giving me some money," the pickpocket said.

"But that's no better than begging!" I exclaimed.

"Certainly not. A gentleman pickpocket does not beg. He merely borrows and there is no tomorrow for repayment."

"Is this a touch?" I asked aggressively.

"I'm not indigent you know," he said, "but can you give me a quid or two?"

"Pickpockets aren't poor, they make people poorer," I replied warmly.

"I said I wasn't poor. I have two houses and two cars," he bragged.

I looked at him doubtfully.

"Pick-pocketing is just a hobby of mine," he continued, "Just like chess."

"Where's your car?" I asked suspiciously.

"There," he said airily pointing to a luxury sedan parked a little distance away.

I took it in with a pinch of salt.

"I don't ride in buses. Why should I when I have my cars?" the old pickpocket said breezily.

"Yet you pick people's pockets?" I asked skeptically.

"Women are safe from me," he added, "They don't have pockets."

"But there are women pickpockets too," I said.

"Are you a misogynist?" he asked drawing his eyebrows together.

"No," I replied stoutly, "But I draw the line at my pocket being picked by a woman."

"What about light-fingered ladies?" the man asked.

"I dislike being fingered, even by a woman," I replied.

"Are you a sex maniac?" asked the gentleman pickpocket.

"Certainly not, " I snapped.

"I don't understand why you object to your pocket being picked by a woman."

"I'm not a misogynist," I replied adamantly.

"I know a couple of ladies any man will gladly agree to have his pocket picked," the man said.

"Not mine," I said determinedly.

"Don't you like ladies?" he asked leaving the question hanging.

"Not those whose fingers are in training to snip pockets," I said.

A bus came to a stop and a pretty young woman stepped off.

"Ah, my dear, I did not expect to find you here," the old man told the young woman.

The young woman pouted. "Business is a bit slack, I'll wait for another bus for better pickings."

She noticed me. "New recruit?" she asked the pickpocket.

"No he claims to be a researcher on pickpockets," he replied.

I gave her a sideways look.

"Did you research his pocket?" she asked the old man.

"He doesn't seem to have a dime," he sighed.

"Here," she told the old man handing him a cosh,"bop him over the head with it."

"Do you mean to use that on me?" I protested.

"Just a little tap. It won't hurt much," the young woman said coaxingly.

"I'm not having my noggin bopped," I protested.

"Since you refuse to have your pocket picked, you leave me with little options," the pickpocket said.

"Do you take morning walks?" asked the young woman.

"No."

"Just as I suspected," she said, "then you must have your head tapped once in a while. It's good for the constitution.

"You don't have to teach me the Constitution. I know all about it. I read it in school," I replied.

"Didn't it knock you out?" the old man asked.

"I can't remember," I said truthfully, "it was such a long time ago."

"A tap on the head jogs the memory," the young woman said earnestly, "especially to remember to have money in the pocket when outdoors."

"Otherwise what will happen to us pickpockets, we would be unemployed! As it is the employment situation is bad," the pickpocket said.

"I can't do much if pickpockets are unemployed," I said heatedly.

"But you should contribute to society and ensure employment for pickpockets. That's a social commitment. Did they not teach you anything in school?" the young woman questioned.

"That was a long time ago," I replied, "and I can't remember much of geography, mathematics or civics."

"That means you have not read the history of pickpockets!" the young woman exclaimed.

"I can't remember to have read it," I said.

"But it's in Wikipedia," the young woman said surprised.

"Wickedpedia more likely. I don't read pornography," I remarked.

"A little pornography does no harm," the old pickpocket said, "especially if you are picking pockets."

"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife," I replied sternly.

"Why, is your neighbor's wife a pickpocket?" inquired the young woman archly.

"I don't know that," I said truthfully, "I'm not interested in married females."

"So you are interested in unmarried females, you lecher," the young woman replied.

"I'm not a lecher, the birds and bees don't make you a lecher," I protested.

"The birds are not a problem, but honey is. Try calling an unknown woman honey and you would be badly stung," the old man said.

"You must have been stung a number of times then," I told the pickpocket smirking,

"If you want honey, you must be prepared to be stung once in a while."

"I prefer to buy the sting proof variety of honey available in stores for having with bread at breakfast," I said, "It'a better than pornography any day."

"So you seem to have a fascination for pornography," the young woman said with a smile.

"I said I disliked pornography intensely and especially before breakfast," I corrected.

"Come on honey, don't fib," she said.

"Did you just call me honey?" I asked my tongue hanging out instantly.

"There see," the pickpocket said indulgently, "the birds and bees are about to follow."

"But did you call me honey?" I asked.

The young woman nodded. "It's time to give you the once over again."

The pickpocket began rummaging my pockets and came up empty-handed.

"Nothing of interest," he sighed.

"Let's tickle him," the young woman said.

"Are you going to tickle me?" I asked the young woman in alarm.

"Certainly not. We will merely locate your funny bone and make you spill the beans," the pickpocket replied.

"It's called feather touch," the young woman said sweetly.

"No touching," I said hastily. "And, I hate a touch even if it is from a pickpocket."

"We're only touching you for a fiver or tenner," the young woman said coaxingly.

"But my pockets are empty. Your partner saw for himself," I said.

"But seeing is not believing," the young woman said, "where's your stash?"

"I am not carrying money," I pleaded.

"What about a credit card?" asked the pickpocket.

"I left it at home," I mumbled.

"I hate forgetful people," the young woman said, "next you will say that you have forgotten your false teeth!"

"There is nothing false about my teeth," I protested, "they are in excellent shape. I exercise them night and day."

"He might be hiding his money under his false teeth," the young woman persisted.

"They are not false. They have excellent biting power," I interjected.

"So does my cat," she said.

"Is your cat also an expert pickpocket?" I asked her amazed.

"It's all a matter of conditioning and training," the young woman said nonchalantly.

"You mean you brainwashed the poor cat into turning a pickpocket?" I questioned.

"It helps when there are a lot of loaded guests at home," she said.

"You rob your guests?" I asked aghast.

"One has to make a living you know," she replied shrugging her dainty shoulders. "The guests are so plastered they never realize that the cat has pinched their money.

"You are the queen of swindlers," I said hotly.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," the old man said wearily.

"Why don't we bop him on the head. He has it coming," the young woman said.

"Now, now, no violence," I said backing away a step.

"We believe in non-violence, but we have a cosh for tricky customers like you," the pickpocket said producing one.

"I bet you couldn't use a boomerang as effectively," I challenged.

"Boomerangs are for kangaroos, are you a kangaroo?" asked the young woman.

I hopped a few feet.

"Let him have the cosh, he's trying to escape," said the young woman excitedly.

"Why don't we behave non-violently?" I asked smoothly, "or like kangaroos, they are peace-loving creatures who have pockets in their bellies."

"Do they really?" asked the young woman wonderingly.

"I wonder what you can find in their pockets," the pickpocket mused.

"Joeys," I said helpfully.

"What?" asked the young woman.

"He means baby kangaroos," the old man replied.

"Are they legitimate or illegitimate?" asked the young woman arching her eyebrows.

"Kangaroos don't go to church or marry," I said.

"But they have babies!" exclaimed the young woman, "They must be some kind of hippies I suppose."

"The hippy shake," I volunteered, "the more they shake the more the joeys."

"Make love, not kangaroos," the young woman said stiffly, "and the world will be a better place for pickpockets."

"But we seem to be wandering from our purpose," the pickpocket said grimly, "let me cosh him and see the color of his money."

"Now, now, you wouldn't do that would you?" I asked feebly.

"Let's see if he is lily-livered inside," the young woman said enthusiastically.

I gave a sudden, hysterical shout indicating the pickpocket, "He has ants in his pants and his bottom's on fire."

"Is my behind on fire?" the pickpocket questioned in sudden alarm.

"There can't be smoke without a fire," the young woman said with suspicion. "I don't see smoke."

"Here," I said lighting a cigarette and puffing a cloud of smoke into her face.

"Egad, my bottom must be poached by now," said the pickpocket jumping up and down excitedly.

"Let's run," said the young woman recoiling in horror.

They both took to their heels as I casually adjusted my socks where I had stashed my money and continued to wait for the bus.