Why Didn't They Ask Keevins? Part Two

There were four of us met up in a dark room high up the stairs of an old office block on West Nile Street, I was last to arrive and sitting there before me were Peter Maguire, Gerry Duffy and one of the republican girls I recognised from Jintys. They were all smoking and the blue fug added to the seedy atmosphere in the room as nobody spoke and the only sounds were the honking of the traffic outside, the only light from the red neon sign blinking across the road. I took my seat and waited in silence with the rest of them, declining a cigarette from the republican girl. Then footsteps sounded from down the corridor and everyone in the room looked towards the door until at last Lawwell marched in. He was wearing a long trench coat and trilby hat and scowled at us all in turn as he closed the door behind him.

Five exhausting hours later we all knew our place in the plans and scuttled off into the night, all except Maguire who caught up with me as I headed for the underground station. 'Exciting, isn't it?' he giggled, walking beside me, his hands thrust deep into his pockets and looking up for a reaction - it's becoming well known in media circles that I'm Celtic's go-to-guy and he was obviously looking to me for some sort of guidance. 'No more than any other mission I've been on,' I replied, cocking a snook at him but still he kept up with me, panting with the effort of carrying all that extra weight while I skipped along in a jaunty manner, my corduroys flapping in the breeze. 'You know, having two names should be handy in this business,' chirped Maguire.
'Oh yes, why?' I asked him.
'Well, you know, international intrigue, spying, assassinations. I'm just saying, having two names would be pretty cool for a spy,' he prattled.
'But you already have two names, Maguire or should I call you Martin? Why did you do that anyway? It's always puzzled me.'
'Oh you know, changing my name from Maguire to Martin and then making a big deal of it got the message out there that to work in the media, anyone with too catholic a name would have to change it or they'd never get a job.'
'But it's quite the other way around these days,' I interrupted. 'Without being a catholic you have no hope of a job in the Scottish media.'
'Yes, but the public don't know that, at least most of them don't and it's good to keep the Celtic fans wound up about masonic conspiracies and protestant domination to keep anyone from stumbling upon our complete take over of the press. I like to think that my little trick with my name contributes to that in some way. And now it'll be helpful in this, the Great Game.'
'Hmmmmm..., yes, if you say so.' I sighed, I could see that Maguire was going to be hard work, I was just grateful I hadn't been paired with him in Lawwell's plan - no, I was partnered with Rose Marie, the republican girl. As I was thinking about her I was startled as out of the corner of my eye I was sure I'd caught a glimpse of Stuart Munro, one of the Souness commandos but as I stopped and stared into the gloom of the alleyway next to the tube station, I could see nothing and put it down to a trick of the light.

Why Didn't They Ask Keevins? Part Three

Everything was going as planned, days had passed during which Rangers shrugged off St. Mirren and continued their inexorable journey towards a domestic treble while Mowbray shifted and squeaked in the papers in an attempt to sate the Celtic fans with laptops who had been scenting blood for months. There's only so often Lawwell can summon them all to his office for a thrashing and inevitably, some dissenting voices were being heard among the usually docile throng. This assassination was to be the mother of all warnings to bring everyone back into line and Ewan Cameron had been chosen because he was the main culprit who had refused to toe that very line. Poor wee Ewan, thought he was untouchable in his ivory tower, well he was in for a fright.

I first caught a glimpse of him as he pulled up outside the Hilton in his car, he got out leaving Alan Rough panting in the back seat and didn't recognise me in my false beard and tennis gear. I wandered around the foyer of the hotel, looking at all the CCTV cameras and wondering if Lawwell had taken them into consideration. Rose Marie joined me and we got into the lift beside Cameron and I noticed once again, the CCTV in the lift as the doors shut and we were alone with our prey. I shifted nervously, swinging my tennis racket back and forward as Cameron looked me up and down. 'So where's the tennis court then Spiers?' he asked, my cover was blown!
'How did you....?' I stammered, trying to think quickly but nothing came to mind.
'The false beard, the fact there's no tennis courts in the Hilton, the corduroy tennis gear - do I have to go on?' said Cameron smiling then suddenly Rose Marie brought her racket down on the back of his head and knocked him to the floor. 'Plan's f*cked, we need to try something else,' she said, reaching down and grabbing Cameron under the arms and dragging him out the lift as we arrived at our floor.

Why Didn't They Ask Keevins? Part Four

We dragged Ewan Cameron along the corridor on the fifth floor of the Hilton, the republican girl doing most of the heavy work while I stumbled after her, gazing suspiciously at the CCTV cameras in the corner. As we got to our destination, a room door opened and inside were Gerry Duffy and Peter Maguire, dressed as bell boys. 'Quickly, get him in,' shouted Duffy as they looked in alarm at the consequences of our plans unfolding.
'What are we going to do now? It's not exactly as if our disguises are going to hold up now, not with you two clubbing him unconscious in the lift!' screamed Maguire, hysterical with fear.
'We can still do it, we can still do it and leave him here, change our disguises or something and leave by the stairs,' said Duffy, trying to reassure us but it wasn't working, the panic was spreading through our little group and we began shouting at each other about what to do when a voice behind us shut us up instantly. We turned and there in the corner of the room by an open window was Graeme Souness, moustache bristling, pistol pointed straight at us, calm as you like.

'I suppose if you want to frame somebody then you'd be as well involving four morons you can depend on to act like idiots and get themselves caught on CCTV in disguises that wouldn't fool Nicola Sturgeon,' said Souness, motioning to us with his pistol to step away from Cameron who was still slumped on the floor.
'Framed? What do you mean framed?' I asked.
'Framed, set up, used by Peter Lawwell to further his own nefarious agenda, that's what I mean. Do you really think Lawwell wanted Cameron simply taken care of - after his criticisms of Celtic the finger would obviously be pointed at Parkhead? No, this was all a trick, a trick to get you chumps to make a mess of the hit then you'd all conveniently disappear too, at the bottom of the Clyde no doubt before evidence pointing towards Rangers was paraded around the media followed by the usual uproar. Meanwhile all attention is taken away from Celtic's continuing problems and Rangers inevitable treble as accusations of assassinating their enemies are hurled at Ibrox.'
'I don't believe you,' shouted Duffy.
'Oh no? Look at inside your bell boy jacket,' countered Souness, a smile playing on his lips. Duffy opened his jacket and let out an oath - 'Murray Dry Cleaners!'
'Yes, not too subtle and not a smoking gun but enough to point the finger at us. Now look at your tennis shoes Spiers.' I took off one shoe and there on the inside was the make: Masons Shoes. He was right, this was a clever way of yet again carrying out some hideous act and blaming it on Rangers and the masons and we'd fallen for it.
'So what do we do?' I asked.
'It's quite simple,' said Souness. 'You get Ewan back in his car and leave. We'll take care of the rest. Oh yes, and while you're all toddling off home tonight with your tails between your legs, remember you owe me one.'

So we carried Ewan Cameron out into his car where we left him with Alan Rough licking his face and all of us disappeared into the night. I headed for Ashton Lane with Rose Marie and as we got there, we both looked at each other, embarrassed and saying nothing she went into Jintys while I nipped into the Chip to calm my nerves. Inside I met the Reporting Scotland bhoys who were all excitedly chattering into their mobile phones. 'What's going on?' I asked one of them at the bar.
'Ewan Cameron's been found drunk and unconscious in his car wearing a Celtic scarf outside the Hilton hotel!' he exclaimed. 'He's being done for being drunk in charge of a vehicle, it's a sensation!'
'But the Celtic scarf, I can't believe you guys are going to run with this if it's a Celtic bad news story,' I said to him, scratching my head, knowing that Souness was behind this little piece of mischief.
'Run with it my arse,' shouted the man from BBC Scotland. 'We're burying the bloody thing!'

Why Didn't They Ask Keevins? Epilogue

Another day and another Celtic player is on the back pages claiming that Celtic can still win the league. This is what the mighty Lawwell has been reduced to. I've been avoiding his calls since the Ewan Cameron hit went wrong but I hear that Duffy and Maguire were carried off the streets screaming, into the back of black cars, gagged and taken to Celtic Park where they were tortured for a while before being dumped in the Gallowgate. I knew I should never have got involved in that one, Maguire just doesn't have the skill for an operation of such a magnitude and Gerry Duffy's good for nothing but stealing stories off football chat sites. Keevins would've been a better choice, why didn't they ask him? Expendable too.

I've been taking a bit of a ribbing from the Reporting Scotland and Scotland Today bhoys in the Chip. I was in there at lunchtime and they were laughing at me appearing on all the news channels where all the CCTV footage of our attempted hit was compiled and used in an attempt to piece together what had happened. Of course the BBC blamed it all on Israel and STV were too busy yabbering on about Lent to notice anything had happened so I got away with it again. We were still laughing at the black and white footage of my fake beard when Jackie Bird took me by the hand and led me to the toilets, everyone around me cheering and whooping. I'm going to get some lady sex with Jackie Bird here I thought to myself as she locked the cubicle door behind me but to my horror she produced a huge rubber contraption and defiled me with it before sneering, spitting on me and leaving me shivering on the floor.