police over pigeons, would you believe.”
“Doves?”
“No, there’s a pastime in Glasgow where the local ruffians fly pigeons as a hobby instead of working. Seemingly one person launches his pigeon from a dovecot, or ‘dookit’, as they say locally. Once the pigeon is in the air, another chap releases one of his. Whoever’s pigeon manages to entice the other chap’s pigeon back to his dovecot is the winner and that person gets to keep the other chap’s bird. It’s all very basic.”
“How extraordinary. And do they eat the captured bird?”
“No, I think they sell it on where the process is repeated by some other ruffian from a different part of the city. Anyway, seemingly The Big Man had a run-in with a corrupt police cabal, a group of Irish inspectors known as ‘The Irish Brigade’ who have controlled the city and gave protection to underworld figures for payola.”
“Payola?”
“Protection for services rendered. One of my investigative journalists picked up that The Big Man ran the city’s pigeon breeding racket, or more specifically, had some sort of specialism in a particular breed that he sent overseas. As a result of the falling out, this Irish brigade of corrupt police inspectors organised a vicious gang from down south to come up and steal all The Big Man’s pigeons, which put him and his cronies out of the pigeon breeding business. For revenge, The Big Man then collected and collated a dossier of evidence, covering a number of years, which detailed all the corrupt practices of Glasgow’s finest. I was given the dossier and the rest is history. Practically every policeman above the rank of constable in the areas of the city that the inspectors operated in were investigated and where there was any hint of wrongdoing, the staff were either sacked or charged with corruption. I believe there’s still a backlog of suspended officers waiting for their turn to find out their fate. If I didn’t already have an hereditary knighthood, I’d be Sir Frank as we speak.”
“So, Frank, are we talking about a peerage here?”
“Well, not that I would be seeking any recognition. I feel I am only doing my duty by exposing and reporting corrupt and illegal practices in public life wherever I find it, but there have been whispers in certain quarters that I may get some sort of acknowledgement…if you know what I mean?” Sir Frank said, tapping the side ae his beak.
“I fully admire your dedication, Frank. How you can stand to live in amongst all that corruption, and still remain dedicated to uphold the freedom we’ve all fought and died for is admirable. Of course there needs to be law and order. Where would we all be if people were allowed to do what they damned please? Anarchy, that’s what would happen. The core of any civilised society is respect for the law. Without it, we’re nothing.”
“Hear, hear,” Sir Frank chimed, haudin oot his glass fur a refill.
“Anyway, enough of all that. You and Susan are my guests for the weekend, so let’s enjoy it.”
“And the plans for the Highland Games and Gala are going well?”
“Everything’s on schedule. Once again, we have James Robertson Justice, of ‘Dr At Large’ fame, coming over from Spinningdale to officially open the gala on Friday evening and I’ll be cutting the ribbon for the start of Saturday’s programme. We’ve a busy weekend ahead of us.”
“And I believe you have a little sparrow from New York in attendance?”
“Saba? How did you know that?”
“Oh, I came across her in the courtyard when we arrived. She’s a fine-looking specimen. Looks just like her mother.”
“Well, she’s been here for a few weeks now. I can’t say it’s been easy as her return to the Kyle wasn’t entirely voluntary. However, I think she’s settling in. She’ll be joining us for dinner, so you’ll get a proper chance to
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