Baby I got your money

Under the strict direction of Madam O’Nine Tails came her light-fingered beau, Bad Paddy Trickpurse. Brought up in the bohemian quartiers of Europe – Vienna, Prague, Swindon, etc, he had been educated well in the visual arts and his family had high hopes for him as a designer of tactile plastics. Bad Paddy, however, had other ideas. He had found a greater love: lucre.

A felon extraordinaire, ol’ Trickpurse started out by dipping his fingers into his elders’ pockets to steal their tobacco, as, at eight years of age, the local store was still declining his requests for Marlboro. By fourteen he was smuggling Gitanes from Paris, and by seventeen ran a complex bootlegging empire spanning from Upper Silesia to Dubrovnik.

He was also a master of cons both long and short, most recently having clinched the sale of Versailles by throwing in Montmartre as a sweetener.

Taking one look at our crew, Bad Paddy identified our lack of chief financial officer as a key oversight, and – with no small amount of snarling menace – directly volunteered for the role. The sole proviso was that he’d also get to look after the parrot.


Bursar
Bad Paddy Trickpurse
Likes: spiral perms
Dislikes: cruelty to animals