Suhonen hurried down the hill toward the grocery store on the corner.
“Hey, what’s the big hurry,” said a man stepping out of a doorway onto the sidewalk.
Suhonen shot a dirty look at the younger man, who was barely half his weight. The man took a step back.
“Well, shit, I guess it’s none of my business.”
You’re damn right, Suhonen thought, but didn’t say anything. The air was getting colder, and he zipped up his leather jacket, continued on to the corner store, and took a quick glance around the corner.
* * *
“Listen,” Lydman snarled, a cigarette butt in his hand. “I already told you, I’m not interested. Understand?”
“Well, no,” Saarnikangas protested.
Lydman was a good four inches taller and looked threatening in his black coat and beanie cap. He took a drag on his cigarette, and his gaunt cheeks hollowed even further.
“Oh, you don’t? Maybe all that smack’s fried your brain cells.”
“Not all of ’em. And what do those steroids do to your brain, anyway? Certainly not making it any bigger.”
Lydman took a step toward him. “You fucking with me?”
Juha felt like laughing. Absolutely he was fucking with him. Was Lydman really that stupid?
A woman well over two hundred pounds stumbled out of the bar. Her makeup was overdone, and her smile looked more like a grimace. She extended her hand to Lydman. A few coins clinked as they changed hands.
“Thanks, Princess.”
The woman waddled off a few yards before Juha said anything, “Princess?”
“It’s her nickname,” Lydman said and shrugged. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. And try listening this time. You’re the genius who sent me to that gas station…”
“I said I don’t want to hear it. Not one word! I sent you there because that’s what I was told to do.”
“Who told you to?”
Lydman didn’t answer.
Juha felt like he was hacking at a brick wall with a spoon. Maybe upping the ante was in order. “Hey, you don’t know everything.”
“Hah,” Lydman sneered. “Didn’t I just tell you I don’t want to?”
“This is different,” Juha muttered. Lydman was quiet for a moment. “A narcotics cop has been asking me questions about someone.”
“That’s your problem.”
“Could be yours too.”
“You threatening me?” Lydman said quietly.
“No, just trying to explain.”
“You’re one irritating dick. I’ll give you a two-second head start before I kick your ass.”
Juha took a deep breath. “I went to that garage and found a dead body. The guy who did it was still there, and he told me to ditch it somewhere.”
Lydman’s expression remained flat, and Saarnikangas guessed that he still needed clarification.
“Say something! You got me this job.”
“You take care of it?”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Saarnikangas said. Yet another of his plans was unraveling because he didn’t dare tell the truth.
Lydman studied his face. “You’re lying.”
“Of course I took care of it,” Juha insisted. He stared helplessly at Lydman’s cigarette as it burned down toward the filter. When the last bits of tobacco went up in smoke, Lydman would go inside and his time would be up. This hadn’t gone the way he had hoped.
“I don’t care what it takes, deal with it,” Lydman said, taking a couple steps backwards.
“Thanks for your understanding.”
Lydman’s expression was icy. “You don’t understand shit. You truly don’t get it, but that’s your problem.”
Saarnikangas was silent.
“Did you say the pigs were already asking about this guy?”
Saarnikangas nodded.
“If you fucked this up, you better crawl into some hole and shoot yourself. But apparently you’d fuck that up too. Let me be precise. If you say one word to the cops, I’ll kill you…slowly.” He flicked his cigarette onto the sidewalk.
* * *
Suhonen watched Saarnikangas and an unidentified man chatting in front of the bar. Juha seemed fairly relaxed, but the bigger man’s body language betrayed his anger. Seemed like fists could fly at any moment.
The conversation lasted a couple of tense minutes. No bouncer would have acted that way if he were just dealing with a routine customer arguing that he was, in fact, sober enough to get in.
In the end, the big guy shoved Saarnikangas, who had the good sense to back down and walk away. The bouncer stayed behind and fished another cigarette out of his pocket despite the sleet, which had just begun to fall.
Looked like Saarnikangas was walking back to his van.
Though he had been to the Corner Pub many times, Suhonen didn’t recognize the bouncer. He wanted to get a closer look at his face.
It took him a good minute to get to the entrance of the bar. He walked casually. No hurry nor trouble, just a cheerful guy with a light buzz.
“How ya doin’,” Suhonen flashed a smile and gave a quick wave from about fifteen feet off.
The bouncer narrowed his eyes, took a hard drag on his cigarette, and managed a nod.
“Wet and cold, the perfect combo,” Suhonenwent on.
“It’s warmer inside.”
Suhonen got a good look at him, but the face wasn’t familiar. He took note of the tattoos, which emerged from beneath the collar of his jacket. “A little glögi in here would make it warmer yet.” He patted his stomach.
Suhonen stepped inside. Now this place should have been listed for preservation on the register of historic places, he thought. The bar had gotten its start during the recession of the early nineties, Finland’s first severe one since the Great Depression. The downturn had been triggered by the collapse of the Soviet Union, Finland’s key trading partner. At its worst, unemployment had reached almost twenty-five percent, leaving plenty of idle customers with unemployment checks to spend. During the recent boom years, business at the Corner Pub had been relatively slow. Now, amidst the new financial crisis, it was picking up again.
The bar was just inside the door, so within three steps you could have a drink in your hand. The wooden tables were covered with cigarette burns, but the smoking ban had taken care of the familiar clouds of smoke.
The place was almost full, and some of the customers still had their coats on. The jukebox crooned out Elvis’ “Love Me Tender,” but the patrons seemed more focused on their drinks.
Suhonen found room for himself at the counter, and the bartender, a fifty-something man with a bushy mustache, came to take his order.
“Coffee.”
The barkeep nodded and shuffled off. In half a minute he brought back a steaming mug.
“One euro.”
Suhonen gave him the money. “Is that bouncer new here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t seen him before,” Suhonen said, and tasted his coffee. Stale.
The bartender grunted and turned to another customer.
Suhonen looked around to see if there were any familiar faces. He glanced at his phone: the red dot was moving along the East Highway through Kulosaari. He wondered if Juha was headed back to his apartment in Pihlajamäki. He’d know soon enough.
The bouncer came back inside and snuck behind the bar. Suhonen followed him out of the corner of his eye. Without taking off his jacket, he made a beeline for the employee phone, which was attached to the wall next to the coffeemaker.
Now this was interesting. Why would a guy use a landline if he had his own cellphone? Running out of minutes probably wasn’t it.
The man stood in front of the phone, blocking Suhonen’s view of the keypad. The call took about three minutes, and Suhonen tried to think of a way to figure out the number. Of course, the easiest way would be the redial button. The number would show up on the screen. In order to do that, though, he’d have to get to the phone somehow.