Jarkko Sipila - Against the Wall

“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.