Raid and the Blackest Sheep

by Harri Nykanen

  Nygren’s cackle turned into a cough. He hacked and barked until his lungs were clear.

  “And as it often goes in this just world of ours, the money and riches go to those who don’t work up a single drop of sweat for it. The man had a punk kid who’d dropped out of school and was living off his old man’s money. Since he was the guy’s only son, the farm and car went to him.”

  The sun began to set and an orange fan of light spread out in the western sky. The pines lining the road were flushed in the evening sun.

  “I had just taken care of a small deal in Rovaniemi and I stayed the night at the Hotel Pohjanhovi. The kid was there with his entourage. He fancied himself quite the card shark and was looking for a game. I happened to have ten grand in loose change in my pocket.”

  “And you won the car,” Raid guessed.

  Nygren shot him a dour look.

  “If someone’s telling you a story, you don’t spoil it by trying to guess the ending.”

  “Sorry.”

  “We played all night. As the hours ticked by, the others dropped off one by one, but the kid had serious bread. By six in the morning, he’d lost all his money and was eight grand in debt. He learned the hard way that the world can be a tough place.”

  “Did you cheat?”

  “Don’t interrupt. We agreed that we’d sleep a few hours and then meet in the downstairs lobby at noon…”

  With obvious difficulty, Nygren dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one with his old Zippo. He took a drag and blew the smoke toward the roof of the car, took a couple more drags and flicked the cigarette out the window.

  “I think I’m finished…smoking.”

  Nygren looked at Raid. Raid nodded.

  “It was a joke.”

  “I got it.”

  “Everything comes to an end eventually.”

  “You didn’t finish your story.”

  “Maybe you were listening after all… When I arrived at the meeting place, the kid was nowhere to be seen. I asked the receptionist and found out that he and his cronies had taken off at the crack of dawn. Lucky for me he was easy to find. Everyone knew the local lowlife and prodigal son. I had to use a bit of force to get into the house. The guy was holed up in the upstairs bedroom, taking a nap in his daddy’s chippendale bed with the silk sheets and all. I woke him up a little rough and knocked him upside the head a few times, but he claimed he didn’t have any money at the moment. Supposedly, he had to liquidate some assets. At the time, I didn’t have a car, so I asked him if he did. He had two: a Porsche and this. I took the Mercedes. It’s been seven years already and the car has served me faithfully.”

  “Interesting story, but did you cheat?”

  “The story is educational, too,” Nygren went on, oblivious to Raid’s question.

  “You must think I need a little education,” Raid said.

  “Everybody does.”

  “Right.”

  “What do you know about women, for example?” Nygren asked.

  “I’m a big boy now.”

  “Every man thinks he knows everything about women, even if he can barely manage a bra strap. A woman can make heaven or hell of a man’s life, or both at the same time. I’d advise you to treat the matter with the seriousness it demands.”

  “I do.”

  “If you did, you’d have a woman.”

  “I have.”

  “But not anymore.”

  “That’s a question of interpretation. Do you have one?”

  “Don’t do as I do, do as I say.”

  “How many times have you been married?”

  Nygren counted on his fingers.

  “Three.”

  “You didn’t treat the matter with the seriousness it demanded.”

  “That’s right. The first lasted six years, the second and third were under a year. I shouldn’t even count the third. She was a prison shrink and far more in need of help than I was. Criminals don’t make good husbands.”

  “True.”

  “I’m almost sixty years old—you’re about half that. Based on my age, I’ve got twice your life experience, and I’m willing to pass it on to you. You should get it for free while you can. Ask me whatever you want.”

  “Where we sleeping tonight?”

  “In a hotel.”

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Meeting an old friend of mine.”

  Raid turned his eyes back to the road.

  “That’s all your questions? A sorry showing. My forte is the meaning of life. In prison there was plenty of time and a good library for those who wanted to exercise something other than their criminal instinct. Have you read Primo Levi’s If This Is a Man?”

  “No, but I’ve read Shakespeare’s Moby Dick.”

  “What about Twain’s ‘Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven?’”

  “No, but I’ve read Adam Smith’s The Communist Manifesto.”

  Nygren was undeterred by Raid’s wisecracks.

  “You’re stubborn, just like when you were a little boy. Haven’t you learned how to take advice yet?”

  “Let’s have it.”

  “Read. Reading is the shortcut to everything. A book is like a little package with generations of wisdom on the meaning of life.”

  “You don’t think I read?”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “What did you mean when you said that whether you were dating was a question of interpretation?”

  “Just that.”

  “I’ve certainly heard more intelligible expressions. Either you have a woman or you don’t. Which is it?”

  “None of your business.”

  “So that’s how it is?”

  “First tell me if you cheated that kid.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t need to. He was a pitiful gambler. Now your turn.”

  “There’s a woman…she’s waiting for me.”

  “Is she a good woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s she do for a living? Not that it makes a difference…”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “I can almost guess how you met.”

  “You guessed right.”

  “How long has she had to wait?”

  “Six months.”

  “Have you been in contact?”

  “I sent a card.”

  “Just one?”

  “Just one.”

  “If she waits for you, hold onto her. One card isn’t a lot.”

  “Right.”

  “Does she know what you do?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she’s still waiting? Again, hold onto that one.”

  “You might know her dad.”

  “Do I?”

  “If you know Uki.”

  “Uki?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The Uki?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Small world…too small. Uki helped me out with a job once. Opened a door for me…the door to a safe. A real professional. And you’re dating his daughter? Hold onto that girl, but keep your distance from her dad. That’s my free advice for you.”

  * * *

  Nygren gave directions as he studied the map.

  “Go right at the next intersection. Then left. There’s the sign right there.”

  Raid pulled into a combination gas station, auto repair shop, and small bar. The 1960s building was clad in white asbestos shingles, some of which had cracked. Nygren took a look around. Signs of decay were apparent elsewhere as well.

  “Doesn’t look like much,” Raid said.

  A young man in his twenties was tending the register. His long hair was tied back in a pony tail.

  “Hiltunen? Is he here?” Nygren asked.

  The young man appraised the visitors before answering.

  “Back in the shop. I’ll get him.”

  “Thanks, but we can find him.”

  Dressed in blue overalls and a cap, Hiltunen stood inspecting the radiator of
a car that was parked over the service pit. Nygren had to clear his throat to get the man’s attention.

  “Hello,” said Nygren.

  “Nygren!”

  Hiltunen’s age was difficult to gauge. He was small and dreary. His brown eyes were bright and friendly, but tinged with worry. Raid suspected that he and Nygren were to blame for that.

  “We were on our way north to buy some reindeer antler tonic and I figured we’d stop and say hi.”

  Hiltunen was hardly overjoyed.

  “Where’d you get this address?”

  “From a friend. You have time for coffee? My treat.”

  Hiltunen hesitated briefly before accepting the invitation.

  Hiltunen kept his coveralls and cap on. He tore some paper towels off a roll and wiped down his shoes, which were brand-new and gleaming, hardly a match for his coveralls.

  Outside, the wind drove the rain across the pavement. The gas pumps were sheltered by a small canopy, which provided little cover now. A woman filling up her car lost her hat, which rolled across the parking lot and under a parked van.

  Hiltunen was wrapping up a summary of the years since his prison release.

  “…so I’ve been managing this place for about seven years. The owner’s retiring and means to sell the place. We’ll see what happens to me. I’m old enough now that it looks like I’ll end up on unemployment.”

  “How’s business?”

  “Not so bad, though you wouldn’t believe that by lookin’ at it. The owner’s just too stingy to fix it up. The location’s good. If he’d just invest a little in the repair shop and spruce it up a bit things would get better. My boy’s a good mechanic…been working with cars since he was a little kid.”

  Hiltunen nodded at the young man behind the register.

  “That him?”

  A look of fear crossed Hiltunen’s face, as though he had revealed too much.

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s your wife?”

  “Working in the hospital kitchen… What about you?”

  “Retired.”

  Hiltunen glanced at Raid from beneath the brim of his cap and Nygren noticed.

  “That’s my nephew. He’s my chauffeur and tour guide. We’re headed to Lapland. You ever thought of buying this place for yourself?”

  “With what money? With my record, I can’t get a loan without serious equity.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I could give you loan.”

  Hiltunen shook his head.

  “Nothin’ against you, but I don’t wanna get mixed up in anything. Been tryin’ to stay clear of ex-cons, no matter how nice they are…”

  “What about Rusanen?”

  “What about him?”

  “You working for him?”

  “Some small gigs… I got to…”

  “Not anymore.”

  “How’s that?”

  “He’s dead. He was shot yesterday.”

  “Can’t be…”

  “He is.”

  “Best news I’ve heard all day…see that in the paper?”

  “No, but word travels.”

  “It’s about time someone put him out of his misery… I thought about it myself, but wasn’t man enough.”

  “About my offer, maybe you misunderstood. I don’t want to interfere with your life, just want to loan you some money.”

  “How come?”

  “You have to invest your money somewhere. A reasonable interest rate would suffice.”

  “What’s reasonable interest?”

  “Five percent.”

  “Fifty grand. I can get the rest from the bank.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “It’ll have to be.”

  Nygren held out his hand, “Deal?”

  “What kinda money is this?”

  “From my retirement account.”

  “What about collateral?”

  “Make the place profitable. That’s all the collateral I need.”

  Hiltunen was dumbfounded.

  “Deal?” Nygren asked again.

  Hiltunen decided to risk it. He couldn’t think of anything in the proposal that could worsen his current predicament.

  “Deal.”

  “The money will be in your account tomorrow.”

  Nygren gulped down the rest of his coffee and got up.

  “Thanks for the coffee. We’ll be on our way.”

  Hiltunen walked them out to the car. He took off his cap and offered his hand to Nygren.

  “Thank you.”

  Nygren shook his hand.

  Hiltunen shook hands with Raid as well.

  As they drove away, Hiltunen stood in the middle of the lot and beheld his future domain. He stood so straight he seemed four inches taller than when Raid and Nygren had arrived. Raindrops pattered onto his slick shoes, and with nothing to cling to, they slid onto the concrete.

  * * *

  Nygren sat in the back seat reading a tabloid. His mood was buoyant.

  “Who is this Hiltunen?” asked Raid.

  “Someone I met in prison.”

  Raid drove for ten minutes without saying a word. Nygren folded the paper and set it aside on the seat.

  “You’re wondering who he is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hiltunen’s the boy with the too-big shoes.”

  18.

  Jansson and Huusko arrived in Oulu at about six in the evening. On the way, Huusko had broken the speed limit about a hundred times. Actually just once—for the entire trip.

  Jansson was bothered by the fact that they had abandoned the rehab center. He felt like a fugitive with a stiffer sentence in store once he was recaptured. Huusko didn’t seem a bit bothered.

  “Don’t worry about anything today that you can worry about tomorrow,” Huusko said.

  To Jansson’s surprise, Huusko disclosed a bit from his closely-guarded past.

  “Once when I was about ten, I had to go to a summer camp with my brother, but all I ever wanted was to spend the summer in town with my buddies. After a week, I’d got my fill of homemade yogurt, barley flour, and dill beef stew, so a friend and I decided to run off. We only made it a few miles before getting caught. Ended up thumbing a ride from the camp director. The guy was so crafty he’d taken somebody else’s car so we wouldn’t recognize it. This has the same feel to it.”

  The Oulu police station was on Railway Square, in the heart of the city. Huusko parked hastily next to a squad car. He tugged up the squeaky emergency brake and was out of the car in no time.

  Jansson was tired and dazed, even though he’d been napping most of the trip. He climbed stiffly out of the car and bent over to get his jacket out of the back seat.

  They rang the door buzzer and the door clicked open. Jaatinen, the lieutenant in charge of the Rusanen murder investigation, was waiting in an upstairs conference room. The table was set with coffee and sandwiches. A couple members of Jaatinen’s team were also there. Everybody shook hands.

  “We’ll be getting a few more of you guys shortly,” said Jaatinen.

  “What do you mean ‘more of us?’” said Jansson.

  “Lieutenant Kempas and a couple other men from Helsinki. Kempas called and told us they’ve been trailing these guys for some time. They left Kuopio a couple hours ago so they should get here by eight or nine.”

  “Super,” said Huusko.

  Jaatinen detected the insincerity in his voice.

  “Is there something I should know?”

  “Nah, inside joke.”

  “Not many insiders in your circle, then.”

  Jaatinen gestured toward his two men.

  “Here’s my own inner circle, Sundell and Heikkilä.”

  Sundell poured everyone coffee and passed a sandwich tray around. Huusko took a ham sandwich and Jansson settled on a croissant.

  “I’m glad you guys could make it. If it turns out our two suspects are the actual shooters, we’re in for quite t
he chase. I know about Nygren, but this other guy is apparently better known in Sweden. Of course we’ve heard of him, but it’s hard to tell if what you hear is fact or fiction. We’ve heard some pretty strange stuff.”

  “Probably fact,” said Jansson.

  “Quite the guy then. Sundell requested his file from Sweden, but it hasn’t arrived yet. I’m sure you can help us with the same questions, but let’s start from the beginning.”

  Jaatinen flipped on a slide projector. He pressed a wired remote and a picture of the crime scene appeared on the wall.

  “The body was found in the storage yard of Rusanen’s construction company. There was all kinds of junk piled on top of the body, but fortunately some workers picking up a disassembled crane wound up clearing it away. According to our initial investigation Rusanen was shot to death yesterday evening in the trailer located on the property. He was shot once in the head. Nobody heard the gunshot, so it’s possible there was a silencer on the weapon. Rusanen was armed, but he never got the chance to use it.”

  “Apparently, Rusanen had arrived there voluntarily, since his car was on the property and it was locked. He was last seen alive at about noon that day in downtown Oulu while leaving his home.”

  Jaatinen pulled up a slide of the blood-stained trailer.

  “Did he keep any money in the trailer?” asked Jansson.

  “Apparently some, but only a few thousand euros. Still, we don’t think we’re dealing with a robbery. We suspect the shooting is connected to drug trafficking. Ten pounds of amphetamines were found under the floor of the trailer, and we’re fairly certain that Rusanen was the drug kingpin for all of northern Finland and even parts of Sweden. He was well connected to the Estonian and Russian mafias. Right now, we’re working with Customs on a case where at least fifty pounds of Estonian amphetamines were brought into the country. The dope’s been coming from Tallinn to Helsinki and paid for with stolen cars and snowmobiles. A month ago, one of Rusanen’s couriers was arrested for possession of five pounds of amphetamines.”

  Sundell poured more coffee for Jansson and Huusko. Huusko used it to wash down another sandwich.

  “Fantastic subs,” he murmured.

  “We’ve received intel that Rusanen’s business was starting to get too big north of the Arctic Circle and he was planning to expand further south. The southerners weren’t too fond of the idea, however.”