The Silence of the Lambs II

We got out the taxi near Ashton Lane, the Traynor fancying a bit of sport and suggesting we hit the Chip to rile the Pacific Quay CSC who'd no doubt be in there whooping it up (their noses) and glorying in their job being made easier by Celtic winning and three Rangers players being sent off. He was right, they were all there, queueing at the bar but mostly hanging around the toilets, ranting at each other, nobody listening to a word anyone else was saying and talking too loudly about how they were really sticking it to the Huns these days. The fact that most of them were Protestant didn't seem to strike them as odd during these rants.

They went quiet though once they spotted the Traynor and their crowd parted as we approached the bar and the Traynor ordered a bucket of whisky for himself and a small sherry for me and as we stood there drinking, the Traynor shooting evil looks at anyone who dared glance in his direction, one of the BBC Bhoys came over and cautiously asked me how I was doing.
'Fine thankee, yourself?' I replied, cocking a snook at the audacity of this upstart - he was one of the juniors and had no right approaching the likes of me: Jack McConnell appointed sectarian crusader and award winning journalist.
'I'm fine thanks Graham. Listen, we were wondering how you are going to approach tonight's developments because I've got to tell you, we have no problem glossing over Lennon's racism and blaming everything on Diouf but we're a bit worried that this in turn might leave us open to accusations of racism and that just wouldn't do within the BBC.'
'I wouldn't worry about it young shaver,' sneered I. 'BBC Scotland has carte blanche to do what it likes as long as it's laying into the Rangers. If that means coming down on the side of an insidious church then fine, if that means condoning racism then that's fine too. Just stick to what you do best and you'll be alright.'
The Traynor finished his bucket and demanded another one then leaned over towards me and growled, 'Giving 'em enough rope, eh Spiers?'
'Eh? What are you on about? I meant what I said,' I squeaked and the Traynor sighed and tipped another bucket of whisky down his throat told me he was bored in here and we should go somewhere with a bit more life about it. So we were walking down Byres Road, heading for Partick which was giving me no end of the fear since that's where the Rangers fans would be and they're never pleased to see me, no matter how much I pretend in print that they're always cheerfully disposed towards me on match days. It was while we were strolling down there that we noticed Stewart Regan of the SFA on the other side of the road and just as we were about to corner him for a statement, a black van drew up, men in black uniforms, their faces hidden with balaclavas got out and grabbed him and bundled him into the back of the van before speeding off.

'Come on Spiers, we're following them - hop on my back and hold tight!' shouted the Traynor and before I had time to say Lawwell's Stasi, we were gallumphing across the city in pursuit of what promised to be a terrific story.