Raid and the Blackest Sheep (22 page)

    
“The construction company is owned by a dummy firm, just like everything else of Rusanen’s.”

    
“Let’s go.”

    
Raid started the engine and pulled up to the spot the body builder had just vacated.

    
Nygren got out of the car and Raid followed.

    
“You sure about this?”

    
“Yes. This is no whim.”

    
Raid nodded and headed toward the trailer. Just in front of it was a blue Volvo, which had already been there when Raid and Nygren had come by earlier to check out the trailer. Despite the parked Volvo, nobody but the blond muscle man with the gold earring was in the trailer.

    
Raid opened the door and stepped inside. The trailer was furnished like an office. Shelves lined the walls, and in front of the windows were two desks littered with blueprints and binders. The man was filling the coffeemaker by the sink.

    
He turned to face Raid.

    
“Hello,” Raid said.

    
The man stared silently back at Raid.

    
“You need a hard worker?”

    
“You’re in the wrong place. Beat it.”

    
When Raid didn’t move, the man came up to him and jabbed him in the chest with his thick forefinger.

    
“What are you some fucking idiot?”

    
“My friend wants to talk to you.”

    
“What friend?”

    
“An old one.”

    
“Tell your friend to come inside…you stay out there.”

    
Raid stepped back a ways.

    
“Are the cops watching this place?”

    
“If they are, they are. What’s it to me?”

    
Raid knocked on the window and Nygren came in.

    
The man recognized him immediately.

    
“Nygren!”

    
“Rusanen.”

    
Rusanen weighed his options. Nygren was a worthy opponent. It wouldn’t be wise to make him mad.

    
“What brings you to Oulu?”

    
“Just passing through.”

    
“And you just stumbled on this place, right? Bullshit.”

    
“Maybe a little bird told me.”

    
“If you got something to say, say it. I’m busy.”

    
“I came to speak on behalf of the boys. You’re treating them poorly.”

    
“Then the door’s right over there. If they have something to say, they can say it themselves… Probably was Hiltunen who came bawling to you…”

    
“No names.”

    
“That pussy needs a little straightening out.”

    
“No, you do.”

    
Rusanen looked as if he’d been pumped up to 100 PSI. He restrained himself for a moment before exploding.

    
“Goddamn asshole, go fuck yourself!”

    
“I wish I could.”

    
“You got about ten seconds before I toss your ass out.”

    
Rusanen glanced at his flashy watch. Judging by the sparkles, it must have been studded with either gold and diamonds or cheap baubles.

    
Nygren watched him coldly.

    
“How much time left?”

    
Rusanen reached for the desk and snatched up a kitchen knife that he had been slicing bread with.

    
“None.”

    
He advanced on Nygren, brandishing the knife like they did in the movies. In real life, of course, the Hollywood approach rarely works. Raid let him gesticulate a while. In his rage, the man had forgotten that Nygren was not alone.

    
Raid took out his gun and leveled it at the man’s forehead.

    
“Enough.”

    
The man glanced to the side and saw the gun. His knife hand froze in the striking position.

    
“Two against one and you still need a gun?” blurted muscles.

    
“You promised to teach Hiltunen a lesson, and I promised to teach you one, so which of us will keep his word?” said Nygren.

    
“Have us two ever had a problem?”

    
“We do now.”

    
“If Hiltunen’s running his mouth, he’s gotta learn his lesson. What if someone was talking behind your back?”

    
“You won’t be giving any more lessons. You won’t exist anymore.”

    
Rusanen took a conciliatory slant.

    
“If you have a bone to pick with me because of your cellmate, then let’s just say it was a mistake, a complete accident.”

    
“You’re a complete accident.”

    
“Let’s do this…how ’bout I bring you into the business. You get a slice of everything. Everyone wins, and no hard feelings.”

    
Nygren held out his hand and Raid handed him the gun.

    
Nygren aimed it at the space between Rusanen’s eyes. Rusanen could see this was no bluff.

    
“There’s twenty grand in the safe. Take it and get out.”

    
When Nygren didn’t respond, Rusanen swallowed hard.

    
“Don’t try to play all innocent. Everyone knows what you’ve been up to. Sariola says you stiffed him.”

    
“Is that what Sariola says?”

    
“I’m just telling you what he said. I don’t necessarily believe him. You got a reputation of being fair. Twenty grand up front and you get a cut of the profits. I got good contacts with Russia, Holland and the States. You’ll get a better return on that than any fucking tech stocks.”

    
“Not interested. The outlook isn’t so good for your business.”

    
“What, then? Tell me and we can iron things out. Have some coffee… There’s Cognac in the cabinet. Let’s have a few shots and talk about old times.”

    
“I’ll serve the shots.”

    
Nygren waved the pistol.

    
Rusanen tried to make a joke of it, which fell flat:

“So you wanna make the cops happy?”

    
“And myself, and many others.”

    
Raid went to the window and peered out. He looked back and nodded.

    
Nygren pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Rusanen in the forehead and he keeled over against the sink and flopped onto the floor.

    
Raid took the gun out of Nygren’s hand.

    
“Let’s go.”

    
Nygren blinked as though awakened from a dream.

    
“We’ll need a head start. We gotta ditch the body.”

    
Nygren couldn’t stop staring at it. Raid got a tarp from the storage building and wrapped up the body. They carried it to the edge of the property and heaped a pile of pallets and some other trash on top of it.

    
After that, Raid drove straight back to the highway and turned north. Nygren sat on the back seat, completely silent.

16.

Jansson was awaiting his wife’s arrival with equal parts anticipation and trepidation. His conscience nagged at him, though he had only done it with Anna in his dreams, if even that.

    
Jansson was particularly afraid of running into Anna with his wife. If he behaved differently, his wife would notice.

    
And even if she didn’t, Anna was the kind of woman who could stir unease in any wife, even his own.

    
After breakfast, Jansson went for a swim. He swam over twenty laps. Afterwards, he stopped into the weight room to bend, lift, pull and pedal with various devices to build muscles that he had never known he had.

    
Jansson liked the fact that there were no instructors on the weekends and he could toil away as he saw fit. Besides himself, the only other person in the gym was Huusko.

    
“The only exercise we’re missing is the one for your sphincter,” Huusko commented.

    
Huusko sat on the pec deck working his shoulder and pectoral muscles. He did twenty reps at a brisk pace.

    
“Still homesick?”

    
“Two weeks here is too long.”

    
“True. One week would’ve been plenty, now that I think of it.”

    
“The wife’s coming to visit,” said Jansson.

    
“She’s in for the shock of her life.”

    
“How so?” Jansson wondered.

    
“When her trim detective lieutenant and his love shuttle toss her onto the sheets and lead her to the seventh heaven of lust.”

    
“Huusko, has anyone told you how tasteless your jokes are?”

    
“Yes. You have yourself many times.”

    
Jansson didn’t ordinarily pay Huusko’s banter any mind. He knew Huusko didn’t intend any harm, nor good for that matter—he didn’t intend anything. According to his own personal credo, he had to find the humorous side in everything, or at least humorous to him. On the other hand, banter was Huusko’s way of showing that he and Jansson were good friends. Among good friends, you could throw insults around without cause for anger. And the ribbing was always dispensed in a humorous way, not in a hurtful one.

    
“Did they measure your legs?” Huusko asked.

    
“What do you mean?”

    
“Not joking. Lopsided legs lead to back pain so they measure everybody. So it was my turn yesterday, and turns out my left leg is a quarter-inch shorter than the right. I’ve been leaning left my whole life and only now do I figure out why.”

    
“So what’s the treatment for lopsided legs…a doctor?”

    
“A shoemaker. My left shoe needs a thicker sole.”

    
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just leave the right shoe off?”

    
A veteran who was missing his right arm and left leg came into the gym. He went to the upright rowing machine and started hoisting the weights into the air with his one hand.

    
Huusko climbed onto the stationary bike and started pedaling.

    
“Have you heard from Raid?”

    
“No.”

    
“You’re not too thrilled about helping Kempas catch Nygren.”

    
“I’ll help if there’s a reason.”

    
“You don’t think Nygren and Raid are up to anything?”

    
“Of course they’re up to something, but not what Kempas has in mind.”

    
“What, then? Raid didn’t say?”

    
“No.”

    
“You trust him more than Kempas?”

    
“In this instance.”

    
Jansson’s cellphone rang. The caller was Sergeant Susisaari.

    
“This a bad time?” she asked.

    
“I’m on an exercise bike.”

    
“Can you steer with one hand?”

    
“Yes, and talk at the same time.”

    
“You guys never cease to amaze me… We got a call from the Oulu PD. A local crime boss was found dead, and they suspect Nygren and Raid are involved.”

    
“Why?”

    
“Why was he shot or why are they suspects? That was a joke. Because someone saw an old Mercedes near the crime scene.”

    
Huusko had climbed off the bike and was listening in.

    
“What kind of a crime boss are we talking about?”

    
“Big time drug-dealer. They suspect he controls the drug traffic in all of northern Finland. Used to own a gym…extremely violent.”

    
“Has Nygren had anything to do with this guy?”