Vengeance hh-2

by Jarkko Sipila

  He sprinkled salt on the tasteless macaroni and squirted some ketchup on top.

  Salmela was a link to the Skulls, but he’d never testify that one of the Skulls’ key players had financed the drug shipment. That would earn him a spot in the protective custody ward, where he’d fare even worse.

  Salmela needed money. His debt was somewhere in the range of fifteen to twenty thousand. The Helsinki police didn’t have that kind of money for informants, but the Interior Ministry or the National Bureau of Investigation might.

  But twenty grand was a lot of money. They wouldn’t cough that up for one amphetamine case. Salmela would need to offer something more, but did he have some other interesting chunk of intel? Probably not, Suhonen guessed.

  Could he obtain intel that was worth that kind of money? Maybe. But the ministry and the NBI weren’t the only ones willing to pay for intel. Insurance companies also paid for tips that led to the reacquisition of stolen property.

  Suhonen chewed his food as he considered the alternatives. There weren’t many.

  * * *

  The office behind the bar at the Skulls’ compound was rectangular: Twelve feet long and about fifteen wide. Black cardboard covered the windows in this room as well. The furnishings were bare. In the middle of the room was a round dark-brown table, ringed by five black plastic chairs. Against the back wall was a worn hide-a-bed, and beside that, a lone bookshelf with a messy stack of magazines. The top issue was a rumpled Playboy.

  Larsson sat down at the table. Next to a thermos was a stack of paper cups and a folded laptop.

  In the corner rested a device that resembled an old minesweeper or a metal detector: a five-foot-long shaft joined to a disc the size of a frying pan. Aronen had swept the room for microphones just before Larsson’s speech. He had also done it in the morning, but now checked the room again just to show Larsson that he was working hard.

  He didn’t find any microphones this time either, not the police’s, nor another gang’s.

  Aronen plopped down on the sofa and Niko seated himself at the table with Larsson.

  “Coffee?” Niko asked. If his plastic chair had had arm rests, his fat backside wouldn’t have fit into it.

  Larsson shook his head.

  “Something else?”

  “No,” he snapped impatiently. “Tell me about Roge and Osku. Are they trustworthy?”

  Aronen deferred to “Dumbo,” though he’d never use that name to Niko’s face or there would be fisticuffs.

  “Yes. I’ll vouch for them,” Niko said without hesitation.

  “You better. What are their backgrounds?” Larsson continued to probe.

  “Straight out of juvie. Assaults and theft.”

  “Drugs?”

  “The usual stuff, but they’re no junkies.”

  That seemed to satisfy Larsson. Niko was a simple man, but sometimes that came in handy. Larsson would have sensed it immediately had he been lying to protect his protégés.

  “Where’s Steiner?”

  “Haven’t seen him in a week,” said Aronen from the sofa.

  That didn’t surprise Larsson. “On a bender?”

  “Don’t know-he hasn’t been here.”

  The Skulls’ rookies and prospects were at the compound daily for guard duty, but for Rolf Steiner that wasn’t required. The white-haired man had been a member almost from the beginning, when the president had recruited him in the pen. Steiner had been in for felony drug trafficking, felony assault, and involuntary manslaughter. He had beaten a low-level pusher to death for pilfering drugs. Steiner had been charged with murder, but his shrewd lawyer had managed to reduce the charge to involuntary manslaughter, shaving years off of his sentence.

  “You’ve tried to track him down?”

  Aronen nodded.

  “His phone is off. Not sure what he’s up to, but he definitely knows you’re out. Though I’m not sure if he remembers.”

  “Well, he’ll get here when he gets here,” Larsson said and shifted gears. “I hear the cops seized some drugs?”

  Niko cleared his throat. “Yeah. Some Estonian bitch got nailed right off the boat.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty ounces.”

  “That’s not so much.”

  “No,” Niko looked relieved. “The other mule was on the same ship with three pounds. That one made it through.”

  “Who messed up?

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “Who’s paying for the lost dope?”

  “Now that I know,” Niko smiled. “The guy who ordered the shipment thinks the cops got all four pounds. He’ll pay us for the full load-even for the three pounds that made it, so we’ll double dip. Best of all, he won’t rat us out.”

  Larsson laughed. “That’s good. What about the Turk?” He was referring to the pizza shop owner who had accused two Skulls of extortion, then let the police plant the secret camera that had put them behind bars.

  “Haven’t done anything yet. It’d be a little obvious to burn down the restaurant right after the ruling,” Aronen said.

  Larsson agreed. “But let’s not forget it.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Every snitch will get what’s coming-and hard,” Larsson said and paused. His eyes roamed the room. “We need more manpower. Damn pigs have thinned out our ranks the last couple years.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Niko.

  “We need to recruit more. First as prospects and then bring in the best ones. More of these Roges and Oskus.”

  Niko nodded. “I’ll second that.”

  “How’s our financial situation?” Larsson turned to Aronen.

  “As far as I can tell, we’re okay. Membership dues and interest are coming in as usual. Collections are steady and we’re getting our share from other businesses like Gonzales’. Then there are these random dope deals,” he said, gesturing toward Niko.

  Larsson nodded his head. “Okay, I got a few ideas, but we’ll get back to that. Aronen, can you get me twenty grand in cash? I need it tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “A couple more things,” Larsson continued, glancing about. “This place is fucking dirty. Somebody really has to start cleaning. Niko, will you take care of it?”

  Niko looked confused for a second before realizing that Larsson wasn’t asking him to actually clean. “Yeah, I’ll make it happen.”

  “But don’t put Roge or Osku on it. They should have some status,” Larsson smiled. “Right now, housecleaning isn’t for our newcomers.”

  “Okay.”

  “And those junkers in the yard have to go.” The old inspection stalls were being used by a car repair shop whose owner paid rent for the space and protection.

  “Okay,” said Niko. “I’ll have a talk with him. The shop is a good way to recruit, by the way. One of the mechanics is already a prospect.”

  “Yeah, good to have them around, but I don’t want those junkers out there. Have them get into some kind of custom detailing or something. Something showy. It fits our style,” he said. “And one more thing. I want a headstone made up for the bar room, chiseled with the names of every member who’s died on our behalf. It should be big enough to leave plenty of empty space.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Niko said dutifully.

  Larsson was satisfied. “And if Steiner shows up, tell him to come see me.”

  “Tell?” Aronen wanted to be sure.

  Larsson’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Tell!’” he roared.

  Annoyed, he opened the laptop, signaling that the meeting was over. When the men didn’t immediately leave, he thundered again, “Get the fuck out!”

  CHAPTER 10

  FRIDAY, 3:00 P.M.

  PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS, HELSINKI

  Lieutenant Takamäki was sitting at his desk. Friday afternoon had lost its flair after Captain Karila had talked him into covering the weekend shift. Lieutenant Ariel Kafka had been hit with the flu and at least one lieutenant-level officer was required t
o be on duty.

  The stale stench of death lingered in Takamäki’s nostrils. Though he wasn’t really sure whether the smell was real or imagined, he knew it would last for at least a day.

  Nothing unusual had surfaced in the old woman’s death. Seventy-eight years old, she had slipped in the shower and hit her head on the tile floor. Takamäki remembered investigating at least a dozen such deaths throughout his career.

  The case was typical-the daughter had become worried when mom hadn’t answered the phone, went to the home and found her dead.

  Every year, about 1,500 of these kinds of cases occurred in Finland. If a person died anywhere other than the hospital, the police were required to investigate.

  Takamäki was filling out the cause-of-death form. They had verified the woman’s identity with her passport, which was found in the apartment. Her address, the spot where she was found, and the circumstances surrounding the death were routine. Takamäki determined that this was not a murder, suicide, disease or poisoning. The woman had simply died as the result of an accident. The medical examiner would determine the exact cause of death and provide the death certificate. There was no need to notify the family, since they had called the police in the first place.

  Takamäki was re-reading his two-page report when Suhonen walked in. As he set down the papers, he reminded himself to read them later to ensure nothing in the text could cause undue pain for the family. Usually, the papers just ended up in the police archives, but relatives had the right to obtain a copy.

  “Well?” Suhonen asked. “How did the case go?”

  Takamäki shrugged. “Nothing a lieutenant can’t handle.”

  Suhonen rubbed his nose. “A rare reek of death in here.”

  Takamäki ignored the barb. Detective lieutenants spent most of their time behind their desks.

  “Did you have something you wanted to talk about?”

  The undercover officer closed the door, indicating that he did. “I have an idea.”

  Takamäki could have retaliated for the barb, but settled for: “Let’s hear it.”

  Suhonen sat on the window sill and asked if Takamäki had thought about Joutsamo’s idea. “Should we bust some Skulls?”

  Takamäki’s expression conveyed the futility of the suggestion.

  “Have you spoken with Narcotics?” he asked.

  “Not yet…not even sure I want to.”

  “How come?”

  “That would implicate Salmela.” In the earlier meeting, after Joutsamo had left the room, Suhonen had told his lieutenant about Salmela’s role in the drug deal.

  “Pretty dangerous territory,” Takamäki remarked. “Harboring a suspect…”

  Suhonen interjected. “No. You don’t understand.”

  “I’m not sure I want to.”

  Suhonen smirked. “Here’s the idea. Four pounds of speed isn’t enough to interest Narcotics. For us, though, it’s an opportunity.”

  “Really?” Takamäki hesitated. “Opportunity for what?”

  “To get inside the Skulls.”

  That wasn’t enough to convince Takamäki, but at least he wanted to hear more.

  “For starters, we have a crime that falls squarely in our court. We could build a case against Niko Andersson for felony extortion of Salmela,” Suhonen explained. He had carefully chosen the legal terms in advance to better convince Takamäki. The lieutenant was listening.

  “But we’re not going to get Salmela to testify because that would implicate him for the drugs.”

  “Yes, but…” said Takamäki.

  “But there’s our opportunity.”

  “Opportunity for what?” the lieutenant repeated, still skeptical.

  “If we could get Salmela onto the lower rungs of the gang, he could provide intel to bust the whole gang for something bigger. In the best case, we’d put them all behind bars.”

  An opportunity indeed, Takamäki thought. At least it seemed to make sense. Obtaining intel from gangs was a perpetual challenge, and Takamäki wouldn’t be the least bit bothered if the whole herd were locked up, even if only for a few years. There was one big “but” in Suhonen’s scenario.

  “Has Salmela agreed to this?”

  “Haven’t asked yet.”

  Takamäki rephrased his question. “Do you think he’ll agree?”

  “I doubt he has a choice. He’s deep in debt and I think we can talk him into it.”

  Takamäki read between the lines. “How much would it cost us?”

  “Probably close to twenty grand. If we could settle his debts and get him into a witness protection program somewhere in Europe, on a beach in Spain for example, then he might very well agree.”

  “Even if everything went according to your plan and we asked the prosecutor for a suspended sentence, it’s still possible he’d get two plus years for the twenty ounces.”

  “He’ll have to take that risk. If he gets an opportunity to get off the hamster wheel, there’s a good chance he will.”

  Takamäki nodded approvingly. “You’re right about one thing-it’s an opportunity. But like Joutsamo said, we can’t take this case on top of all the others. I’ll call Captain Karila. Let’s see what he says-right after you tell me how Salmela can infiltrate the Skulls.”

  “He already has-he worked with them on the drug shipment.”

  “Can’t we just smoke them for the amphetamines?”

  Suhonen shook his head. “Small potatoes. No point in blowing this kind of opportunity for that. Of course, the drugs would be part of a larger case.”

  Takamäki took out his phone and dialed. Suhonen stayed to listen in. Takamäki didn’t mention Salmela by name, nor the full details of the drug case. Initially, the captain seemed against it, but Takamäki was able to persuade him with the idea of an informant within the Skulls. Resources and money would pose a problem, however, so Karila directed him to speak with Skoog, the assistant chief of the Helsinki Police Department. Skoog would need to approve any project of this scale anyway, and he could also provide the VCU with a few temporary investigators to tend to routine cases.

  Takamäki phoned Skoog immediately. They didn’t go into details over the phone. Skoog wanted to meet the following day to discuss the case in person and Saturday worked well for him.

  * * *

  It was almost nine in the evening and the Corner Pub was packed-as usual for a Friday night. Salmela was sitting at the corner table with his friends Ear-Nurminen and Macho-Mertala when the bartender brought three pints of beer to the table. Even indoors, Salmela wore his leather jacket with the lambswool collar.

  “It’s on the house,” said the whiskered barkeep. “Actually, it’s on a certain gentleman.”

  “Who?” Salmela asked, immediately suspicious. This was the first time that Salmela, or anyone else for that matter, had received table service at the Corner Pub.

  “Don’t really know. He’s on the phone…wants to talk to you, Salmela. He’s on hold…there on the wall behind the bar.”

  Salmela was puzzled. He had a cell phone. If somebody wanted to talk to him, why didn’t they call his cell? And how did they know he was at the Corner Pub?

  “Now,” the bartender said, turning back to the bar.

  Salmela guzzled what was left in his glass and took a fresh one with him. He wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving an unattended beer in front of Ear-Nurminen and Macho-Mertala.

  The barkeep weaved through the crowd and Salmela followed him behind the bar. “Over there by the door,” he gestured. Salmela knew very well where the bar’s landline was.

  “Hello,” Salmela said into the receiver. Through the din, he couldn’t hear a thing. He set the beer on a shelf and jammed a finger in his free ear.

  “Hello?” he repeated.

  “Hey,” said a man’s voice. “What’s up?”

  The noise was loud enough that Salmela didn’t recognize the caller immediately. “Niko?”

  “Correct,” the voice said coldly. “When you gonna pay up?”


  “I don’t have the money.”

  “That’s what I thought. And that’s why I paid for the beers.”

  “Thanks, man,” Salmela said hesitantly.

  A short silence on the other end. Salmela wasn’t sure if Niko had hung up or if he just couldn’t hear. “Sorry, I can’t hear. Really loud over here,” he said to be sure.

  “Then tell them to shut up when I’m talking,” Niko snarled. His dramatic pause hadn’t gone over like he planned.

  Salmela glanced at the packed bar. He wasn’t about to start shouting at this mob. He strained to listen more closely.

  “Okay, I think it’s better now.”

  “I need the money.”

  “Right, right. Yeah, I’m trying everything,” Salmela sputtered, realizing now why Niko had called the bar’s landline-the call wouldn’t show up on Salmela’s cell phone record.

  “Not enough.”

  “C’mon. Don’t go jumping to conclusions,” he said, glancing around nervously. Maybe he’d been led to the phone just so some heavy could see who to beat up.

  Nobody seemed interested in Salmela, nor could anyone hear the conversation.

  “Tomorrow morning at nine in front of the Olympic Stadium.”

  “Niko, I can’t get it by then.”

  “Then just bring yourself,” he said, and asked Salmela to repeat the time and place.

  The call ended and Salmela emptied his beer with two gulps. Fuck.

  The bartender shot him a stern look.

  “Everything alright?”

  “Yep,” he answered calmly. “He bought us another round.”

  The bartender nodded and lined up three more mugs.

  The speakers were blaring Finnish rock: “You’re a news rag in a restaurant, scattered and torn. A card deck in a locker room, wrinkled and worn.”