Time Machine Prologue: Devine Retribution

My name is Tom Devine; author, professor, drunken boor and oppressor of Protestants.  Prods?  Can't stand the fellows.  Don't have much time for my own lot either as they're often terrible bores but one can't help the way one's brought up and I'm saddled with the indoctrination of my formative years.  That's why I drink.  Well, it's one of the reasons why I drink.  The other is to have as much bloody fun as possible usually ending up in some disgusting mischief with a trollop or two.  Or three.  Indeed, male or female, it matters not a jot to me.  For my name is Tom Devine and I'm untouchable.

I also freelance as a trouble shooter for Lawwell.  In the old days I wouldn't have wasted time looking down my nose at the gotch-eyed psycho but he's a powerful one these days so it does one well to stay in his good books.  The other night I received a call from him to retrieve our lawyer from a car wreck and while I was there, to try and also retrieve his cock from some tart's mouth.  Honestly, these amateurs!

I didn't get very far though, the call of the Drake was too great and before I knew what was happening, I was in a port drinking competition with some jakey at the bar.  Short fellow, shaved ginger hair and breath that stank like a dead fox, I was sure I recognised him from somewhere indeed he treated me like an old friend for a short while, until I'd drunk him under the table.  I left him there and blundered down Woodlands Road, trying to remember which street corner I'd find Janette Findlay these days when I noticed Spiers and Lawwell heading south and behind them was Souness!  Sobered by the sight of that homicidal maniac, I followed in pursuit.  The problem with old age is though, you can't silently creep up behind anyone anymore.  Just as I was approaching Souness while he spied on my comrades I tripped and stumbled into him and we both fell into that curious blue room with the floor and walls that sparked and buzzed with electricity.