Secret Diary Monday 16th November Part 2

Dear Diary,

I feel I am being manipulated. Last night I heard a knock at the door but when I opened it there was no-one there yet on the floor was a folded up piece of paper upon which was scrawled the message 'who listens to James McMillan?' which struck me as damned odd because it's widely believed nobody listens to James McMillan. Someone obviously wants me to find out who's listening to the dolt though so after a little investigating I uncovered the only sales of his CDs going to a company called Nyasa Imports which are owned by one Bridget McConnell - wife of ex-First Minister Jack! Now this did seem curious so to find out what Bridget McConnell could want with so many of McMillans unlistenable works, I took to the streets where Jack's urchins rule the night.
It was on Clyde Street that I had my first success, meeting the leader of the Little Rascals, Chick Young. He was standing on the Jamaica Street Bridge, looking out at the river and I must have startled him because as I said his name he spun round and had a razor pressing against my throat before I even realised what was happening.
'Spiers!' He growled in that low rumble of his, 'Didn't expect to see you around. What do you want?'
'What does your boss's wife want with so many CDs of James McMillan's awful compositions? I asked.
'How the f*ck should I know mate, we only shift 'em from the pressing plant to the Station X' said this astonishing little creature. I remembered that name though, Devine had warned me off Station X only yesterday.
'Anyway, I should make myself scarce if I were you, there's going to be a fight here shortly' said the little man, spinning his knife on his index finger.
'Who are you fighting?' I asked.
'Not just me, the whole team.' he said and whistled. Before I knew it, the denizens of the night were appearing from under bridges, behind cars and down lanes until there was a formidable gang surrounding him. He looked at me and seemed sad for a moment before saying, 'Sorry Spiers, got to go, the organisation's stepping things up, we're off to war. If you're still around after this week then maybe I'll see you again sometime.' He and his gang all reached into their pockets, pulled out red, white and blue scarves and hats and put them on.
'But you lot aren't Rangers fans.' says I.
'I know.' he said, winking.
'What about Station X, where is it?' I shouted after him.
'If you're supposed to know then Frank McAveety will tell you.' And then he was gone, his gang with him, and I was left alone on the bridge as the rain started to fall and fog horns from the ghosts of great ships echoed down the Clyde.