Waiting sucked. Naturally, I wasn’t allowed to go along with the armed officers and the heavies to pay a visit to the suspect’s house. For one thing, my current shape and the available dimensions of body armour were mutually exclusive. For another, no one was going to let me assume that kind of risk, even if the armour had been available. So I had to wait. Patience wasn’t one of my strong points, and despite knowing that Paul could handle himself in any situation, I still felt a jumble of nerves. Unlike my usual sunny, optimistic self, I was catastrophising the situation, playing endless worst-case scenarios in my head. Of course, none of these scenarios were focused where they should have been – on the welfare of the baby. No, they were a lot more self-indulgent. My thoughts couldn’t help but venture into ‘what if something happened to Paul?’ territory. How many times had you seen the tragic and tear-jerking stories in the news about young widows, pregnant or with newborns, whose partners had been killed in the line of duty? Images of women in black flooded my brain, veils concealing tear-stained faces, hands clasping those of loved ones or little children while bravely standing grave-side, watching as the flag was folded and presented to them with military precision, the devastated widow accepting its solemn weight. I imagined having to endure the agony of watching the coffin lowered into the ground. My eyes looked down to the large, wriggly lump between me and my toes. I didn’t want to imagine a life where I was doing this alone. I couldn’t. We needed him.
My anxiety levels had almost reached the ‘I might have to have a puke’ tipping point, when said man marched into the room, a scowl plastered across his face and foul mood radiating like an Imperial Death Star force field. Despite the scowl, I launched myself at him for a hug – professionalism be damned. As was common sense, I realised, as I hit the solidity of his BAS vest. Despite clunking against his body armour, I must have diffused his mood a bit, as he wrapped his arms around me and gave me a tight squeeze, crushing me even harder against the chest plate. The small squeak I let out made him realise the error of his ways, and he quickly released me.
‘How about I get this damned thing off and we try that again.’
I stood back and watched as he un-zipped, un-velcroed and manoeuvred the bulky thing off his shoulders.
‘So, are you going to tell me what happened?’
He let the vest drop to the ground with a thunk.
‘Stupid, stupid, idiot.’
The way he looked at the vest made me suspect he would quite like to have thrown it, or at the very least kicked it.
‘Are you referring to yourself or…’
‘Stupid dickhead, weasel-faced idiot fuckwit.’
That was my usual description of The Boss, so I required a bit more clarification.
‘Which one?’ The Earth almost tilted from his eye-roll.
‘Your fucking mate.’
‘Oh, he ain’t no mate of mine.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I take it things didn’t go well.’
‘It depends on what you define as well. No one was harmed, so that went well.’
‘I feel a but coming.’
‘But…’
He let that hang longer than strictly necessary.
I gave the little winding-hand signal to hurry him along.
‘But we didn’t quite achieve the objective.’
There was only one objective that was important, besides the no one getting hurt thing.
‘So, where’s the baby?’
He stood there, looking at me, steel-faced.
‘There wasn’t any baby.’
‘What do you mean there wasn’t any baby?’
‘Didn’t have it, never had it. The stupid bastard had seen all the hoo-ha in the media, and in whatever chemically induced haze of stupidity he was operating under, he decided here was a way to make a quick buck, so thought he’d try and screw the family out of a ransom.’
‘Sorry, so you’re telling me he didn’t have the baby, but decided to extort money anyway?’
‘Yup.’
‘Shit, what a stupid bloody idiot.’
‘Shit indeed.’