The Battle for Mowbray's Soul Part Three

They arranged a handover of Mowbray to Celtic officials through a line of communication arranged by one pimply specimen who claimed to know 'sumbdy who works at Shellick cleaning the showers.' At this a great murmur went up as they all marvelled at one of their group knowing someone who had a job. Mowbray had stopped crying now and sat beside me, his head down, sniffing. I wanted to be able to tell him that we'd be okay, that someone would come to our rescue, that someone always did - why, my fat has been pulled out of the fire more times than I can remember but there was an old Celtic scarf stuffed in my mouth so I couldn't tell him anything so to try to cheer him up I began to wink at him but he only sighed and started crying again.

We were eventually bundled into the back of a hired transit van and driven through the night until the van stopped, the back doors were opened and the Green Brigade muscled us out into the gloom. I recognised Glasgow University instantly and felt a little comfort at being back in the west end then we were pushed onwards until we were all standing around in the deserted darkness of the cloisters where we were to meet someone from Celtic who was going to hand over assurances of Irish referees and various sweets and tracksuits in exchange for Mowbray and, I hoped, me. Then I was taken aback as one of the Green Brigade reached into a sports bag and started handing out pistols!

If that surprised me, what happened next was absolutely astonishing. Out of the night, dressed in top hat and tails and carrying a diamond topped cane came toddling Donald Findlay, whistling a merry tune without a care in the world as he crossed the grass towards where we were being held among the cloisters. One of the Green Brigade stepped out and pointed a gun at him and told him to stop right there. Findlay smiled at him, nodded towards me and said 'Good evening.'

'I hear you have Tony Mowbray here boys, do you think you could extend me a courtesy and let me have him?' asked Findlay, twiddling his cane. The Green Brigade looked at each other in disbelief and the one pointing his gun at Findlay shouted 'Naw.'
'Oh be a good chap and hand him over, we can't have fans' groups running around kidnapping club managers, where would it all end? Come on old fellow, let's have him.' But before the Green Brigade could respond to Findlay's entreaties, there was a galumphing of jackboots and clinking of weapons as black clad stormtroopers ran into position by the outskirts of the cloisters and pointed their rifles in towards us. Once they'd settled, Peter Lawwell came marching into view, luger in hand and resplendent in full Third Reich combat dress and stood there facing us. 'Out of the way Findlay, this is our problem, we'll deal with it ourselves in our own way, ' shouted Lawwell.
'They're only children, Peter, let me deal with them,' replied Findlay, calm as you like.
'They're old enough to kidnap a Celtic club manager and old enough to carry guns, step out of the way or you'll end up being punished with them,' threatened Lawwell.
'Look,' shouted one of the Green Brigade from behind me and he shoved me out into the open. 'This is getting out of hand, here take them, I never wanted to get mixed up in this anyway - I'm at university, I was only trying to hang out with the Green Brigade to better my chances of getting a job with BBC Scotland,' and he dropped his gun and pushed Mowbray out of the way. There was a chilly silence as both groups realised that the hostages were in the clear and that Lawwell's men had a line of fire without the threat of hitting Mowbray. Suddenly Donald Findlay leaped for the shadows just as Lawwell opened fire with his luger, his men following and in seconds the night was lit up with the flashes of gunfire. Mowbray and I hit the ground as the Green Brigade took cover behind the arches and then something remarkable happened. I could just see in the darkness, the shape of Findlay take out a vial of liquid and begin drinking it, then I could hear the tearing of clothes as he grew into that awful shape I remember so well from previous experience - Findlay's Mr Hyde was upon us. He disappeared into the cloisters and then began to appear above the Green Brigade, reaching down from the ceiling, that hideous beast illuminated only by the gunfire as he snatched off their heads one by one. It wasn't long before the shooting ceased as the headless bodies of the Green Brigade fell to the ground and Lawwell's men noticed no one was firing at them anymore. Then Findlay was down beside us picking up Mowbray who had swooned by now and he was off with him over his shoulder, leaving the University in two great leaps.
'Quick, after him!' shouted Lawwell and they ran off in pursuit while I lay there being ignored, which I hate incidentally.