The Final Problem

I remember ludicrously, thinking that the moon looked beautiful as I slid down the rain wet rooftop and hurtling over the edge of the Victorian grandeur of some St. Vincent Street building. I was too tired to struggle anymore and had accepted my fate, the ground rushing up to greet me when I felt a hand grab my ankle and my plunge slowed to a halt feet from some mean looking iron railings and then I was heading away from the spikes and back up towards the roof. Stuart Cosgrove dressed head to toe in black leather and latex like some sort of bat-man steadied me and held a finger up to his mouth for me to be quiet and then pushed my head down with me briefly thinking he was looking for a blow job and I was just looking for the zip on that remarkable outfit when I realised he was hiding us from the Traynor who grunted on his way past as we hid in the shadows.


On a season such as this one where the real life events have been as crazy as any that might be alluded to in an imaginary diary should one exist, I should’ve understood that when Donald Findlay sent me a telegram saying that Tom Devine was back in town with my wife that I was being led into a trap. Shorn of the coward Murray, Rangers were on the offensive again and all over the city, enemies of the club were being reined in. As ever, I thought I was untouchable but hanging around a rooftop at midnight on a wet moonlit night only to be pushed off by an unseen hand can really steady the thought process.
‘I can see what you’re thinking Spiers,’ whispered Cosgrove. ‘It wasn’t Findlay or any of his agents – no, Lawwell got wind of this and sent King Bastard here to dispose of you as too many people are at last linking you to secret moves to bring down Rangers once and for all. Traynor’s just passed, the Piddler’s over on another rooftop cleaning the shit out of his trousers and the Joker, Tam Cowan is the one who pushed you off the roof. Lucky I was here to catch you, eh?’
‘So you’re here to take me to see Findlay? He has news of my wife apparently.’
‘Forget your wife, she belongs to Devine now. No, our task is the most important ever undertaken in the name of a sport – Lawwell senses the end game is near and is threatening to destroy Rangers once and for all. We don’t know exactly what he plans but he has three days to do it or they win the league and Lawwell could find himself out of a job.’
‘But where do I come in?’ I asked, a little too loudly because the Traynor stopped in his tracks, sniffed the air and turned towards us and growled.
‘Oh well,’ sighed Cosgrove. ‘I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this,’ and as the Traynor bounded towards us, Cosgrove pulled a gun from his utility belt and shot him in the chest.
The Traynor gasped and fell to his knees.
‘I can’t believe you just did that, what happened to Rangers sitting back and taking it? What happened to Celtic doing what they liked and Rangers maintaining a dignified silence? What, what, what…’

Lightning lit up the rooftops illuminating the Traynor as he sat in the pouring rain, water dripping from his nose as he looked at his fatal wound.
‘Spiers, come here,’ he gasped. I walked over to him and kneeled down, feeling sorry for the beast. He looked at me and beckoned me closer.
‘I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe,’ he began. ‘Lawwell’s attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I’ve seen c-beams glitter off the Gallowgate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain. Time to die.’
And he closed his eyes and as he did, something fell from his hand. I picked it up, it was a paper unicorn with my name written on it. Strange, Walter Smith gave me something similar in Silence when he held me and the Traynor there. I opened up the paper unicorn to find that it had written on it co-ordinates and one other word apart from my name: Schiehallion.