I, Lennon Part 3: What Does the Deep Midnight Declare?

As we were leaving Parkhead with Celtic trailing one nil to Motherwell and Neil Lennon behaving in the most odd manner, I was considering just how easy it was for Donald Findlay and me to infiltrate Celtic Park and observe matters from the stand when suddenly from out of nowhere sprang Georgios Samaras and Andreas Hinkel pointing guns straight at our chests. We stopped and raised our hands cautiously as Samaras approached us, his pistol levelled straight at me.
'Thought you could sneak in here and back out without being noticed, eh boys? You forget Celtic's strong ties to the Labour Party, there are more CCTV cameras in here than anywhere in the world - Big Brother is watching, hmmm?' said Samaras in that curious accent of his.
'With so much CCTV around I'm surprised you never finger the lighter throwers, pitch invaders, mobile phone launchers and various other miscreants, eh you dirty dago?' taunted Findlay enough for Samaras to lose his temper, press his finger to the trigger and fire his weapon. I shrieked in fright as his gun went off but he missed me and hit the wall three yards to my right.
'I knew he couldn't hit a cow on the arse with a bag of beans, come on Spiers, let's get out of here,' yelled Findlay and took off out the gate but I was rooted to the spot as Hinkel now pointed his gun at me, his gun shaking as Samaras stood beside him, his head in his hands, wondering how he could've missed such an easy shot. I could hear Findlay outside the ground shouting for me to make a break for it but I was too scared. Then from above I heard the familiar sound of leather wings flapping and a black shape swung on metal chord from the roof towards me and lifted me off my feet and into the air, tossing a smoking orb towards Hinkel as we went. Hinkel tried to trap the bomb but fumbled and it fell between he and Samaras and went off in a cloud of smoke sending them choking and screaming up the stairs. Stuart Cosgrove dressed as a bat held onto me as we swung over the gates and into his batmobile and we roared off quickly followed by Donald Findlay and his companion Watson. Here we go again, I thought as we drove towards Ibrox.

We arrived there just in time to find glazers fixing up a window on Edmiston Drive and an ambulance driving off. Our motley crew got out of our cars and climbed the marble staircase and entered Martin Bain's office just in time to find him buttoning up his shirt beneath which I caught an extraordinary glimpse of some sort of blue, red and gold logo. Bain saw me looking and turned away as he finished with his buttons.
'What the blazes happened here?' exclaimed Findlay.
Bain looked at us all, standing there in front of him; Findlay all in tweed, Cosgrove all in leather and me all in corduroy, and he cocked an eyebrow.
'Oh just a little fall out with our friend from across the city. Apparently Mr Lawwell wasn't too pleased with my comments about sporting integrity and sent the Traynor over to teach me a lesson. Of course I showed him the quick way out of Ibrox and that's him in the ambulance just now,' and he looked out of the broken window as the sound of a siren disappeared into the night.
'Now, what do we have on Lennon?' asked Bain, sitting down behind his desk. I looked at Findlay who was looking at Cosgrove. 'Nice cape,' he said.
'Same back,' said Cosgrove and we all sat down and Findlay told Bain all about his suspicions about Neil Lennon.