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‘You sound disappointed,’ said Max.
‘Not really. I was doubtful of his intentions, but he brought a really bad man down, and I guess he deserves his fresh start. I’m all for rehabilitation. Are you satisfied now?’
‘About what?’
‘That I didn’t shoot Davie or his slimy lawyer?’
‘I was always satisfied, Bruce.’
‘How so?’
‘Sniper was too slack. If it was you, we’d have never caught you.’
Bruce laughed. ‘Aye, well that’s true. I guess that’s it then. No more Hardie trouble, unless Frankie does decide that the dark side is more attractive, in which case I’ll be waiting for him.’
‘You serious?’
‘Deadly serious, Max. If Hardie stays on the side of the angels, he’ll get no interference from me.’ His voice was tight and firm.
‘So, is that it for us then?’ said Max.
‘Max, I’m always here. I owe you, and I won’t forget what you did, and what you know about me. You always went the extra yard, and it makes me wish that we’d served together. You ever think I can help you out, just pick up the phone. Right, I gotta go. About to get on a plane.’ The phone clicked in the car speakers. Max smiled and shook his head, feeling as he always did a sense of comfort at his guardian angel, the grizzled ex–special forces operator that was Bruce Ferguson.
Max looked at the clock on the dash, and his heart leapt. He was going to be late. He negotiated his way out of the car park and drove, his stomach tight as the nerves began to bite. He couldn’t miss this, and the appointment was in just over an hour.
The journey took exactly an hour, before Max was parking and jogging through the grounds of the small complex. He went into the low-rise building that had a sign outside that read ‘Radiology’. He burst through the doors and into the reception, where a young man in scrubs smiled.
‘Mr Craigie?’
‘Aye, that’s me,’ said Max, puffing at the exertion.
‘Your wife’s in room three. I’d hurry, if I were you, she looked a little scunnered,’ he said, stifling a smile.
Max jogged down the corridor and tapped at the door with a ‘3’ on it before easing it open.
‘You cut it fine, you bugger,’ said Katie, who was lying on her backon a low bed, a scrubs-clad sonographer using a doppler on her stomach that was smeared in a clear gel.
‘I know. Sorry, traffic was awful.’
‘Well, you’re here now, pal. Come and have a seat. I’ve just started,’ said the sonographer, a grey-haired man in his fifties, with twinkling eyes.
Max leant across and kissed Katie on the forehead, and turned to the screen that was just black and muzzy. The sonographer used the doppler on Katie’s swollen stomach. At first there was nothing to see, just a haze of fuzziness against the black, but then it cleared.
A dome of a head came into view, and a shape of an arm suddenly wafted across the screen.
‘He/she is a lively one,’ said the sonographer as he moved the doppler.
Max said nothing. He couldn’t as it felt like he’d swallowed an apple whole. His mouth gaped open as the shape of their child became more and more distinct on the screen.
‘Lovely strong heartbeat,’ said the sonographer.
‘Fuck,’ said Max, his voice hoarse and tight, feeling his own heart beating in his chest.
Katie reached for his hand and squeezed tight, smiling at the sight on the screen. Max felt tears begin to prick his eyes at what he was seeing. His child, heart pounding away, legs kicking, head moving. Their flesh and blood, just twenty weeks gone.
‘Potty mouth, Max. Lively bugger, eh?’ said Katie with a chuckle.
Max opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t find the words, his eyes just remained glued to the screen as he tried to take it all in.
