Into the Unknown

The Traynor's safe house in Dowanhill was a curious place; every room was empty, the floors covered in straw and newspapers. One room did have a drinks cabinet though, strangely well maintained and classy amongst all the chaos and dirt. I slept in a closet where I'm always most comfortable and the day after we'd been transported from Walter Smith's secret underwater lair to Glasgow in the Nautilus, a monstrous iron submarine crewed by Sikh sailors and captained by a mysterious dark captain we saw only in silhouette, we decided to hit Byres Road and shake things up a bit to find out exactly what was going on.


Our first port of call was the Common Rooms where we saw Raman Bhardwaj sitting at a table on his own drinking Stella.
'Beat it squirt,' growled the Traynor and Raman trembled.
'But the Scotland Today republican bhoys are out there looking for me,' he bleated. 'If they find me out in the open then I'm for another ducking in the Kelvin.'
'Boo hoo,' sneered the Traynor, sticking up two fingers at the chubby barman to indicate he wanted two gallons of beer. 'Now beat it before I rip a leg off.
So Raman left and was almost immediately pounced upon by the Scotland Today bhoys who let up a cheer as they hoisted him up and carried him off towards Kelvinbridge, celebrating their diversity as they marched by singing songs about beating up Protestants which is strange given that it was Raman they were carrying.