Lies, Damned Lies

‘Of course the statistics lacked detail and were so small as to be almost insignificant when compared to the overall number of assaults in the country. They even paled against racist assaults; homophobic assaults too and that was only the ones committed by Barking Phil Tartaglia,’ this was Donald Findlay. I could tell even though my eyes were still closed from being knocked unconscious by Souness on Byres Road as I’d joined in with the West End Liberal Elite celebrating their diversity by singing IRA songs.

‘We had our suspicions that the Organisation had advance knowledge of the contents of the report considering Barking broke into the First Minister’s office to verbally thrash him and threaten to withdraw the Catholic vote if he didn’t release the religious hate crimes figures pronto and while he was at it, why not hand over a state sanctioned license to indulge in his own prejudices against the gays. Why would he be in such a hurry if he hadn’t been tipped off about the contents? Who would do such a thing remains in the realms of conjecture.’
‘I’d like five minutes alone with Kennny MacAskill. Just me, him and an electricity supply, I’d soon find out,’ interrupted Souness.
‘Yes, quite,’ reflected Findlay, packing his pipe. ‘No, we must deal with fact here, Graeme, not supposition. We don’t want to fetch up like our separated brethren, shrieking about myth, lies, hearsay, paranoia and skewed statistics until the Scottish people get tired of their constant whining and begin to resent them thus creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. Hmm… Is that what they’re after, I wonder? Eh Spiers, is that what they’re after?’ Damn, he’d noticed I was awake. I shouldn’t have let my mind wonder onto Martin O’Neil, the ensuing bulge in my corduroys gave the game away.

‘Where am I?’ I asked.
‘Why, 221b of course. There’ll be no underground dungeons or gulags here you know,’ replied Findlay, lighting a stick on the open fire and lifting it to his pipe.
‘I heard what you were saying when you thought I was out cold,’ I whimpered. ‘And you’re wrong, you know – the statistics prove beyond a doubt that Catholics are being persecuted in this country.’
‘The statistics prove nothing,’ puffed Findlay. ‘They can be read many ways for instance, they could just as well prove that Catholics are more than punching above their weight as 17% of the country’s population indulge in 37% of all religiously aggravated crimes but you don’t hear us bleating about it. No, we’d rather work diligently towards creating a more peaceful society with people of all religions and none working and living together as one while old Barking Phil and his friends in the political/media complex are quite content to create division and resentment. For goodness sake, they even wheeled out Joan McAlpine this week and how she managed to keep her head out from between Tom Devine’s thighs long enough to pen a piece for the Scotsman I’ll never know. Wonders will never cease, eh Graeme?’ and he looked at Souness who got up from his seat and spat in the fire.
‘I’m telling you Donald, let me get the Rangers 80s Squad Commandos back together and I’ll soon put an end to all this nonsense.’
‘Sorry old friend, this is a time for cool heads, not running around the country bumping other peoples together. No, we must allow Tartaglia, McAlpine, uncle Tom Cobbly and anyone else who wants to come out and attack us in the press to get on with it, we can’t be seen to be denying anyone their freedom of speech even if it means hearing things we’d much rather not hear.’
At this I thought he was having a dig at me and said so but Findlay just laughed and Souness spat in the fire again and glared at me.
‘Yes, you, Spiers. I suppose you’ve been wondering why we asked you here?’
‘Asked me here my foot, you knocked me unconscious and dragged me!’ I squealed and Findlay chuckled.
‘If you say so old sport. So since you are wondering why we asked you here, now that you’re awake we can get on with it. I hear you have runes you wish translated? Runes from your little island where you all had the most splendid vacation with our friend Lawwell? Well I have just the man who can tell you what they say.’
‘Well I was intending to ask Jorg Albertz,’ I stuttered, amazed at how Findlay always seemed to know everything.
‘I know. That’s why you’re here now, Jorg is with us in this room.’
I took a look around the room and there was only Findlay, Souness and me and I was just about to ask another damn fool question when I noticed the painting above the fire. It was an old house sitting in the darkness, wreathed in fog and most importantly, it had one window illuminated and as I gazed at it, the light from the window went off. Then it came back on and all those feelings of horror from the last time I was put in the picture came flooding back, I felt dizzy, my gorge rising and just as I thought I was going to pass out I heard a voice say, ‘alright squire, how you doing?’ and there was Jorg Albertz, Demon Hunter standing before me, mist swirling around his feet and he wasn’t alone; behind him stood another man. I heard Findlay chortle behind me and Souness shifted in his chair. ‘Spiers,’ said Findlay. ‘We believe you’ve met Mo Johnston.’