Against the Wall hh-1

by Jarkko Sipila

  “You know, one of those things you sit at?”

  Suhonen would have smiled, but Suikkanen just scowled.

  The cop turned and surveyed the tables in the room. The table where the two wanted men were sitting was the most promising, and he steered over to it. Their beers had been empty for a while, and neither had got up to fetch more.

  “Fellas,” he said coolly.

  Neither one answered.

  “Here’s the deal. I need your table. I’ll give you twenty for it.”

  The men looked at Suhonen, who smiled initially, then abruptly scowled.

  “Thirty,” the younger one said, though his hesitation revealed that twenty would suffice.

  “Punks,” Suhonen muttered and dropped a twenty on the table. “You can buy three beers a piecewith that.”

  The younger one took the money, glanced at his friend as they both stood up, and said, “S’il vous plait.”

  “What, you fucking with me?” Suhonen barked.

  “No, no,” the guy said, grabbing his jacket off the chair. “It’s just French. It means…”

  “Get lost.”

  The pair slunk into the crowd, and Suhonen waved to Markkanen, who had a beer in each hand.

  “You loaded or something?” Markkanen asked, taking a seat. He set one of the beers in front of Suhonen.

  “Not really. I just don’t know anyone around here, and sometimes it’s better to do things the easy way.”

  Markkanen sipped his beer. “At least we’re sitting.”

  “The end justifies the means.”

  “Works for me. What’s your name?”

  “Suikkanen,” he stated, and took a hard swig of beer in true Suikkanen style.

  “Suikkanen? You got a first name?”

  Suhonen grinned and took another gulp. They kept their voices low enough that nobody sitting nearby could hear them over the din. “Sure, but I save that for the judge. Barely remember it. Always gone by Suikkanen.”

  “You from up north?”

  Suhonen wrinkled his brow. “Hell no. From Lahti, man.”

  Markkanen grinned. “Soccer or hockey?”

  “Street boxing,” he stated flatly.

  Suhonen was really from Lahti; he wouldn’t think of saying anything else. He could fool people pretending to be Suikkanen, but only if he could handle the details.

  “Okay.”

  “So what the hell are all these questions about?” said Suhonen abruptly. “I thought you had some business to talk about.”

  “I gotta know who I’m working with,” Markkanen grumbled. “I was expecting Juha, and I got Suikkanen. I know him, but I don’t know you. I need some background.”

  “Well, alright,” said Suhonen, understanding the man’s angle. Suhonen knew that Saarnikangas was a stranger to Markkanen, but the big man was pretending to be on a first-name basis with him. Suhonen was also pleased that Markkanen seemed interested in Suikkanen’s services, maybe even a little excited.

  “First off,” Markkanen continued. “How do you know Juha?”

  “I don’t. I know of him. He’s a worthless junkie I couldn’t care less about.”

  Markkanen raised his eyebrows.

  “But,” Suhonen went on, “I knew his dad. Cell mates. Before he died, he asked me to look after his kid. I didn’t see him for probably ten years. Then last spring I ran into him, and of course he tried to hit me up for money. I know where that would’ve gone, so I said no. I figured his old man wouldn’t want me to support his smack habit. Anyway, I gave him my number so he could call if he needed something…”

  “Did he say he’s in trouble?”

  “Is he?” Suhonen asked, but regretted his haste. Suikkanen would have said casually that Juha’s always in trouble.

  “Nah,” Markkanen answered, assessing him from the other side of the table.

  “How much does this pay?” Suhonen steered the conversation away from Saarnikangas.

  Markkanen scratched the back of his neck. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  “Uh-uh. I need to know if it’s worth my time,” he switched to arrogance as a tactic.

  Markkanen’s lips were smiling, but his eyes were hard.

  “Sure it is.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Did you come all the way from Lahti?”

  “Yup,” Suhonen nodded. He wasn’t driving, so he could drink the beers necessary for the role.

  “Where you staying?”

  Suhonen smiled broadly. “Juha said I’d be able to make enough money to pay for a hotel room. So I thought, since I’m coming to Helsinki and all, I may as well relive some memories over at Hotel Katajanokka.”

  “The brig hotel?”

  One of Finland’s oldest prisons had been turned into a Best Western hotel with a penitentiary theme. The hotel had been completed in ’07, with remodeled rooms, but the corridors still had prison bars. It had a long history-the first prison at the site had opened in 1749, and the oldest portions of the present building dated back to the 1830s.

  “I just had to. Maybe I could expense it, you know.” Suhonen said, downing the last of his beer.

  “I ain’t paying for extra expenses, but your total fee will cover it. Let’s go outside. There’s something I wanna tell you.”

  Markkanen led the way out the door, and Suhonen wondered what this was about. The big man had enough assaults on his record that they could be headed for a fight. But based on the conversation, that was unlikely, at least for now.

  It was snowing harder now, and a wall of falling flakes beneath the glow of the streetlights split Helsinki Avenue in two. The pub across the street was no longer visible.

  There was still no bouncer at the door. Suhonen wondered if it was intentional, or if Lydman had skipped his shift. But he could find out later.

  Two inches of wet snow covered the sidewalk, and after the first few steps it started to soak into their pant legs. The men walked eastward along the largely deserted road.

  Markkanen stopped. “Listen, Suikkanen. You seem tough enough, but I’m gonna need a sample of your work.”

  Suhonen kept quiet.

  “Right now, the street looks empty, but once we round that corner, someone’s bound to come along.”

  “And?”

  “Well, you claimed you were a boxer in Lahti. Three punches for the first chump that comes along and the job is yours.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yep. You hit the first person you see. If it’s some gang of ten heavies, you can skip them, but anything else goes. Don’t hurt ’em too bad, just a few good shots. After that, the job is yours.

  Suhonen stared at Markkanen. “In Lahti, there was always a reason. We didn’t just beat up anybody.”

  “You got a reason now. The job is easy and pays three grand, but I wanna see if you have what it takes.”

  Suhonen wondered if Markkanen suspected he was a cop. This was the classic test for smoking out a rat. A cop could blow through a red light or dabble in illicit activities, but they weren’t supposed to steal, much less harm anyone.

  “What the hell,” said Suhonen and strode down the street. “It matter if it’s a chick or a kid?”

  “Nope,” Markkanen answered and held back about thirty feet before following along.

  Shit, Suhonen thought. He couldn’t beat up anyone, not even by faking it. He couldn’t go that far. His Glock was tucked behind the waistband of his jeans. Maybe he could pick a fight, lure Markkanen closer, then arrest him. He could bust Markkanen for inciting an aggravated assault, and the guy would do time. But the trial would be a damn nightmare, and a media circus. Claims of provocation would fly, and one way or another, Suhonen would end up in the dispatch center, answering 911 calls. Nothing wrong with a desk job; he just wasn’t ready for that yet.

  He reached the corner, looked around and spotted a shadowy figure on the other side of the street, maybe fifty yards off. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, but it was clearly coming towards him
. It would be thirty seconds max before they met.

  Suhonen glanced back at Markkanen, who nodded. He had noticed the person too, then.

  I can’t beat up anybody, Suhonen thought. What if he just pushed them over and pulled a few fake punches. But that wouldn’t work. Whoever it was would panic, and Markkanen would be able to tell from his reaction that Suhonen wasn’t serious.

  He had to arrest Markkanen. Suhonen stepped onto the crosswalk and noticed a cruiser coming down the street. The driver slammed on the brakes and the car went into a slide, stopping about ten feet behind the crosswalk.

  Suhonen bent over and scooped up a snowball. At a distance of less than ten feet, he hurled it at the driver’s side window of the police car.

  He took a couple steps closer.

  The door opened, and out stepped a stocky-looking cop. Suhonen didn’t like the idea of scuffling with this guy.

  “You got a problem?” the cop asked, reaching for his nightstick.

  The distance was only a few paces now, and Suhonen recognized the cop. He knew Markkanen was watching from afar, so he ducked into a boxer’s pose. The cop raised his nightstick to striking position.

  “You need help?” Suhonen heard the partner calling from inside the cruiser.

  Suhonen couldn’t shout. If he did, the cop wouldn’t hear a thing he said once the adrenaline hit his brain. He started shadow boxing by the side of the cruiser and whispered just loud enough that only the cop could hear.

  “Hey there, Tero,” he began. The cop looked confused. Suhonen kept jabbing at the air. “Suhonen from the VCU.”

  Partio kept his baton raised. “Yeah, I know you. You better calm down now.”

  Suhonen kept shadow boxing. “Good. Don’t worry, just play along… I need your help.”

  Partio waved his baton. “Huh?”

  “No worries. I’m gonna shout now, and we’ll go from there.”

  Officer Esa Nieminen had stepped out of the passenger side door, but so far had stayed behind the car. Partio started to catch on and ordered Nieminen to stay calm.

  “FAGGOT!” Suhonen shouted, loud enough for Markkanen to hear. He threw a jab, clearly short. “WHAT! YOU SCARED?!”

  Partio answered in a commanding voice. “Calm down! Lie down on the ground. Now!”

  Suhonen grinned and whispered. “That’s right, let’s play some more. I’ll explain later. I have to… YOU FUCKING PIG… hit you three times. Just like in police training: straight left, right hook, left hook… You’ll swing the baton, but miss… Then fall down.”

  “ON THE GROUND, NOW!” Partio bellowed.

  Nieminen had come around to the front of the car and pulled out his nightstick. His right hand was on the butt of his pistol.

  “Give me a little head start and a vague description to dispatch… Ready?”

  Suhonen lunged forward and threw a straight left. It glanced off Partio’s arm and the baton swung past Suhonen’s head. Suhonen landed two solid hooks into Partio’s stomach. They weren’t hard, but sharp enough that he felt the man’s flak jacket on his knuckles.

  Partio grunted and dropped to his knees. Suhonen took a couple steps back and took off running.

  “Stop!” Nieminen shouted, taking a few hesitant steps after him. The distance was only about fifteen feet.

  “Esa,” Partio wheezed, doubled over and looking up at his partner. “Help!”

  Suhonen was already on the sidewalk, heading up the hill. Nieminen didn’t know whether to help his partner or give chase.

  Partio reached out his right hand and grabbed Nieminen’s left ankle. The cop slipped and fell onto the pavement. His Glock fell out of his grip, but didn’t go off.

  Nieminen rose to a kneeling position and stared at Partio, eyes wide.

  “You hurt? Did he have a knife?”

  “Everything’s okay, no knife, but…” he managed to say, still holding onto Nieminen. Suhonen and another man already had a twenty-yard head start.

  “I’ll take care of this. Those guys are so dead,” Nieminen snarled. He jerked himself free of Partio’s grip, and his heel accidentally struck Partio in the cheek. The officer recoiled in pain.

  Partio watched the two men slipping up the street. Nieminen trailed by about thirty yards now. Goddamnit, Partio thought, and picked Nieminen’s snow-covered Glock from the ground.

  Suhonen heard someone shouting from behind, “STOP! POLICE! STOP RIGHT THERE!”

  Apparently, Partio’s sidekick hadn’t caught on. They’d have to make tracks, fast.

  Markkanen came abreast of him and jerked him into an alley to the right. Finally, their shoes had traction.

  “Fuck! Really stupid, but damn brilliant, too,” Markkanen seemed impressed. He pushed Suhonen further into the alley and waited near the entrance. He pulled a bandana over his face and tugged his stocking cap down over his eyebrows. “Now it’s my turn,” he hissed, crouching down. “Here comes the other one.”

  Suhonen looked on, bewildered.

  Unaware of the danger, Nieminen came around the corner, and Markkanen jerked him into the alley. The force knocked him to the ground a couple steps from the sidewalk. His nightstick clattered onto the pavement. Markkanen sat on the officer’s chest, and pressed a knife to his throat.

  Oh shit, Suhonen thought, approaching the pair from behind.

  “So you’re some tough street cop, huh?” Markkanen rasped, pushing the thin-bladed stiletto against his neck. One small movement and it would sink through the skin. Deep.

  The cop lay motionless under Markkanen’s weight.

  “No, you’re no street cop,” he hissed.

  Nieminen didn’t respond.

  “You’re a milk-lipped little shit, go back to the academy.”

  Suhonen watched Nieminen’s eyes widen and he took his Glock out of the waistband of his jeans. He aimed it at the back of Markkanen’s head and tapped him on the shoulder with the other hand.

  “We gotta go,” Suhonen said, his voice tight. Was Markkanen insane?

  He didn’t look up, but kept his eyes fixed on Nieminen, cackling. “You had your fun. Now it’s my turn. Why shouldn’t I butcher this pig?” he growled, pressing the knife deeper. A faint line of blood appeared on Nieminen’s neck.

  Suhonen saw the movement and nearly pulled the trigger.

  “We have to go,” Suhonen hissed. “Now!”

  The cop tried to wriggle out from beneath Markkanen’s knife, looking as though he’d throw up any moment. Suhonen kept his gun trained on Markkanen’s head, grabbed his collar from behind, and jerked hard.

  “Now!”

  Markkanen got up and folded the blade back into its handle. Suhonen stayed behind him and thrust the Glock back into the waistband of his pants.

  The cop was still lying on the ground.

  Markkanen smiled excitedly, eyeing a grave-looking Suhonen. “This reminds me of my younger days…follow me,” he said and dashed down the alley.

  Suhonen glanced back at the officer lying on the pavement. He wasn’t moving, but had no serious wounds. The cop would be okay, he thought and bolted after Markkanen.

  Kallio was a labyrinth of courtyards, cellars and attics, through which they navigated to get from one block to another. Beneath the streets was also a network of service tunnels and parking ramps which helped to throw off anyone in pursuit.

  * * *

  Sergeant Partio hurried up the street, afraid he’d find his partner cuffing the two or somehow blowing Suhonen’s operation.

  The cop reached the corner of the alley and peered carefully around it. He glimpsed Nieminen immediately, sitting with his back against the wall. Otherwise, the alley was clear.

  Partio bent down next to the sobbing Nieminen. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m not hurt.”

  “What in the world were you doing?”

  “I went after ’em, but one of ’em tackled me and put a knife to my throat. Think I was scared?”

  Partio stared at his partner. “Why didn’t you
obey my orders? I told you to stay with me.”

  “But that guy hit you.”

  “He didn’t hit me.”

  Nieminen looked up, and Partio offered him a hand. He took it, and the older officer hauled him to his feet.

  “It was an act,” Partio explained. “That was a VCU detective…he’s on some case. For some reason he had to prove he was tough.”

  “Huh?”

  “He whispered to me before I took the punches. It was nothing. Just play-acting.”

  Nieminen rubbed his neck and felt the tender spot. “Play-acting?”

  Partio nodded. “If I give you an order, you obey. Don’t even think about running off on your own.”

  Nieminen went weak in the knees, and he grabbed onto his partner for support. “If that was play-acting, then he’s in with a pretty rough company.”

  Partio smiled. “Undercover operatives are an odd breed, but we cooperate when we can.”

  They walked slowly down the hill toward the cruiser at the intersection.

  “How we gonna report this?” Nieminen asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “Attempted murder, that’s what I think.”

  Partio roared with laughter. “Nonsense. The whole thing was an act. Suhonen wasn’t serious, nothing could have happened.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Whatever you say.” Nieminen shook his head.

  “Try to see it from Suhonen’s perspective. What does he need?”

  “I dunno, lots of meds?”

  Partio laughed again. “Anyone who enrolls in the academy could use some meds. We gotta play along with him, so we’ll need some units out here quick. If someone actually hit me, all of Kallio would be blue and white.”

  “So we’re gonna report it?” Nieminen asked.

  The pair had made it back to the car, and Partio climbed into the driver’s seat. He flicked on the cherries, but left the siren alone. “Not exactly. We’ll call for half a dozen units to look for a ‘drunk driver.’ The night’s young enough that there should be plenty of idle units about.”

  “You mean call in a fraudulent report?”

  “It’s not fraud, we’re just giving Suhonen a little extra breathing room. Life isn’t always so black and white.”

  Nieminen turned on the passenger’s side interior light, flipped down the sun visor and opened the mirror. He craned his neck, looking for the thin red stripe left by the knife.