When I got home, I changed Anu and fed her with breast milk we kept in the fridge. This became my nightly post-heist habit. I also usually manned the breast pump. It made me feel more like part of the process.
The next day, I asked Milo and Sweetness to help me sort, band and count the dentist’s money. In early afternoon, they came over. Kate and Anu were napping in the bedroom. Sweetness wanted to play DJ, put on a Thelonius Monk album. We dumped out bills from seven grocery bags, sat on the floor and start sorting them. Milo and I went out to the balcony once in a while for smoke breaks. Sweetness uses nuuska.
The first time Kate saw Sweetness stick nuuska in his lip, she was both curious and disgusted. He took out a can of snuff, packed a syringe tube with it, and pressed it into his upper lip. I explained to her that it’s like American snuff, but drier, and users don’t have to spit juice. She asked why she couldn’t see a lump under his lip where he put it in. I told her it had salt or some irritant in it, which abraded the tissue, so that nicotine would hit the user’s system faster.
Over time, it cuts a hole deep through the gum. Nuuska users like it better after the hole cuts and rots through, because the nesting place made it unnoticeable and less messy. She was appalled. Sale of nuuska is illegal in Finland, so people buy quantities of it from the shop on the ferry to and from Sweden for themselves and their friends, and tobacconists keep it under the counter for preferred customers. Police ignore the infraction. Some of them enjoy their nuuska as well. I got hooked on nicotine with it when I was a young athlete. It’s popular among hockey players.
Sweetness took breaks and went outside, he claimed, for fresh air. He was lying, and I wondered what he was hiding.
After a couple hours, I noticed that a car, an Acura, had been parked across the street for a couple hours, wedged in a slot cut by a plow in the snowbank. I thought I caught a glimpse of binoculars. I asked Milo and Sweetness to go out and investigate.
“Yes, pomo—boss,” Sweetness said, put on his coat and made for the door. Milo trailed behind. I went out on the balcony to watch. I must have asked Sweetness not to call me pomo at least a dozen times, told him that if he has to call me anything, to call me Kari. Milo approached the driver’s-side door, Sweetness the passenger’s side. Milo held his police card up to the glass. The driver’s-side window rolled down. The man reached toward an inner coat pocket. Milo drew his pistol so fast that I barely saw it. Milo hammered the man in the face and head with the butt of his Glock multiple times. I heard him scream.
The other watcher went for his pistol. Sweetness smashed the passenger’s-side window with his elbow—protected by his overcoat—and reached through the window. He grabbed the man’s shoulder with a massive hand and the man howled in pain. Sweetness held the man in check. Milo took their wallets, checked their identities. He tossed the wallets back into the car. The men drove away.
Milo and Sweetness came back inside. Milo laughed. “I just beat the fuck out of a SUPO agent,” he said.
“I asked you to investigate, not rearrange his face,” I said.
“He reached inside his coat. He could have been reaching for a weapon.”
I didn’t criticize further. Milo was right to stop him, even if he was overzealous.
So the secret police were watching us. I didn’t know if it was a big deal or not. I had a meeting with Jyri the next day. I would ask him about it then. We finished counting the money. Two hundred and fifty-two thousand euros. We’d stolen almost half a million that weekend. A good start. I figured what the fuck, and tossed the boys packets of ten thousand each. “This is a onetime event, I’m not even taking one for myself, but these are bonuses for a job well done,” I said.
4
It was a pleasant Sunday afternoon. I met Jyri for coffee at Café Strindberg, which overlooks Esplanade Park. Most of the customers at Strindberg are rich forty-something face-lift fraus with little manicured rat dogs. Jyri asked about the weekend.
I told him the total, minus a ten percent skim, not because I intended to steal it, but because he might take every cent, and we couldn’t do without funding. In this scenario, he might just keep it all and tell us to fuck ourselves. He’s not above that.
“All told,” I said, “we took in about three hundred and fifty thousand. It’s in the trunk of my car. I’ll give it to you when we leave.”
He smiled so wide I thought his face might rip. “Hang on to it for now. But three hundred and fifty thousand. Jesus fucking Christ. That’s incredible!”
He’s a snatch hound with a Casanova complex. His eyes darted out the window at every woman that walked by. “Now that we know it works,” he said, “let’s discuss the details.”
I had no doubt that the “details” had nothing to do with crime fighting.
He took a thin tri-folded sheaf of papers from the inner pocket of his immaculate suit jacket and pushed them across the table to me. “These will explain,” he said. “The minister of the interior gave them to me himself. He just wanted to make sure I’m doing what I told him I would do.”
EYES ONLY: INTERIOR MINISTER OSMO AHTIAINEN.
Document summarizing Operation Poronnussija—Reindeer Fucker (referring to me and my Arctic roots)—by agent Captain Jan Pitkänen, at the behest of the Interior Minister.
As the minister expected, extra-legal activity is being conducted by at least four men, one the national chief of police, two police officers under the direct authority of the national chief of police, and a man who is not a police officer. Only the most pertinent information concerning them and their recent activities for our purposes is discussed here.
JYRI IVALO:
DOB 16.10.46
SSN# 161064-4570
Height: 6′0″
Weight: approx. 165 lbs.
Ivalo has been national chief of police for eight years. There is no reason to consider Ivalo anything other than confident and astute. The investigation leading to this report suggests that Ivalo has developed a small but competent team to work, sometimes outside the law, to achieve objectives in those areas in which the national police force has had less then desirable results. Ivalo has vulnerabilities. A minor drinking problem. A desire to be in the social company of people of note, and especially a taste for beautiful young women are his major weaknesses.
KARI VAARA:
DOB 02.06.1968
SSN# 020664-2656
Height: 5′10″
Weight: approx. 190 lbs.
Vaara has the distinction of being the only current policeman to have been shot twice in the performance of duty. He is also one of only two policemen to have killed a suspect in the line of duty. The other is his partner from Helsinki Homicide, Milo Nieminen. They should be considered dangerous. Vaara has twenty-two years in law enforcement, including service in the military police. He has a reputation for acting alone and without respect for the authority of his superiors. Vaara is violent. He has shot and killed one perp and is rumored to have used extreme force against others. Whether that force was warranted is unknown. It is noteworthy, though, that he is capable of it. He inspires admiration from his underlings.
Vaara has few weaknesses. He has no significant vices, and is by and large a loner. He has a wife and infant daughter. The wife is American and living in this country on temporary residence and work permits. In September, his wife will have lived in Finland for three years and may apply for permanent residency. If it is required to bring pressures to bear against Vaara, I suggest that it be done quickly, while the threat of deporting his wife may still be hung over Vaara’s head. Vaara’s relationship with Arvid Lahtinen might possibly lead to a charge of conspiracy to commit murder against him. See below. Vaara suffers from intense migraines caused by a brain tumor. He is scheduled for brain surgery on 9 February. It is unlikely, given the nature of his tumor, but he could possibly die or be permanently disabled, thus eliminating the need for further discussion concerning his illegal operation, as his colleagues, Milo Nieminen and Sulo Polvinen, lack
the wherewithal to function without him.
MILO NIEMINEN:
DOB 23.04.1987
SSN# 230487-623L
Height: 5′7″
Weight: approx. 135 lbs.
After secondary school, Nieminen served in the army, specializing in demolitions. He continued his training in Reserve Officer School. He has a measured IQ of 172. His computer skills are extraordinary. He has let it be known that he is an accomplished computer hacker. This suggests that his ego is such that he will brag, even though revealing such personal information could lead to a great deal of trouble for him. Like Vaara, he is for the most part a loner. He has no close relationships. His father is dead. His mother is alive, but telephone records reveal that he calls only on major holidays.
Nieminen’s major flaw seems to be recklessness, and I tend to think that around-the-clock surveillance, rather than spot tailing, would lead to the discovery of acts that could be used against him. It seems likely that Nieminen could be convicted of computer intrusion and possibly computer theft hacking exploits.
SULO POLVINEN:
DOB 12.09.1987
SSN# 120987-357Y
Height 6′3″
Weight: approx. 265 lbs.
Polvinen’s file has clearly been redacted. Computer files concerning his high school records have been changed, some grades improved and behavioral infractions eliminated. He also has a driver’s license, which I believe is a fabrication, because I think it likely that his family lacked the money required for him to attend driving school. I suspect Milo Nieminen did all this, but because of egotism was sloppy and thought it unnecessary to cover his tracks. According to his redacted file, Polvinen took a six-week course and became a certified security guard. This has been investigated and proven untrue. Cell phone surveillance indicates he intends to apply for a job with the National Bureau of Investigation. As he has no qualifications, it must be assumed that he expects to receive a job through nepotism. Polvinen’s brother died in an altercation with two security guards at a nightclub. These bouncers were later stabbed, beaten to the point of disfigurement and hospitalized. Polvinen’s father stabbed both bouncers to death in the hospital, also confessed to the attack at the nightclub, and is serving a prison sentence because of these crimes. However, it has been stated by some that Polvinen, who is easily recognizable because of his size, committed the initial assault on the bouncers, and as such, could be tried for attempted murder. Polvinen’s mother is half Russian, half Estonian, and he earned high marks in English, Swedish and German in school. Those grades—I checked—are genuine.
ARVID LAHTINEN:
DOB 03.03.1920
SSN# 030320-259V
Height: 5′9″
Weight: approx. 150 lbs.
Lahtinen’s record as a war hero is so long and familiar that I won’t list it here. He is included here only because of his relationship with Vaara. Lahtinen recently lost his wife. Germany would like to extradite him for accessory to murder because of his wartime activities. Lahtinen is to be tried here in Finland because of his recent murder of a Russian businessman. Vaara was present at the murder, hence the possibility of prosecuting him as an accessory. Lahtinen claimed that said businessman was involved in the Arctic Sea affair and the sale of nuclear weapons. As such, Lahtinen’s case falls under the National Security Act, and the case will likely drag on for some years. Vaara and Lahtinen have apparently developed a friendship. They speak on the phone frequently, and although he hasn’t done so in monitored phone conversations, if Lahtinen does possess potentially damaging State secrets, he may well have shared them with Vaara. This might be considered another sound reason to deport Vaara’s wife and get rid of him along with her.
Vaara, Nieminen and Polvinen committed breakings and enterings on both Friday and Saturday nights. They robbed drug dealers and made off with bags likely containing drug money and/or narcotics.
I regret to inform the minister that I have blown my cover in this case. I underestimated Vaara because of his migraines, thinking they must impair his cognition and attention span. He sent out Nieminen and Polvinen to find out why we were surveilling his apartment. Nieminen approached, and I rolled down the driver’s-side window. I reached for my ID and he drew his pistol so fast that I had no time to respond. He struck me in the face with it several times. It was my own fault, because I did not announce my intention to produce identification and so he was within his rights, as I could have been reaching for a weapon. My nose and cheekbone were broken, and my right eye socket fractured. My partner tried to draw his weapon in defense. Polvinen shattered his window, reached through into the car and squeezed my partner’s shoulder so hard that his collarbone was crushed and his shoulder squeezed out of its socket and dislocated. I had no idea such a thing was possible. Nieminen took my police card. I said, “I’m a goddamned cop. What the fuck did you do that for?” He replied, “You’re an errand boy sent by shopkeepers. I’m a pistoleer. Next time we meet, I suggest you remember that.” I think it was a line from a movie, but I got the impression that Nieminen isn’t all there.
As I said, my cover is blown, how should we proceed?
Best Regards,
Captain Jan Pitkänen
Reply from the interior minister to Pitkänen:
Operation Poronnussija terminated. Hope your face heals up.
Best Regards,
Interior Minister Osmo Ahtiainen
And lastly, I found two memos on a Post-it stuck to the last page. One addressed to Jyri. “Good idea. I want whatever you’re getting.”
The next Post-it was in Jyri’s handwriting and meant for me. “Poronnussija: 15% each for me, you, and for the interior minister, 5% each for the maniac brainiac and the giant oaf. The rest for operational funding. Trust me, it’s a good deal. Take it.”
Giving Milo and Sweetness a bonus was a one-off. I never intended to become a crooked cop and do this for profit. “Thanks, but no, thanks,” I said. “My paycheck will suffice.”
Jyri laughed at me. “Goddamn, you’re naïve. You have to take the money. If you’re not complicit, we can’t trust you. Just consider it part of your paycheck. Trust me, you’ll get used to it.”
I didn’t know how to respond for a moment. I stumbled on my words. “What happened to your speech about helping people?”
He shrugged. “Then help people.” He snickered. “You know what they say the three biggest lies are?”
Disillusioned, I just shook my head no.
“I love you, the check is in the mail, and I won’t come in your mouth.”
“Wow, great joke.”
“Actually, the point is that the joke is wrong. The biggest lie is that altruism exists.”
I just stared at him.
“I’m moving you and Milo from Helsinki Homicide to the National Bureau of Investigation,” he said. “You’ll work directly under me and be out from under public scrutiny. And I’ll make sure the oaf gets a job, too. Invent some specialization for him. There isn’t a checkbox for giant attempted murderer on the job application. Why the fuck do you want him anyway?”
“Mostly to piss you off.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he said, and got up. “Since you just got a big raise, you can pick up the check.”
I got an idea. “Ask the interior minister if, in return for this fifteen percent, he’ll do me the occasional favor, beginning with this one. Ask him if he can supply me with the dossiers of every known criminal taking the morning Tallink ferry to Helsinki on”—I pick a date at random—“Friday, February nineteenth.”
“I’ll ask,” he said.
He started to walk away and then turned back to me. “And I want ledgers kept.” He walked out, whistling the Irving Berlin song “Blue Skies.”
5
I walked in the front door, knelt down in the foyer and took off my boots. Put away the money Jyri refused to take. Kate sat at our dining room table, nursing Anu. One of the advantages of my new position, so far, was that it was much lik
e shift work for people with factory jobs. I was often home during the day and could spend time with my family, and when I worked at night, they were usually asleep, except for nighttime feedings. They were hard on Kate. I saw the fatigue in her face. When I was home, I helped out as best as I was able. We did normal things. Watched TV. Made meals. Took Anu for walks in her stroller. I hoped, once child rearing got easier for Kate, our life would be this way forever.
I walked over and sat beside them. “How are my girls?” I asked. Anu farted, smiled and cooed, as if to answer, “Just fine, Daddy.” I leaned toward Kate to kiss her. Said kiss wasn’t returned.
“Little girl fine,” Kate said. “Big girl not fine.”
I saw that Kate was in a rage, preventing herself from screaming only to keep from upsetting Anu. Judging by the smell, Anu’s coo signaled more than a fart. I took her to the other room to change her. She pissed in my face. I made myself not laugh aloud because of Kate’s mood. After I cleaned myself up, I came back to the living room with Anu. Kate’s controlled rage hadn’t abated.
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