Jarkko Sipila
Against the Wall
PROLOGUE
EARLY AUGUST, 2008
Suhonen settled into a white leather sofa and stretched his back. He surveyed the apartment, a four-room flat in Ruoholahti on the west side of Helsinki. The door to the balcony was open and a warm evening breeze swept through the room.
“Wanna beer?” asked the blonde, and without waiting for an answer, she set it on the end table. Her tanned breasts strained at the opening of her white V-neck top. Obviously not real, but so what.
“Suikkanen,” she cooed, sliding onto the couch next to him. “I like guys from Lahti. I’ve always had lots of fun at Särkänniemi.” Suhonen grinned. Särkänniemi, a popular amusment park, was actually in Tampere, about eighty miles from Lahti.
She walked her fingers across the undercover officer’s chest. The blonde’s name was Sara Lehto. Suhonen knew that she had appeared in several low-budget domestic porn films, and the creamy white, simplified interior of the apartment reminded him of a porn set.
But Suhonen wasn’t interested in Lehto-he was after her boyfriend, Tapani Larsson. He was the number two man in the Skulls, a Finnish biker gang.
The gang was suspected of an arson. A week ago, a small pub at the old Kannelmäki shopping center had burned down, and the owner had made the mistake of pointing his finger at the Skulls. The owner had told the police that he had refused to pay for protection. Later he changed his story and claimed to have absentmindedly emptied an ashtray into a wastebasket.
Suhonen didn’t know Larsson’s whereabouts, but had been told that Lehto and Larsson lived together. The tip had brought him here to Ruoholahti. After four hours of staking out the subway station, Sara had finally breezed through the sliding doors.
Suhonen had followed the blonde to an outdoor patio bar, where she stopped for a Strongbow cider. A few minutes later, she wandered from the bar to Suhonen’s table.
Suhonen had introduced himself as “Suikkanen” from Lahti. The undercover officer for the Helsinki Violent Crimes Unit had used this alias many times. After another cider, Sara Lehto had checked to make sure her boyfriend wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours, and invited Suhonen back to her place.
Now she gave his pipes a squeeze, sliding her hand into the sleeve of his T-shirt. Suhonen took a cold swig. He was satisfied to have obtained Larsson’s home address. The ex-con’s rap sheet was long and violent. Now he could be found if needed, and it would be easy to get Larsson’s cell number from Sara’s phone.
Sara smiled, closed her eyes, and kissed Suhonen on the neck. His arm rested on her shoulder.
Larsson was not your average criminal. Unlike many, he hadn’t grown up in reform schools, but had graduated high school with top honors. Though he came from a good family, he had been attracted to the Skulls while in college. The man was ruthless, and rose quickly within their ranks.
Suhonen took another sip. From the hall, he heard an unexpected noise. Before he could turn his head, he heard a man’s voice.
“Who the hell is this drinking my beer?”
Suhonen cursed to himself. He turned to see Tapani Larsson standing in the hallway. The thug leveled a Czech CZ pistol at Suhonen’s head. How come he hadn’t heard the door open?
Sara Lehto got up quickly, went to Larsson, and wrapped her arms around him. His muscles rippled beneath a black T-shirt. His arms were covered in tattoos, and ink flames climbed his neck. His head was shaved and the four studs in his left ear were connected by a thin, jeweled chain.
Suhonen noticed that his face seemed thinner than it did in the mug shots. Hollow cheeks only made his eyes more piercing.
“He followed me,” she accused. “He’s probably a Pistolero.”
Try Los Sheriffos, Suhonen thought. How do I get outta this? Pulling out his badge wasn’t his first choice; were Larsson to find out his profession, it would only hurt his odds of survival.
“Talk!” he barked. “Who are you?”
“Suikkanen.”
“Suikkanen who?”
“Suikkanen. No first name.” Suhonen said. He held onto his beer, just in case he needed something to throw. His gun was in the pocket of his leather jacket, draped over the back of the couch a couple of yards away.
“Pat him down,” Larsson commanded. “And you, Suikkanen, put the beer on the table and get up.”
Suhonen stood up and let the blonde check him. Her rose-scented perfume filled his nostrils. He had left his wallet in the glove box of his car, which was parked near the subway station. His badge was in the small inside pocket of his jacket. She wouldn’t find it, but that wouldn’t buy him much time.
Sara rifled through the jacket. “Shit, he’s packing,” she said and pulled out a Glock 26.
Larsson laughed. “And you’re surprised?”
She handed the pistol to Larsson and he stuffed it in the waistband of his pants. He directed Suhonen to sit, then came around and sat down opposite him. A narrow coffee table stood between the two men. Sara remained standing behind Larsson.
“Who are you with? Pistoleros?”
“What are Pistoleros?” Suhonen played dumb. Though the Skulls and Pistoleros were not currently engaged in open warfare, Suhonen knew very well the tensions between the two gangs.
Larsson struck Suhonen on the cheek with the barrel of his pistol. Not very hard, but it hurt. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He felt around with his tongue, wondering if he had a broken tooth.
“What the…”
“There’s more where that came from. Talk.”
“If I tell you, can I go?”
Larsson nodded.
“Alright, alright…I ain’t got nothin’ to hide. I was sitting at the Corner Pub in Kallio when this guy comes up and offers me a hundred euros if I can find out where this blonde lives. He figured it’d be somewhere in Ruoholahti, so I waited around at the Metro station till I spotted her. And here she is.” Suhonen gestured toward Sara.
Larsson stared at Suhonen with suspicion. “Why did he want her address?”
“He said he saw her in some porn flick, and he just wanted to know… Hey, can I go now?”
“Kill him,” Sara said. “He wanted to bang me.”
Larsson glared at her. “Listen, what good does it do if we kill him. Nothing. Then again, I don’t care…if you want him dead, then…”
Suhonen acted worried. “Listen, I have money. Let me go, and it’s yours.”
Larsson laughed. “How much?”
Suhonen glanced at his jacket, then back at Larsson, who nodded, indicating that he could look through the pockets. Suhonen counted his money onto the table briskly.
“Uh…forty-two euros.”
Larsson laughed out loud. “Uh…forty-two euros. Heh-heh… Listen, Suikkanen. Ten will do.”
“Just ten,” he said, though he knew very well what Larsson meant. Suhonen slid a single wrinkled bill onto the table and stuffed the rest back into his pocket.
“Moron! Ten grand.”
Suhonen gaped at him. “I don’t have that kind of…”
“Well, figure something out or I’ll let this bloodthirsty blonde have her way with you.”
Suhonen shook his head. “Uhh…right, I think I can raise it. If I sell my motorcycle.”
“You have one hour.”
“One hour?” Suhonen looked pained. “That’s impossible.”
Larsson nodded. “Call somebody. I don’t care what you do. You owe me ten.”
“Ten grand?” Suhonen protested. Larsson just waved his pistol.
Suhonen thought for a second, though he knew exactly who he would call. He dug his cellphone out of his pocket.
“Put it on speakerphone,” Larsson demanded.
“Alright, alright,” Suhonen said and scrolled down the list to Anna’s number. Hopefully she’d know to play along. The phone rang a couple times.
“Hello,” answered Sergeant Anna Joutsamo, slightly riled. “Where in the…”
Suhonen interrupted quickly.
“Listen, Suikkanen here,” he began, hoping she would catch the alias and recognize the act.