Jarkko Sipila - Against 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 target.

“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.”