This article was first published on May 12.
It is March 2022, in the West End of Glasgow, and one of America’s most wanted men is gasping and gurgling as he trundles towards me in a motorised wheelchair. He is wearing a spotted bow tie, a check three-piece suit in battleship grey, plum socks and a gold pocket watch, and has a transparent respirator mask clamped over his whiskery jowls.
Behind him on a shelf are images of Winston Churchill, Julius Caesar and the Great Sphinx of Giza, plus a Paddington Bear toy. Slippers embossed with Prince of Wales feathers lie near his feet. Puffy and perspiring, he proffers a clammy hand but his greetings are all but drowned out by the roar of an