Jarkko Sipila - Against the Wall

* * *

Saarnikangas swung the van into the chicane on Helsinki Avenue, on the east end of Brahe Soccer Field. Brown shabby buildings served as changing rooms, and a sign pointed towards a café. One good thing about the van was that he could leave it just about anywhere. Saarnikangas had found a laminated Service Call sign in the glove box, which he displayed inside the windshield. Technically, the Service Call sign would allow him almost limitless parking, at least if the meter maid didn’t check the plates. There were no meter maids in sight, and even if there were, it wouldn’t have mattered. Neither Saarnikangas nor the owner of the van, in prison already, would pay the ticket.

After locking the doors, he headed toward the Corner Pub. The street was bustling with activity. A streetcar rattled by and turned towards the Sports Center, former home to one of Helsinki’s semi-pro basketball teams. During its glory years, the team had drawn a few hundred spectators on a good night, a fraction of the attention local hockey teams received.

Some junkie was arguing with himself under a streetlight. Then again, who would really know if he had an earpiece under that mop. Bright neon lights and signs for cut-rate beer flashed from the bar windows, luring thirsty customers. The Corner Pub was offering a half liter for €2.50.

Saarnikangas cut across to the south side of Helsinki Avenue. The Corner Pub was situated next to an Alepa grocery store. Juha saw a familiar figure standing in front of the entrance, already dragging on a cigarette. He was wearing a black beanie cap and a dark overcoat. A bouncer’s ID tag glinted on his chest.

* * *

Suhonen could see from the map that Saarnikangas had left the van at Brahe Soccer Field. He was pretty sure the guy didn’t have sports on his mind-he must be heading to one of the nearby bars or someone’s apartment. Given the narrow streets, this wasn’t a good spot for a car-to-car conference.

Nor was he sure whether Saarnikangas intended to meet anyone. His phone had been idle. Maybe the guy just wanted a beer, but if that was the case, there were quite a few bars closer to his apartment in Pihlajamäki, even one just across the street.

Suhonen ran a red light, crossed Helsinki Avenue and headed back up Fleming, which was shadowed by tall apartment buildings. The structures, like most of their kind in this part of the city, were about six stories high, the façades ranging between cement, brick, and stucco. The first vacant parking spot was in front of number 14, near a tattoo shop. The nose of his car blocked a third of the gate to the building’s courtyard. He didn’t care-cars could squeeze by, and at this hour, there were no delivery trucks about.

Suhonen hurried down the hill toward the grocery store on the corner.

“Hey, what’s the big hurry,” said a man stepping out of a doorway onto the sidewalk.

Suhonen shot a dirty look at the younger man, who was barely half his weight. The man took a step back.

“Well, shit, I guess it’s none of my business.”

You’re damn right, Suhonen thought, but didn’t say anything. The air was getting colder, and he zipped up his leather jacket, continued on to the corner store, and took a quick glance around the corner.

* * *

“Listen,” Lydman snarled, a cigarette butt in his hand. “I already told you, I’m not interested. Understand?”

“Well, no,” Saarnikangas protested.

Lydman was a good four inches taller and looked threatening in his black coat and beanie cap. He took a drag on his cigarette, and his gaunt cheeks hollowed even further.

“Oh, you don’t? Maybe all that smack’s fried your brain cells.”

“Not all of ’em. And what do those steroids do to your brain, anyway? Certainly not making it any bigger.”

Lydman took a step toward him. “You fucking with me?”

Juha felt like laughing. Absolutely he was fucking with him. Was Lydman really that stupid?

A woman well over two hundred pounds stumbled out of the bar. Her makeup was overdone, and her smile looked more like a grimace. She extended her hand to Lydman. A few coins clinked as they changed hands.

“Thanks, Princess.”

The woman waddled off a few yards before Juha said anything, “Princess?”

“It’s her nickname,” Lydman said and shrugged. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. And try listening this time. You’re the genius who sent me to that gas station…”

“I said I don’t want to hear it. Not one word! I sent you there because that’s what I was told to do.”

“Who told you to?”

Lydman didn’t answer.

Juha felt like he was hacking at a brick wall with a spoon. Maybe upping the ante was in order. “Hey, you don’t know everything.”

“Hah,” Lydman sneered. “Didn’t I just tell you I don’t want to?”

“This is different,” Juha muttered. Lydman was quiet for a moment. “A narcotics cop has been asking me questions about someone.”

“That’s your problem.”

“Could be yours too.”

“You threatening me?” Lydman said quietly.

“No, just trying to explain.”

“You’re one irritating dick. I’ll give you a two-second head start before I kick your ass.”

Juha took a deep breath. “I went to that garage and found a dead body. The guy who did it was still there, and he told me to ditch it somewhere.”

Lydman’s expression remained flat, and Saarnikangas guessed that he still needed clarification.

“Say something! You got me this job.”

“You take care of it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Saarnikangas said. Yet another of his plans was unraveling because he didn’t dare tell the truth.

Lydman studied his face. “You’re lying.”

“Of course I took care of it,” Juha insisted. He stared helplessly at Lydman’s cigarette as it burned down toward the filter. When the last bits of tobacco went up in smoke, Lydman would go inside and his time would be up. This hadn’t gone the way he had hoped.

“I don’t care what it takes, deal with it,” Lydman said, taking a couple steps backwards.

“Thanks for your understanding.”

Lydman’s expression was icy. “You don’t understand shit. You truly don’t get it, but that’s your problem.”

Saarnikangas was silent.

“Did you say the pigs were already asking about this guy?”

Saarnikangas nodded.

“If you fucked this up, you better crawl into some hole and shoot yourself. But apparently you’d fuck that up too. Let me be precise. If you say one word to the cops, I’ll kill you…slowly.” He flicked his cigarette onto the sidewalk.

* * *

Suhonen watched Saarnikangas and an unidentified man chatting in front of the bar. Juha seemed fairly relaxed, but the bigger man’s body language betrayed his anger. Seemed like fists could fly at any moment.

The conversation lasted a couple of tense minutes. No bouncer would have acted that way if he were just dealing with a routine customer arguing that he was, in fact, sober enough to get in.

In the end, the big guy shoved Saarnikangas, who had the good sense to back down and walk away. The bouncer stayed behind and fished another cigarette out of his pocket despite the sleet, which had just begun to fall.

Looked like Saarnikangas was walking back to his van.

Though he had been to the Corner Pub many times, Suhonen didn’t recognize the bouncer. He wanted to get a closer look at his face.

It took him a good minute to get to the entrance of the bar. He walked casually. No hurry nor trouble, just a cheerful guy with a light buzz.

“How ya doin’,” Suhonen flashed a smile and gave a quick wave from about fifteen feet off.

The bouncer narrowed his eyes, took a hard drag on his cigarette, and managed a nod.