Out of a Misty Dream

Having heard Lawwell exploding at Regan I understood that if I didn’t make myself scarce then I’d be in for a horse whipping so I sprinted into the darkness of the Hampden corridors, lost my way in the stygian black and promptly fell down a flight of stairs. Well they hadn’t been there before when George Peat ruled the SFA with well meaning yet blundering common sense; this was the first time I encountered the new underground torture rooms soon to become known as the Skin Flats. As I came to in a heap at the bottom of the steps, I heard commotion behind me so quickly found the darkest corner around and kept out of sight or at least I hoped. Into view came the lumbering monstrosities that had once been Stewart Regan and Neil Doncaster, behind them some high ranking police judging from the braid on their helmets. I kept quiet and listened.

‘He wants arrests: the more high profile the better but they must be connected to Rangers,’ this was Regan to the police. ‘He has reassured us that the Lord Advocate has prepared the way for your move and there will be no interference from above. Then once our plans enter their final stage you are to follow our lead. Broadfoot will choose the best candidate for the death threats depending on how things are going at the time, all you have to do is treat them seriously.’
The police nodded and took notes with their little pencils.
‘With the greatest of respect to our master,’ began the taller of the two police. ‘There must at least be a suggestion of death threats, nobody wants an embarrassing repeat of the Alex Thomson debacle when we investigated threats by a Rangers-friendly journalist only to discover it was one of our own at the madam.’
‘Broadfoot will make sure the threats are tangible,’ hissed Doncaster. ‘Once the result of the SPL panel’s investigation into Rangers and their dual contracts…’
‘No, not dual contracts’ interrupted Regan.
‘Well, side letters…’ continued Doncaster.
‘Erm, I think we’ve been warned off the dangers of calling it that too.’
‘Well what the fuck are we calling it now if it’s not side letters?’
‘Who cares?’ snorted Regan. ‘It’s not as if anyone from the Scottish press is going to bother what we charge them with, they’re as keen to see Rangers destroyed as we are. Call them Dirty Cheating Orange Bastard Internal Side Memo Email Letters with Dual Fucking Pictures of the Pope for all I care, just make sure you nail them and the moment anyone from Ibrox makes a peep in protest, our friends in uniform here will squash them.’
‘Hold on, what’s that noise?’ said Doncaster, motioning for everyone to be quiet and listen. I almost vomited in my mouth with fear as I thought I’d been rumbled but it wasn’t me they’d heard, there was a dark figure of a man walking towards them. From further inside the Skin Flats – he’d been here all along and had no doubt heard the SPL and SFA scheming to ruin Rangers with the help of the Establishment.