Hello Darkness My Old Friend

Over the years I've found that some cities have their own peculiar scent: Paris smells of coffee and garlic; Amsterdam has the pungent aroma of grass and Berlin, well Berlin smells of shame.  I noticed this while on a research mission there with Jorg Albertz Demon Hunter and I asked him about the little brass plaques I'd noticed on many doorways.  He looked sad and told me that these indicated buildings from which Jewish families had been removed by the Nazis before being taken to the camps and murdered.  'It's so that Germany never forgets it's shameful era of genocide' he said and then remained silent the rest of the day.

 

Curiously enough, when I returned to Glasgow I recognised the same scent; not as strong though, and mingled with the smell of too many days in the heat with no rain but it did seem that Glasgow was hanging its head in shame.  I didn't find out why until later when I took a wander into the Herald office and remarkably, there was Lawwell marching out of Magnus Llewellin's office, his face puce, slicing anyone who came within range of his horse whip.  I ducked behind a work station and hoped he didn't see me.  'I can see you, Spiers' he said as he passed.

 

Once he was gone I joined the throng that'd gathered at the door of Magnus's office and goggled at the sight within: Lawwell had him crucified upside down against a wall.  'Get me down from here,' shrieked Llewellin, as he bled all over his Celtic centenary rug.  'And get me the news desk, if those bastards proceed with the reporting of the Celtic fans' antics in Brentford then that lunatic's coming back here to finish the job!'

 

Lawwell never visits his victims so something big must have happened while I was tweeting about golf while not actually being at the golf.  No, Lawwell usually summons his victims to visit him and they do, hoping that they'll only be tortured a little if they turn up on time.  So what caused him to march into the Herald and nail Magnus Llewellin to a wall?  It turns out that while I've been gone the Celtic fans have been misbehaving again, singing awful songs about drummer Lee Rigby as well as all the usual lusty hymns to violent Irish Republicanism and then to put the tin lid on things, a rumour was going round that the Green Brigade had sent a flying column out to burn the new Rangers bus.  According to Tom Devine who I met later in Cottiers, some papers felt these stories were too big to sweep under the carpet and were all set to go to print with them.  That is, until Lawwell got wind of it and swept through Glasgow on a wave of blood and horse whipping and after a few nails were hammered through a few hands and feet, the only noise you could hear from the press was the sound of silence.  So that was where the smell of shame came from then, that I'd noticed upon stepping off the plane.

 

Tom Devine didn't sit with me for long, he had more important things to do.  'I'm off to fuck Angela Haggerty,' he grimaced.  'I'm going to gallop that silly slut so hard her tits'll fall off.  I'll be seeing you, Spiers.  Oh, and look out for Souness, there's a good chap.'  I was wondering what he meant by this when I turned round and there was Souness, his fist coming straight at me.

 

I came to later and it was dark and we were in a bus yard - Coatbridge probably from the stench in the air.  Souness was beside me in the shadows and was watching intently as four men cut their way through the fence and broke into the garage containing what I assumed was the Rangers bus.  Souness allowed them some time to plant their device which I found odd and then pounced as they left.  'Watch this,' he said as he stood up and walked calmly towards them, his pistol pointing straight ahead.  Without breaking his stride he'd shot all four in the legs and by the time I dared come out of hiding, he'd zipped their wrists together and was all set to bundle them into the back of his van but then something came whistling out of the night from above us and wrapped itself around Souness - it was a batarang!  Souness struggled with it but he was held tight, his arms stuck to his sides from the wire wound around him.  Then Stuart Cosgrove dressed as a bat came down a zip slide and booted Souness over.  'That's for knocking me off the  top off Pacific Quay the last time we met,' he growled.  'Now what do you think you're going to do with these gentlemen?' he nodded at the Celtic fans on the ground.

'I'm taking them somewhere quiet where I can introduce them to my electricity supply,' grinned Souness.

'Torture?  By gawd, you've not changed, have you?  No, these men shall stay here and be dealt with by the law.  You have taken care of the device they planted, haven't you?'

'I was just about to do that before you sucker punched me with you silly little fairy rope' said Souness and just as he did, the garage exploded and the Rangers buses erupted in a huge fireball which knocked us all over and singed my eyebrows.  By the time Cosgrove had recovered himself, Souness was gone.

'Oh well, at least he left the arsonists and here come the police.  Quick, Spiers, we must leave' and he gathered me up, fired a bat rope into the air and lifted us both off our feet and away from the scene of the crime.  We waited a short while though, Cosgrove insisting we make sure the police apprehend the culprits.  Then Police Scotland arrived.

'Is that the Rangers buses in there?'  one asked.  The Green Brigade kids all nodded.

'And are you Celtic fans I take it?' asked the policeman to more nods.

'Right, you'd best be off then and don't let us catch you around here again, you jolly pranksters' and he untied them and saw them off with playful boots up their backsides.  I looked at Cosgrove and he didn't look happy at all but said nothing and we both sneaked off to go our separate ways and say no more about what we'd just witnessed.  Just like the media in Scotland would in the coming days.