“My boss called me from corporate. She more or less called me an incompetent asshole and insinuated that whether I still have a job is an open question.”
I started to move closer to comfort her, thought better of it. “Why?”
“Because I never resolved the matter of my maternity leave. I asked Aino”—Kate’s assistant hotel manager—“if she could look after the hotel until we had settled things between us.”
Kate didn’t want to take the traditional nine-month maternity leave, wanted to do things the American way. Have the baby, take a few weeks, put the baby in childcare, and go back to work. Or alternately, for me to exercise my paternity leave, since I was less than enamored with my job anyway, but paternity leave is only a few weeks long, so I didn’t really understand what her idea was in that regard.
But then there were family problems when her brother and sister were here, supposedly to help Kate when the baby arrived, in truth to escape their own troubles. Anu arrived early, we found out I had a brain tumor and might very well be incapable of taking care of an infant. Aino seemed to be doing fine at the hotel, and dealing with the issue in an official way went to the wayside. Under the circumstances, it was perfectly understandable.
“She ripped me a new asshole,” Kate said. “She informed me that as head of the hotel, I was under an obligation to understand and obey the rules governing the treatment of my workers.”
It didn’t help that I pressured Kate to take the normal nine-month maternity leave. I had a feeling it just wouldn’t work out otherwise. Anu switched nipples. Kate continued. “She said no one from corporate was there to look over my shoulder, and foreigner or no, I had better goddamned well learn the Finnish union rules and abide by them. Under no circumstances could Aino perform my job for an indefinite amount of time without being given a contract authorizing her to do that job and an adjustment in pay to reflect it. She said she wrote a nine-month contract and Aino signed it. My boss said, and I quote, ‘We’re fucking lucky she’s good-natured. She could have complained to the union. I gave her pay retroactive to the last day you deemed to come to work.’ The bitch closed with ‘When you come back—if you come back—know what in the goddamned hell you’re doing.’ And then she hung up on me.”
“Damn,” I said. “Happy fucking Sunday.”
“Yeah. Happy fucking Sunday. Look at us. We’re sitting at a dinner table that seats ten that we bought so we could have dinner parties, except we don’t have any friends to have a dinner party. I don’t know if I have a job. I’m going to sit here playing milk cow for the better part of a year, and my husband may die on the table in surgery two days from now.”
She realized the ugliness of what she just said and the cruelty of pushing that truth in my face. I thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t. Instead, we stared at each other for a long time. Her expression was blank. For the first time, it struck me that part of her was furious at me for being sick. It made me sad. I imagined myself in her position, overwhelmed by anxiety, trepidation, anger, fear of the unknown and of being left alone.
I felt guilt for being sick, for doing this to her, especially because I looked forward to brain surgery, because whether I lived or died, the pain would be over. I’d learned to hide it well, even from Kate, but my migraine throbbed hard and constant. I scarfed drugs, slept as much as I could, sought oblivion to escape the agony. It had been going on now for about almost a year continuous. The toll it had taken was so great that if it weren’t for my responsibilities and the possibility that surgery might end the suffering, I would have ended it myself. Just two more days. Two more days.
Anu had fallen asleep. We took her to her bedroom and put her in her crib. The closet door was half open. Kate noticed an unzipped backpack, cash spilling out of it. Grocery bags full of cash sat beside it. Her voice was calm. “What’s all this?”
“Proceeds from the weekend,” I answered.
She opened the door wide, plunged both hands into the backpack and tossed money into the air like confetti. She looked inside it again, reached in and pulled out a Bulldog revolver we had stolen. She held it up in front of her face and stared at it.
“Careful,” I said, “it’s loaded.”
She put it back into the backpack and this time pulled out a clear plastic bag of Ecstasy. “So this is the new you.”
“I was honest with you about everything.”
“You think stuffing your daughter’s closet with dope money and guns is OK?”
“I tried to give the money to Jyri. He wouldn’t take it. It’s to bankroll our project, and I just haven’t gotten rid of the other stuff yet.” This was not quite, but mostly true. I was keeping some of it. “And I’m pretty sure Anu doesn’t know what any of it is, and she can’t even roll over yet, so I can’t picture her overdosing or shooting herself.”
She whisper yelled. “That’s not the point and you know it. Get this shit out of my house.”
I didn’t know what the point was, but if she wanted it, in the mood she was in, that was enough. I called Milo, asked him if he would come over, get the swag and keep it in his place.
“You’ve seen how small my place is,” he said. “Where am I supposed to put it?”
“Please,” I said. “And if you’re not busy, could you come over now?”
He got it then. Domestic bliss had been disturbed. He lives only a ten-minute walk away. “OK,” he said, “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
I went out to the balcony, smoked two cigarettes and waited on him. Kate needed some time to cool down, and I had more to tell her.
Milo came over with two gym bags stuffed inside a third. I helped him pack it all up except for a hundred thousand, which I kept for emergencies. It was a heavy load, and I asked him if he wanted me to help him carry it home. He understood that I needed to talk to Kate, and staggered out the door, weighted down with guns, dope and nearly half a million euros.
Kate had gone to our bedroom to be alone. She wasn’t angry anymore. She just looked wretchedly sad. I said I had some things to tell her about my meeting with Jyri and asked if we could talk. I suppose because of the way she had spoken to me, because she’d tried so hard to be kind to me and finally lost control of her emotions, she looked contrite. She needn’t have. Almost anybody would have done the same under so much pressure. She nodded and patted the bed. I propped up a couple pillows and lay down in a semi-recline.
“I’m leaving Helsinki Homicide, and so is Milo. This little black-ops unit of ours is moving to the National Bureau of Investigation.”
“Which is?” she asked.
“The NBI is a national police unit that fights the most serious organized and professional crime. It provides a lot of specialized technical services—forensics, technical intelligence, operational analyses. Assists local police forces in their more difficult cases. It offers more expert services. Financial and money laundering crime. IT crime. More difficult homicide cases and more complicated cases in general. It also takes care of international police co-operation and exchange of information, a big help to me, since I want to focus on cross-border transportation of girls forced into slavery and prostitution. You can think of it as being like your American FBI.”
“So it’s a step up for you? A promotion?”
“In a manner of speaking. It’s less public. I’m well-known, and it keeps me out of the public eye. And I’m fighting high-level organized crime, so our project fits in with the NBI mandate. Plus, they don’t have educational requirements, only areas of expertise, so Sulo can get an official job there, too.” This was before Kate hung Sulo with his nickname, Sweetness.
Kate laughed. “And his area of expertise is what?”
“Whatever we invent. The minister will rubber-stamp it.”
I didn’t say that my role was to be similar to Hoover’s uglier machinations. It appeared to me that, although during our meeting it went unsaid, the subtext was that I was to be used for heists and shakedowns, extortion and instilling fear,
probably collecting dirt on perceived enemies of the establishment. I was now Jyri’s enforcer, and before I had even begun, I had to find a way to extricate myself from this situation. It occurred to me that Jyri didn’t even wish me luck with my surgery. If I died, he wouldn’t mourn my loss, just find someone else to do the job.
“Congratulations,” Kate said. “I shouldn’t have complained about the things in the closet. You were up front about what you were going to do and asked my permission. I had a chance to say no.”
Guilt renewed itself. She wanted to say no, but acquiesced because I might be dead soon, and she would deny me nothing. I squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t matter. And all this isn’t as good as it sounds. Jyri presented this operation as if we would steal from criminals out of need for funding. For the good of the public. It was a lie. We’ve been moved to the NBI in part because it’s headed by the minister of the interior, and he and Jyri have some kind of illicit partnership. Not all of the money we’ve stolen goes to funding the unit. Jyri gets a cut, the minister gets a cut, and they insist that I take a percentage as well.”
Kate’s jaw dropped. “That makes you a dirty cop.”
I nod. “Yep, it does. I said I didn’t want it. He said I had to take it because if I didn’t, I wasn’t complicit, and if I wasn’t complicit, I couldn’t be trusted.”
“You can’t do it,” Kate said.
I sighed. “You can’t imagine how disillusioned I am. I’m so fucking stupid and naïve. Maybe I should just resign.”
“No,” she said, “not yet. Remember, you have evidence on the national chief of police that would end his career. He’s at your mercy and he knows it. He can’t force you to do anything.”
I was at a complete loss. “What do I do then?”
“You have surgery. You come home. You let me take care of you and heal. Then we figure it out together.”
It made me smile. I rolled over and gave her a hug.
“Mä rakastan sinua,” she said.
Her Finnish was getting better all the time. “I love you, too. I’m sorry about your job.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She took Anu from her crib, brought her into the bed with us, and we all took a nap together.
6
That evening, Milo and Sweetness came over for a planning session. I wouldn’t see them again until after my surgery. I asked them here to issue edicts, to make everything clear. When I was back in action, working under the assumption that I would be, I wanted everything running smoothly.
They sat at the dining room table. Katt perched on my shoulder. Kate sat on the couch breast-feeding Anu, her back to us. I didn’t ask her for privacy during the meeting, in the spirit of my new policy of honesty.
Milo and Sweetness showed up wearing thousand-euro suits. “Plans for the evening?” I asked.
“Yep,” Milo said. “We’re going out for a night on the town, beginning with the casino. I have a feeling Lady Fortune is with us.”
“Nice suits,” I said.
Sweetness said, “I’ve never had one before. Milo helped me pick it out. It’s a Hugo Boss. They don’t make them in my size and they had a hard time altering it. Do you think they did a good job?”
“You look great,” I said and meant it, “but you can’t go to the casino.”
Automatic, Milo went angry and defensive. The dark circles under his eyes narrowed to black pits. I wondered if he ever sleeps. “You can’t tell us what to do with our money.”
I shouldn’t have given them the money. It was bound to result in them showing it off.
Helsinki has a major casino downtown. First-class. Big money. “Have you ever been to the casino?” I asked.
“No.”
“They’re going to take your pictures so they can register you and give you membership cards. Then video cameras will record every move you make, such as plunking down a grand on a roll of the dice. Swanky entertainment on a cop’s salary. If you’re ever charged with being a dirty cop, which you now are, you can rest assured your trip to the casino will be found out and used as evidence against you. That SUPO agent you beat half to death needs his face rebuilt. You think that will be forgotten, that you won’t be watched? We can all count on being spot tailed now. Assume everything you do is known to the secret police.” I pointed at Sweetness. “And technically, you’re unemployed. You don’t even have a source of income, which in large part is why I gave you some money, not to fritter it away. How do you intend to explain your sudden rise to the high life?”
He didn’t answer, stuck some nuuska in his lip instead.
“Then what the hell is the good of having the money?” Milo asked.
“Money is always good. Just keep it invisible.”
He scratched his head, puzzled. “If we’re watched, how are we supposed to pull off these dope dealer robberies?”
“It’s taken care of. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. And handsome though you are in them, don’t make it a habit of wearing expensive suits. Just don’t do things that call attention to yourselves.”
Milo and Sweetness looked at each other and traded grins.
“What?” I asked.
Sweetness laughed out loud.
Milo said, “Where should I begin? Let’s see. You and I were in the headlines just weeks ago for stopping that school shooting and killing a man. Your limp makes you noticeable from a mile away, and that bullet wound scar on your face is fucking scary. You’re a walking billboard that screams ‘Look at me!’ And our giant colleague makes quite an impression on people as well. You’re just being silly.”
The crew had taken up the habit of speaking English in Kate’s presence, out of politeness.
“They’re right, you know,” Kate said, and I saw it dawn on them that she must be privy to everything. She looked at Sulo. “Sweetness,” she said, “would you be a dear and bring me a cup of coffee, with a little milk in it?” Sulo translates to “sweet,” and so it seemed natural to her to call him that. She had no idea what she’d done.
Milo hee-hawed. “Sweetness, that’s great! Sweetness, could I have a cup, too?” And thus, Sulo became Sweetness forevermore. He maintained his dignity and pretended as if nothing had happened. He asked me if I would care for a cup. He served us all, even Milo.
“Thank you, Sweetness,” Milo said.
Sweetness stood up, walked over to peruse my CD collection, kept his back to us so we couldn’t see his face turn red. “Pomo, do you mind if I put on some music?”
I told him to go ahead, and we all sat without speaking and listened to Charlie Parker blow saxophone. The group had a strange dynamic. Milo and Sweetness both emulated me, vied for my attention, and I got the feeling I had taken on some kind of father figure role for them. They spent far more time in our home than necessary, stopped by under any pretense. They were just in the neighborhood and popped in. Did we need anything from the grocery?
Their demeanor toward Kate carried something with it that suggested motherhood, and her quiet dignity and bearing, especially when she held Anu, reinforced it. Despite Kate lacking the lush figure commonly portrayed during the period, she and Anu together often called to my mind Renaissance images of Madonna and Child. Milo and Sweetness bickered and insulted each other constantly, but then Milo took Sweetness out and helped him shop for clothes, reminiscent of the behavior of brothers. And finally, Arvid Lahtinen called me every couple days, and the tone of our conversations were much like grandfather and grandson.
I’d only known Arvid a few weeks, and our relationship was forged by criminal activity and murder. Among other things, his wife had cancer, he helped her to die, and I covered it up for him. Plus, he knew my grandpa during the Second World War. They were friends and killed many men together.
And now we were phone friends. I’d never had a phone friend before, but I enjoyed his calls.
My relationship with Sweetness also began with an act of violence. Two bouncers accidentally killed his brother. He repaid t
hem by stabbing them with a box cutter and hitting them repeatedly in the face with a key ring, the keys protruding from between his fingers, causing awful puncture wounds and disfiguring them. I gave him a chance and offered him a job on a drunken whim, because he had a shitty upbringing and I felt sorry for him, and because I thought his capacity for violence would be of use to me.
I picked up my phone and called my neurologist brother, Jari. He picked up. “Hello, big brother,” I said to him, even though he’s half my size, because he’s four years older than me.
It was two days until brain surgery, his voice radiated concern. “You OK?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine, but I made a decision. I’m going to be out of action anyway. I want to take care of all my problems at once.”
“Such as?”
“I want to check into the hospital early. Tomorrow. I want the scar on my face removed, and surgery on my knee to repair it as best as they’re able.”
He laughed at me. “Hospitals and surgeons don’t offer one-day service, and you need tests on your knee to find out how to best repair the damage, how much of the damage can be repaired, or even if it can be repaired at all.”
“My appearance interferes with my work as a detective. If I can get them all done at once, I won’t have so much downtime from work, and I have a baby to take care of. I know you can get it done if you call in favors. I’m asking you for a favor.”
Kate still had trouble believing that medical care is essentially free here. Brain surgery, all the attendant tests and the hospital stay would cost me nothing. The police have private insurance, so I get preferential care. I forget, maybe I pay a fifty-euro-a-year deductible. Nothing more. For an uninsured citizen using the public health-care system, a hospital stay costs fifteen euros a day. A doctor’s visit about the same. Specialists cost nothing extra. Tests are cheap or free. Medicine can be expensive, but most people can easily afford to be sick here.
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