The Battle for Mowbray's Soul Part Four

Kelvingrove park by day is a leafy west end sun flecked haven of tranquility overlooked by a glorious sweep of Victorian architecture, it is here that the youth of Glasgow frolic, rolling with lovers on the grass, beaming with pride as they walk with their toddlers or whistle after their dogs as they pad around the slopes sniffing the trees. By night it's a different story. By night it's a nightmare of screams and madness especially when Donald Findlay disappears into it carrying Tony Mowbray while pursued by Peter Lawwell and his stormtroopers. I hopped after them, still tied and gagged.

The normal noise of the park was stilled by the sudden rush of insanity that invaded its territory: by the bridge, Ewan Cameron paused and looked up, holding tight on the leash to stop Alan Rough from barking and running after the sounds coming from the bushes; in those bushes lay Graham Grant and Gillian Bowditch as they scoured the night for another victim of their gay bashing; splashing could be heard down by the river as the Scotland Today bhoys ducked Raman Bhardwaj in the Kelvin; and in the distance, not in the park but in a lonely neighbourhood far away, howled the Traynor who had sniffed the air and known instinctively that something was amiss. I hopped past them all, ignoring them and trying to find Mowbray before the beastly Findlay hurt him. Leaves rustled in the dark as Lawwell's stormtroopers beat the bushes to try to bring Findlay to ground but I followed a different path on the other side of the Kelvin, guessing that Findlay wouldn't go too far into the park and found him sitting disconsolately in front of the old bandstand, Mowbray was in front of him, hanging in chains from the ceiling. Findlay had changed back to his normal self and seemed quite put out. 'I don't know what I was going to do to him really,' he told me as I hopped towards him. 'Torture him probably. Once my alter-ego is let loose I have very little control over him. I didn't take much of the potion though so my inner beast didn't hang around for long and now here I am, my clothes frightfully torn with Tony Mowbray chained up in front of me - what is a fellow to do?'
I moaned at him through the Celtic scarf still sticking out my mouth and motioned for him to un-gag me. He did and untied me too and as the ropes fell from my body I ran over to Mowbray and fell at his feet weeping to see such a fine man laid so low. I looked up and he'd opened one eye and could see me there. 'Get me down Spiers, for fucks sake' he said.