The Balfour Conspiracy

“By all the Gods, there’s Elaine C Smith!”  Tom Devine had recovered and was back scanning the list of creatives who had signed the Manifesto for Independence.  “How did she get out?  I thought I had her tied up in the basement, the frightful creature.”

“Really Tom, I haven’t the time for your nonsense right now, do you know what Lawwell has asked me to do?”

“Eddi Reader?” he smiled, digging me in the ribs with his elbow.

“Gosh, if I only had to get a hold of her it would be fine, I’d just wait outside Peckhams Wine Shop till opening time and grab her then.  But no, it’s nothing to do with your bloody list, Tom.  Lawwell wants me to sabotage Rangers’ run at the league.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” he burped.  “How do you plan to do it?”

“Well Lawwell was very specific, he only wants me to kidnap Morelos!”  There was a crash of thunder and the wind blew the pub doors open, leaves rushed in along the floor as the barman closed the doors against the sudden storm.  “A bit dramatic there, Spiers.  What’s wrong, can’t handle a little football player?  Aren’t you the man who jumped Walter Smith once?  Eh?  Didn’t you have a go at Richard Gough with a sword?”

“Erm, I think you’re mis-remembering our adventures there, Tom.  No, I can’t remember besting anyone in a fight, heavens didn’t you even beat me at shooty-in?”

“Oh!” he roared at the memory and started laughing.  “Oh no, Spiers.  I let you beat me and then I ran off with your wife, remember?” and he hooted all the way to the bathroom where he was sick.

So according to Lawwell, the key to Rangers winning the league and preventing Celtic winning nine in a row was Alfredo Morelos, but how would I manage to over power a man who bullies hammer-throwing Scottish defenders with ease every week?  “Pat Nevin,” someone said over my shoulder from behind me.  I turned and there was no one there.  That’s odd, I thought, I was sure I heard…

“Hello Spiers, buy me a drink.”  I nearly jumped out my shirt, there sitting beside me at the bar was Jorg Albertz, master of the black arts and a man I hadn’t seen in almost a decade.  “You don’t look pleased to see me” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“That’s because you always bring trouble, you maniac!  Where did you pop up from?”

“I’ve been here all along, Spiers.  You just didn’t notice me because you never pay attention.”

“Oh I pay attention…” and just as I said this, Devine appeared and vomited on my trousers.  “Now, what was all this about Pat Nevin?”

“He,” grinned Albertz.  “Is your key to all this.  Your way to kidnap Morelos.”

“And why the bloody heck would you want to help me disadvantage Rangers?” I almost shrieked, my heart still beating like a fucked clock from the fright and added outrage of Tom puking on my shoes.

“Let’s just say Spiers, that Morelos isn’t all that he says he is…” and he winked and looked over my shoulder.  I turned to see what he was looking at and then when I turned back, he was gone.  I hate it when he does that.

I had to find Pat Nevin then, find out how he is the key to kidnapping Morelos.  This would be more difficult than usual as wee Pat had gone to ground shortly after Haggerty had announced her news recently.  Funnily enough, quite a few people I know had disappeared around the same time, I’ll need to ask Tom what that’s all about one of these days but for now, I had to find Nevin.  So I set off out the doors of Tennents and into a dark, stormy afternoon and as I was struggling down Byres Road, face to the wind, I got a funny feeling that I was being watched so I stopped and had a look around me and just for a moment I was sure I saw a car pass me and in it were Albertz, Souness and Donald Findlay, and they were all laughing.