‘I feel it’s incumbent on me…’ Loud cheers.
‘A fiver each way on incumbent!’ yelled a man from the back to loud laughter.
‘… tae warn yoose people aboot behaviour in Spain, or Espana as our Spanish friends call it. In particular, I feel I should reiterate
…’
More loud cheers.
‘I’m goin’ for a double wi’ incumbent and reiterate!’ yelled the man at the back.
‘… the request of our club chairman that the Spanish Police…’
Very loud boos.
‘… should be treated with all due courtesy and consideration. The club will not countenance…’
‘Ah think you’ve got a promisin’ treble there Jimmy!’ called out a man at the front.
‘This guy’s magic!’ replied the voice from the back.
‘… any repeat of last time.’
The aircraft landed at Valencia in brilliant sunshine and the sound of the engines gave way to the banging of overhead lockers and people stretching their limbs as they stood up.
‘I need tae go,’ said a man across the gangway.
‘You’re too late,’ said his companion.’
‘What d’you mean, too late?’ asked the man indignantly.
‘You canny go while the plane’s standin’ still,’ explained his friend. ‘The next wan’ll skid on the runway.’
Everyone laughed except the man with the problem.
MacLean was relieved to find the Spanish officials as reluctant to prolong their acquaintance with football supporters as their Scottish counterparts. He could see that the passport controller was merely waving through the stream of paperwork that was waved at him.
MacLean and Leavey emerged together from the terminal building to find a warm breeze ruffling the fronds of the date palms lining the perimeter road.
‘So far so good,’ said Leavey. ‘What now?’
‘We travel with the rest into the city and then melt away,’ said MacLean. ‘Have you seen Willie?’
Leavey shook his head and said, ‘He’ll be talking to somebody.’
MacFarlane emerged from the building, deep in argument about the relative merits of several football players. He saw Leavey and MacLean waiting for him and broke away to join them. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I got carried away.’
‘No problem,’ said MacLean. ‘The more we fit in the better. We’d best get on the bus.’
The buses taking them to the centre of Valencia were met by loud cheers from other supporters who were already there and mingling round the main square. It seemed as if the town centre had been taken over entirely by Scots wearing red, white and blue. MacLean, Leavey and MacFarlane joined their compatriots but, while stories of adventures en route were being exchanged, MacLean and Leavey were looking for signs of officialdom.
There was a strong police presence in the vicinity but, for the moment, it was maintaining a low profile. Jeeps and vans were parked up side streets; their sunglassed occupants keeping watch like guards over a chain gang in a spaghetti western. Leavey and MacLean noticed that most of the shops were closed. ‘Siesta time,’ said MacLean.
‘With no hope of being able to hire a car for the next two hours MacLean and the others went to eat. They found a small pavement cafe, which seemed less favoured by their compatriots and sat down under the welcome shade of an umbrella to order tortillas and ice-cold beer. Time passed slowly in the heat of a Spanish afternoon, especially when the initial laboured exchange of views over the outcome of the match with the owner of the cafe petered out through a lack of verbs on both sides. Nouns and hand signals could only take you so far.
After a particularly long silence MacFarlane said, ‘I feel as if I’m waiting for a train.’
‘The one bringing the bad guy back to town,’ smiled MacLean.
‘They’re starting to open,’ said Leavey, nodding across the street to a trader who was removing the shutters from his window.
‘Let’s make a move,’ said MacLean. He settled the bill with the owner who smiled and said that he hoped they would enjoy the match whatever the result.
They started to drift away from the centre with the intention of getting rid of their scarves and paraphernalia. At first they ambled along slowly but as soon as they had turned off into a side street they quickened their pace. They had gone about two kilometres when a police car drew up behind them. Two policemen got out and slammed the doors in unison. Neither looked friendly.
‘Where you go?’ asked one.
Just taking a look around,’ said Leavey evenly.
‘No look around. You go back this way,’ said the policeman, pointing towards the centre.
‘Och, we’re not doing any harm, man,’ said MacFarlane with a smile that wasn’t returned.
‘They want to keep us altogether Willie,’ said Leavey. ‘We’re easier to control that way.’
‘Si,’ said the policeman, smiling for the first time but there was no humour in it. ‘Just like the animals… ‘
‘Now wait a minute!’ said MacFarlane angrily.
‘Cool it Willie,’ said Leavey through his teeth.
Leavey’s intervention wasn’t enough to satisfy the policeman who resented the fact that MacFarlane had started to face up to him. ‘You go back now!’ he hissed, ramming his baton into MacFarlane’s midriff.
MacFarlane doubled over and Leavey put a restraining hand on the policeman’s arm saying, ‘Easy, there’s no need for that. We’re going.’
Leavey and MacLean helped MacFarlane to his feet and they started to move back towards the centre of town. ‘Arsehole!’ gasped MacFarlane as he got back his breath.
‘Wait!’ commanded the policeman. He had heard what MacFarlane had said. His companion said something rapidly in Spanish, which MacLean interpreted as an exhortation to let it go, but the man had other ideas. He poked MacFarlane again with his baton. Again Leavey intervened, holding up his arms in a gesture of conciliation. ‘We’re going, we’re going,’ he crooned.
‘No!’ rasped the policeman. ‘Empty your bags.’
Leavey looked for a moment as if he had run out of patience but MacLean said under his breath, ‘Bite the bullet! Do as he says.’
All three emptied their holdalls on to the pavement while the surly policeman examined their belongings with the toe of his boot, a gesture that added to the intended humiliation. His colleague moved uneasily from foot to foot, unwilling to be a part of it but without any power to stop it.
Leavey tensed when the policeman made a point of grinding the sole of his boot on one of his shirts but did nothing.
‘What’ this?’ asked the policeman, pointing with his toe to one of Leavey’s camera cases.
‘A telephoto lens,’ replied Leavey evenly but he exchanged a glance with MacLean which said that it wasn’t. MacLean prepared himself for the worst.
‘Open it!’ said the policeman.
‘Please Senor,’ said Leavey. ‘We are very sorry for all the trouble we have caused. Please let us rejoin our friends and we’ll be no more bother.’
‘Open it,’ said the policeman, sensing that he was on to something.
Leavey shrugged his shoulders in apparent acquiescence and made as if to bend down for the case. Instead he straightened up and hit the policeman with a short right to the jaw. The man slumped to the pavement. MacLean, who had been expecting it, hit the other policeman almost before the man realised what was happening and he too fell to the ground.
‘That’s torn it,’ said MacFarlane.
‘Let’s get our gear and get out of here!’ said MacLean.
They scrambled up their belongings, stuffing them back into their bags and started running back towards the centre and the safety of the crowds. After a few minutes the sound of a police siren told them that they were not going to make it in time. They stopped at a junction and looked both ways for inspiration. There was a group of twenty or so football supporters quite near. The decision was made for them. They joined the group and got their breath back but they were still vulnerable; the group was too small for anonymity.
