The Smell of Port and Cigars

'I hear Darrell King is looking for you, young Spiers' said Tom Devine, breathing port and cigar fumes over me. He was sitting in a booth at the Rogano, his arm around his latest raggedy slut. 'This is Eilish Angiolini, the current Lord Advocate' he slurred as he fondled one of her tits. She giggled and slapped his face, screaching, 'Eeeaaoow, don't be so ruddy cheeky Mister!'
'The Sauchiehall Street Irregulars told me this afternoon that you blind sided him in Babbitys. They also told me you had a narrow escape from the Traynor. Be careful there, young Spiers because the Traynor has been the death of many an ambitious journalist's career.' I trembled at the thought of how close I'd come earlier today. He gulped down another glass of port and called for two more.
'Now,' he continued, cupping another tit. 'This task of yours for Lawwell, you realise it is of supreme importance that it is carried out to the letter? One mistake here could mean the whole damn thing could come crumbling down around our ears.' This was getting serious, I still didn't have the slightest clue what on earth I was supposed to be doing! I hesitated, considering asking him what my bloody task was but decided against it, you don't want to seem a fool in front of the great Professor Tom Devine so I packed up my laptop and took off into the night.