Against the Wall hh-1

by Jarkko Sipila

  * * *

  Markkanen tossed a paper cup full of coffee into the trash at the corner of Tehdas and Kapteeni Streets.

  “What?” Lindström asked.

  “Disgusting piss.”

  Lindström shrugged. He had ordered Markkanen to come along on his morning walk. Since he’d been forced to cancel the personal trainer, he had to make his own exercise. Markkanen didn’t have to walk the whole distance, but was permitted to stop for a few phone calls.

  The men stopped at the same corner where, eleven years earlier, Steen Christensen had executed two policemen. The chilling murders had shaken the whole country. Christensen had escaped from a Danish prison and made his way to Helsinki. In the middle of the night, he robbed a few hundred euros from a hotel cashier before being stopped by a patrol car while on foot. The Dane somehow surprised the two policemen, made them kneel and shot them execution style. This led to a massive manhunt before Christensen was finally apprehended two days later, sixty miles north of Helsinki.

  Lindström was wearing a blue tracksuit, and Markkanen a leather jacket.

  “The Skulls were behind Eriksson’s murder.” Markkanen said.

  “Where’d you get that information?”

  “A prison source. Better if you don’t know the details.”

  Lindström gazed up the street. The parking spaces were all full, but few people were out in the bleak gray November air.

  “They wouldn’t initiate something like that on their own. So who?”

  “No, they wouldn’t. A criminal from Lahti named Suikkanen took out the contract. Now the Skulls want a hundred grand to switch sides.”

  “A hundred grand?”

  “If you ask me, it’s worth it. We’d be back in business, problem-free. Otherwise they’ll stick with Suikkanen.”

  A cold gust of wind rushed down the street. Lindström had worked up a light sweat that had begun to cool. He pulled his blue stocking cap down a bit further.

  “Can’t you take care of this?” Lindström suggested.

  “I can take care of Suikkanen, but I need back up to go against the Skulls. That would cost a lot more than a hundred Gs.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “They want an answer today. Visiting hours at the prison end at 2:15. We have to decide by then, otherwise it could get ugly.”

  “Who’s this Suikkanen?” Lindström asked, beginning to run in place.

  “I don’t know him. I hear he’s some gangster from Lahti running booze and cigarette rackets. But we can’t start a war against the Skulls. We can take care of Suikkanen later, as long as we resolve the immediate danger.”

  “How’d Suikkanen know about Eriksson?”

  Markkanen shrugged.

  “What about the next shipment? Did you call the Customs guy?”

  “Yes,” Markkanen said, telling the truth this time. “He was a little worried, but apparently we have the green light. They had nothing on the ship.”

  “Good. I’ll call if I need you,” Lindström said, and trotted off towards home.

  Markkanen watched him jog away, his shoes scuffing the ground. Geezer. How could someone so stupid be so rich. There was something wrong with that.

  * * *

  Jouko Nyholm was sitting at his desk at the Customs office. The morning had been bearable, but now sweat began to bead up beneath the inspector’s collar.

  Markkanen’s call had violated the email protocol they had agreed on. Once again, he was told to sift through confidential Customs intelligence on some ship and its cargo. This time, Nyholm hadn’t dared, since all computer searches were archived and could be easily retrieved.

  He was convinced the police were onto him. The connection from Eriksson to his daughter, and then on to him was too obvious. Chances were, his phone was already tapped and his computer activities were under surveillance. He struggled to remember what words he had used with Markkanen. Could they reveal the entire scheme?

  Now he’d have to lay low. He had told Markkanen that the coast was clear. And maybe it was, but Nyholm wasn’t sure. Ships and their cargoes were continually analyzed, right up to the point of arrival.

  How could he get out of this? To begin with, he had to calm down and give the impression that everything was fine. Why the hell had he come to work? He should’ve just called in sick; that would’ve been easiest…the flu or something.

  “Hello.”

  The low voice startled Nyholm. It was Snellman; he hadn’t even heard any footsteps.

  Nyholm spun around in his chair and tried to smile. No sound escaped his lips.

  “What’s wrong?” Snellman asked. “Something bothering you?”

  He coughed. “The flu has me on the ropes.”

  “Hmm, well, don’t leave just yet. That detective lieutenant called to say he’s coming to ask about something again. He wouldn’t say what it was over the phone. I might need you, so take two aspirin and sweat it out.”

  Nyholm’s throat was so dry and constricted he nearly vomited.

  CHAPTER 24

  HELSINKI PRISON

  FRIDAY, 1:10 P.M.

  Eero Salmela sat in the visitors’ area of the prison compound, waiting. He was alone, apart from the blue-uniformed guard who had escorted him out of the cell block. The guard stood by the wall.

  The large, elongaged room contained half a dozen tables fitted with low Plexiglas dividers. The tables had two, sometimes three plastic chairs bolted to either side.

  Most of the room was below ground level. The windows, high up on the walls, were just above grade level.

  Salmela had already been waiting for five minutes. He glanced at the brawny guard, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall. He pitied the guard: someday he would get out of here, but the guard’s job tied him to this shit pen for life.

  The door opened, and a second guard brought in a big man wearing a leather jacket. The man’s demeanor was confident, yet somehow uncertain. Salmela had never met him, but could immediately tell that the man had done time before. He wasn’t surprised.

  The guard led the visitor to the table. “You both know the rules. No contact, no matter how much you love each other. If you want that, you need to apply for a family room.” Then he withdrew to the wall.

  The big man sat on the chair. “How long you in for?” he asked, trying to appear sympathetic.

  “What’s it to you?” Salmela rasped. The noise level in the visiting room was always at a whisper. Nobody wanted to be heard by the next table, and even less by the guards. “I’m not counting anyway… What do you want?”

  The man squinted his eyes. “Shit, you want me to go?”

  “Whatever. Doesn’t matter to me.”

  He remained silent, looking at Salmela. “Name?”

  “What’s yours?” Salmela shot back. In case the guards asked, both the visitor and the prisoner needed to know each other’s names.

  “Markkanen.”

  “Salmela.”

  Markkanen nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep this short. Tell Larsson I need Korpela again. Everything’s under control, no problems. I’ll take care of the money and the other demands.”

  Salmela nodded, reflecting. For Larsson, that might be enough, but he wanted to know more. The guy clearly didn’t know who or what rank he was dealing with. “How much?”

  “Same as before.”

  “Not enough,” Salmela said. If he was to negotiate on the Skulls’ behalf, he might as well act the part. Nothing was ever enough for them.

  “What do you mean ‘not enough?’ A deal is a deal.”

  Salmela wanted more background on this deal, even if it wasn’t very smart.

  “C’mon. You need help-we do that, but it don’t come free. Thirty percent more.”

  “What?” Markkanen groaned.

  Salmela’s face was rigid. He tried to guess at what Larsson might demand. Money for sure, but the Skulls couldn’t send an assassin after just anybody. Larsson would definitely be interested in the targe
t.

  “You heard me.”

  “Okay. Thirty.”

  Salmela accepted the offer. “Someone’s gonna call you on the cell today. If he asks about your bro, then it’s a go. But if he asks about your sister, no deal.”

  “Understood.”

  “You sure? Girls usually say no, so that’s a refusal.”

  “Nice code.”

  “One more question: who’s the target?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Don’t be stupid. Loyalty is all that matters in here.”

  Markkanen sized up Salmela. Who was this guy? He’d made the contact through the usual channels, so there was no reason to doubt the guy was representing the Skulls. Something was not quite right, though. Most messengers just rattled off information, but this guy was negotiating. Maybe this Salmela was some kind of lieutenant or something, though Markkanen didn’t know much about the Skulls’ hierarchy.

  “Well, okay,” he began. “A guy from Lahti named Suikkanen. He thinks he’s hot shit, but he’s not. I want him gone.”

  Salmela tried to seem indifferent. “What’s he look like?”

  “Early forties. Wears a leather jacket and has a long rap sheet. Short, dark hair.”

  Salmela nodded. Aside from Suhonen’s alias, he didn’t know any other Suikkanens who’d match that description. What had his old friend gotten mixed up in now?

  * * *

  Suikkanen was a convenient pawn, Markkanen thought. Very convenient.

  It was nearly 1:30 P.M., and the Corner Pub was beginning to fill up in honor of Friday. It probably had more to do with the fact that their beer was the cheapest on the street today.

  Suikkanen brought the coffees and sat down on the other side of a table pock-marked with cigarette burns.

  Suhonen and Markkanen leaned in closer. They kept their voices to a murmur.

  “Did the Mercedes guy pay up?”

  “No,” Markkanen said. “He laughed in my face and said he’d save the pig’s head for Christmas.”

  Suhonen sipped his coffee. “Should we try again, maybe a bit more persuasively?” He clenched his fist.

  Fool, but a gift from heaven, Markkanen thought. “That’s what I was thinking, though it won’t do me any good if you just kick the shit out of him.”

  “You want the money, right?”

  “Precisely. The guy lives in the same complex where the garage is. There’s a safe in his apartment with cash in it. Not sure how much-I just know he’s loaded.”

  “So whaddya want me to do?” Suhonen asked.

  “Simple. Go to his apartment, make him open the safe, and bring me the money. I’ll collect my debt and the rest is yours.”

  “Just leftovers?”

  “Five grand no matter what, of course.”

  Suhonen raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. What kind of guy is this?”

  “Name’s Kalevi Lindström. He’s a businessman selling black market goods to Russia. He runs a tight ship, but otherwise he’s soft. You shouldn’t have any problems.”

  Suhonen narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

  “I can’t jeopardize the relationship. We’re in the middle of a couple deals.”

  “Okay,” Suhonen said, hardening again. “How far do you want this to go?”

  “Just rough him up a little…that should be enough. He’s weak.”

  Markkanen was sure Lindström wouldn’t open the safe without a fight. Might even die first.

  His plan was beginning to look better and better. Suikkanen would take care of Lindström, and the Skulls would off Suikkanen. And even if Lindström didn’t die, he’d certainly end up in the hospital for a stretch. Suikkanen had what it takes. Shit, he even beat up a cop. In any case, the old power struggles would cease, and Markkanen would be firmly second in command, maybe even in Lindström’s shoes. That gave him another idea: might it be better if he arrived just in time to save Lindström’s life?

  Eriksson had wormed his way into his job with deceit and lies. Now he would do the same. His hand was just a little heavier.

  “When?” Suhonen asked.

  “Today. It’s urgent. He’ll be at home from three o’clock onward. Be there at four.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and began to sketch a floor plan of the apartment.

  Suhonen was at a loss. It was obvious Markkanen was after Lindström’s money. But what would be the best course of action? Suhonen didn’t have enough evidence yet to arrest him for incitement. He would actually need to carry out the attack.

  * * *

  The enormous Skull escorted Salmela to Larsson’s cell door, then stood guard outside. Larsson had been resting on the bottom bunk, but now he sat up. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, and his tattooed biceps bulged in full view.

  Various pin-up girls decorated the walls. Salmela recognized the blonde: she had appeared in a few low-budget domestic porn flicks. He remembered hearing that Larsson had dated this Sara at one point. In any case, he was glad he’d remembered it. It’d be a bad idea to crack jokes about the guy’s girlfriend.

  “So what’d Markkanen want?”

  “He said he wants to use Korpela again. Apparently everything’s under control, no worries.”

  The gangster sneered. “Yeah, right. The dick fucks it up, then refuses to pay for it.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “What did he offer?”

  “Same as before, but I thought…”

  “You thought?” Larsson snapped. “You ain’t supposed to think, just deliver the damn message.”

  Salmela continued, unruffled. “I thought the old rate was low, so I got thirty percent more.”

  Larsson broke out laughing. “Damn good thinking.” But his expression hardened immediately. “Who is it?”

  “Wasn’t sure if I should ask, but I did anyway. A forty-something small-timer from Lahti…goes by Suikkanen.”

  Larsson’s face tightened. “Suikkanen? Fuck me, I know that guy.”

  Salmela was dumbfounded. Had Suhonen tried to infiltrate the Skulls as Suikkanen? He stayed quiet, waiting to see if Larsson would say anything more.

  Spit flew from the gangster’s mouth. “That Suikkanen’s a fucking cop. He’s an undercover pig.”

  Larsson turned to a narrow bookshelf and slid out a paperback with a red cover. He shook some photos out of the pages and riffled through them. When he found the right one, he handed it to Salmela. “Look for yourself.”

  The photograph showed the front of the Pasila Headquarters. Suhonen was descending the stairs at the entrance, chatting with another man. Salmela recognized him as Lieutenant Takamäki.

  “The one with the leather jacket is Suikkanen,” Larsson continued. “He landed me in here last summer.”

  “Don’t know him.”

  Larsson’s gaze was hard. “Good. Better stay away from him.”

  “Anyway, back to Markkanen. I said we would…or you would contact him by phone. If he’s asked about his brother, the answer is yes. If about his sister, then it’s a no.”

  “Hell yeah, we’ll do it,” Larsson said, and whistled. The hall guard stepped inside. “Get word to Korpela that we’ll take Markkanen’s job. Tell him to do it right…that Suikkanen’s a cop. But don’t tell Markkanen that we know that-he could be in with them. We might have to bump him, too… Also, get Korpela on the phone. I want to talk to Tony myself.”

  Interesting, Salmela thought. The Skulls had stashed away an illegal cellphone, which Larsson could use to stay in touch with the outside.

  “Anything else?” Salmela asked.

  “No,” Larsson said. “Get lost.”

  Salmela got up and stepped into the corridor. His cell block was one level up. The doors to the stairwells weren’t locked during the day. Now he had to warn his old friend Suhonen about the Skulls’ plan. He’d need phone authorization immediately, or he’d have to get word out some other way.

  As he climbed the staircase,
a blue-uniformed guard approached from the opposite direction. Salmela had just squeezed past the lout when he heard a voice from behind, “Hey, Salmela…”

  Suddenly, he felt a crushing impact in his right leg. The pain in his knee shot through his entire body, and his leg buckled beneath him. Salmela tumbled onto his side and hit the stairs.

  The guard was still standing a bit further down. “Raitio wanted to send his regards to you and your knee.”

  Salmela caught sight of a raised hand. It came down hard, then everything went black.

  The nightstick hit Salmela just above his left ear.

  The guard glanced around. The stairwell was quiet, no witnesses. He pulled out his radio andreported that an inmate had either been assaulted or fallen down the stairs. Unable to haul the unconscious victim to the infirmary alone, he requested assistance.

  A dreary voice on the other end asked if there was any sign of the perpetrator. The guard said no; he had just found the victim in the stairwell.

  A thin stream of blood trickled out of Salmela’s ear and ran down his neck.

  * * *

  Markus Markkanen passed the Helsinki Ice Arena and stayed right at the Y intersection. Behind the arena were the Olympic Stadium, host of the 1952 summer games, and a smaller soccer stadium. He was satisfied. Someone had called him to ask about his brother, so Suikkanen’s fate was sealed. Lindström had taken the bait, as had Suikkanen.

  His stomach growled and he glanced at the dashboard clock-he could go for some food. He took a right turn onto Urheilu Street, then a quick left. A former gas station had become a McDonald’s years earlier.

  There was a line for the drive-thru, so Markkanen swung the Beamer into a parking space in front of a hedge. He’d get his food quicker if he went inside. Maybe he’d eat in, too.

  The rock ’n’ roll themed interior was actually kind of fun; it reminded him of his youthful fascination with James Dean.

  Markkanen was already at the door when one of his phones rang. It was his wife.

  “Hey,” he answered softly. “How’s it going?”

  “How are you?” she said, sounding a bit tense.