“He already has-he worked with them on the drug shipment.”
“Can’t we just smoke them for the amphetamines?”
Suhonen shook his head. “Small potatoes. No point in blowing this kind of opportunity for that. Of course, the drugs would be part of a larger case.”
Takamäki took out his phone and dialed. Suhonen stayed to listen in. Takamäki didn’t mention Salmela by name, nor the full details of the drug case. Initially, the captain seemed against it, but Takamäki was able to persuade him with the idea of an informant within the Skulls. Resources and money would pose a problem, however, so Karila directed him to speak with Skoog, the assistant chief of the Helsinki Police Department. Skoog would need to approve any project of this scale anyway, and he could also provide the VCU with a few temporary investigators to tend to routine cases.
Takamäki phoned Skoog immediately. They didn’t go into details over the phone. Skoog wanted to meet the following day to discuss the case in person and Saturday worked well for him.
* * *
It was almost nine in the evening and the Corner Pub was packed-as usual for a Friday night. Salmela was sitting at the corner table with his friends Ear-Nurminen and Macho-Mertala when the bartender brought three pints of beer to the table. Even indoors, Salmela wore his leather jacket with the lambswool collar.
“It’s on the house,” said the whiskered barkeep. “Actually, it’s on a certain gentleman.”
“Who?” Salmela asked, immediately suspicious. This was the first time that Salmela, or anyone else for that matter, had received table service at the Corner Pub.
“Don’t really know. He’s on the phone…wants to talk to you, Salmela. He’s on hold…there on the wall behind the bar.”
Salmela was puzzled. He had a cell phone. If somebody wanted to talk to him, why didn’t they call his cell? And how did they know he was at the Corner Pub?
“Now,” the bartender said, turning back to the bar.
Salmela guzzled what was left in his glass and took a fresh one with him. He wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving an unattended beer in front of Ear-Nurminen and Macho-Mertala.
The barkeep weaved through the crowd and Salmela followed him behind the bar. “Over there by the door,” he gestured. Salmela knew very well where the bar’s landline was.
“Hello,” Salmela said into the receiver. Through the din, he couldn’t hear a thing. He set the beer on a shelf and jammed a finger in his free ear.
“Hello?” he repeated.
“Hey,” said a man’s voice. “What’s up?”
The noise was loud enough that Salmela didn’t recognize the caller immediately. “Niko?”
“Correct,” the voice said coldly. “When you gonna pay up?”
“I don’t have the money.”
“That’s what I thought. And that’s why I paid for the beers.”
“Thanks, man,” Salmela said hesitantly.
A short silence on the other end. Salmela wasn’t sure if Niko had hung up or if he just couldn’t hear. “Sorry, I can’t hear. Really loud over here,” he said to be sure.
“Then tell them to shut up when I’m talking,” Niko snarled. His dramatic pause hadn’t gone over like he planned.
Salmela glanced at the packed bar. He wasn’t about to start shouting at this mob. He strained to listen more closely.
“Okay, I think it’s better now.”
“I need the money.”
“Right, right. Yeah, I’m trying everything,” Salmela sputtered, realizing now why Niko had called the bar’s landline-the call wouldn’t show up on Salmela’s cell phone record.
“Not enough.”
“C’mon. Don’t go jumping to conclusions,” he said, glancing around nervously. Maybe he’d been led to the phone just so some heavy could see who to beat up.
Nobody seemed interested in Salmela, nor could anyone hear the conversation.
“Tomorrow morning at nine in front of the Olympic Stadium.”
“Niko, I can’t get it by then.”
“Then just bring yourself,” he said, and asked Salmela to repeat the time and place.
The call ended and Salmela emptied his beer with two gulps. Fuck.
The bartender shot him a stern look.
“Everything alright?”
“Yep,” he answered calmly. “He bought us another round.”
The bartender nodded and lined up three more mugs.
The speakers were blaring Finnish rock: “You’re a news rag in a restaurant, scattered and torn. A card deck in a locker room, wrinkled and worn.”
Precisely, thought Salmela as he gathered up the beers.
* * *
Larsson parked the Beamer in the parking lot of an apartment building in the Lauttasaari section of west Helsinki. He’d have to get another set of wheels-this one attracted too much attention.
The gangster boss had received a bullet proof vest and a 9mm Beretta 92FS from Aronen. The hefty gun was strapped under his arm, and with the bulky vest, Larsson’s leather coat wouldn’t zip up.
The white apartment buildings lay perpendicular to the road. Sara Lehto’s apartment was in the one with the grocery store on the end.
Larsson opened the ground-level door with his key and bounded up to the second floor two stairs at a time.
He stopped in front of her door to listen for a moment. Just the TV. He opened the door.
“Hey,” he said.
The lights were on but nobody answered.
“Hey,” he said, louder, stepping into the living room.
Sara was curled up on the sofa in a pink top and tight shorts, watching TV. The room was sparsely furnished. When she noticed the movement, she startled. “Oh, hey.”
The TV was playing the same Rome series she had watched back at the hotel. Larsson started to take off his jacket.
“This is really good. I just bought the second season on DVD.”
This time it was Larsson’s turn not to respond.
“Oh yeah,” she went on. “We’re out of milk. If you want some for your coffee in the morning, go get it from the store downstairs.”
“Huh?”
“Out…of…milk,” she said slowly.
Larsson shrugged his jacket back on without a word. If he didn’t get his coffee in the morning, the day would go to hell. And coffee called for milk.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 24
CHAPTER 11
SATURDAY, 8.50 A.M.
KAARTI POLICE STATION, HELSINKI
“I’m not so sure,” said Skoog, the Assistant Chief of the Helsinki Police Department. Surly and graying, Skoog was sitting behind a desk piled with tall, orderly stacks of paper. The man worked long days, often weekends too.
Takamäki and Suhonen had explained the possibility of planting an informant inside the Skulls. Salmela hadn’t been identified by name.
“What do you mean not so sure?” Suhonen said, irritated.
“It’s a hell of a big operation just to ensure the informant’s safety. You guys…er, we’d be in deep shit if it fails and the guy gets killed.”
“Well, true,” Takamäki conceded. In his time, Skoog had run some heavy cases. The chief knew what he was talking about.
“How much manpower can the VCU devote to this?”
“I don’t know,” Takamäki answered honestly.
“You should,” the assistant chief said bluntly, “In the critical phase, I’d bet 24-hour surveillance alone will require over a dozen officers.”
Suhonen raked his fingers through his black hair. “Is it really necessary to follow the informant 24-7?”
Skoog’s cutting stare fell on Suhonen.