To hell with this. This guy better have some valuable info. The caller had promised him some key intel for his next gig, and Jerry needed the work. The man had told him that the meeting spot had to be absolutely secluded so nobody could see them together.
Eriksson glanced around again: no people. It seemed that at any moment, a moose might emerge from the tree line. Jesus. Was this really Helsinki? He liked places where the trees grew through the pavement.
The damp forest smelled of earth. Eriksson could detect the sweet, penetrating scent of pine needles. It reminded him of the air-freshener that used to hang from the rear-view mirror of his first car.
Near a bend in the road, a red plastic mailbox emerged from the darkness. Eriksson could make out the number “8” painted in white. From there, a narrow driveway led to a clearing in the middle of the woods. Eriksson patted the FN pistol in his right jacket pocket. He smiled to himself. Was he really this nervous about a little walk in the woods?
The meeting would probably be quick and easy-he’d be back in the bar in no time for a few more beers.
There was no name on the mailbox, not that he expected one. The light from a streetlamp stretched about a hundred fifty feet into the darkness, to where the driveway curved right. The tire tracks were worn deep, and in the middle, a strip of grass was readying itself for winter.
Eriksson kept going till he was sheltered by darkness. He paused to let his eyes adjust, then continued on warily. At the end of the wooded drive he could barely make out a tiny single-story house, and beside it, a small dark building. Probably a garage or a shed, he reasoned. After another brief pause, he took a step into the darkness.
* * *
Saarnikangas paid the young blonde behind the counter for another coffee. The nametag on her blouse said “Leena.” Saarnikangas considered how easy it would be to rob the place. He’d probably net more here than at the newsstands. Even with most people paying for gas with plastic, the register was still filled with hundreds of euros.
The heat from the coffee warmed his hands. If he threatened to throw it in her face, she’d hand over the money. That would be more effective than waving a knife at her from across the counter.
Saarnikangas opted for a “thanks,” and the girl responded with an uneasy smile. She was pretty, but Saarnikangas had kept his lips shut. Heroin had destroyed his teeth.
Saarnikangas was clean today. The last fix he had had was eight days ago. The clean streak had started out of necessity when he ran out of money and credit dried up. He had lain on the floor of his apartment for three agonizing days. Now he was feeling better.
He had gotten the call about this job in the morning. The man had first asked if he was clean. Juha had been drowsy, but had assured the caller that he could take care of it. The gig would reduce his debt by five hundred, and even net two hundred in cash. Or so he was told.
* * *
Eriksson’s eyes had adjusted to the dark. Now he could see that the smaller building was a garage, and behind it was a run-down, one-story wooden house. Though he couldn’t see for sure, some of the windows seemed broken. The walls were covered in graffiti. Firs encircled the yard, where a lone swing made of metal tubing stood.
Nobody in sight.
Eriksson continued toward the garage, the supposed meeting place. Spray-painted tags plastered the walls of the garage. To Eriksson, they were just gibberish; he couldn’t even read them. Aside from the muffled roar of distant traffic, it was quiet.
Garbage littered the yard: wooden planks, what looked like the remains of a sofa, and other junk.
As he neared the garage, it occurred to him for the first time that coming here might’ve been a bad idea. To come knocking at a place like this in the dark? Still no one around. Well, he’d been to places like this before. He wasn’t afraid of the dark either-it was a criminal’s best friend. He remembered how his hockey coach had always told the goalies to hug the goal posts; they were a goalie’s best friends. Now he was hugging the darkness. Eriksson chuckled nervously.
He instinctively checked his pocket again to make sure his gun was still there.
Reaching the far side of the garage, he peeked carefully around the corner. Nobody. What appeared to be an old stove and washing machine lay in the darkness between the garage and the house.
A service door led into the garage. It was ajar.
Eriksson weaved through the scrap wood on the ground and walked quietly toward the door. His stride had changed from fidgety to furtive. Shit, what if this was a trap-maybe someone wanted to get him away from the bar so they could steal his girl.
He opened the door. Immediately, he was blinded by the glare of a flashlight in his eyes.
“Eriksson?” a man’s nasal voice asked from somewhere inside.
“Yeah,” Eriksson answered, trying to shield his eyes with the bill of his cap. The light moved lower, hindering his attempts.
“Put that light out.”
“Come inside,” the voice said stiffly.
The light was trained on his face and his eyes hurt. Eriksson took a couple steps forward and felt the grass change to concrete. Sand scraped on the floor beneath his shifting feet. With his free hand, he groped in the darkness so he wouldn’t bump into anything.
“That’s far enough,” the voice said.
“Put that light out,” Eriksson said again.
The man didn’t respond.
Jerry Eriksson was still blinded by the light, so he didn’t see the flash from the gun barrel. He heard a muffled thump, but never had time to comprehend what it was. The bullet hit him in the middle of the forehead, and he crumpled to the ground. His body flopped over, and his head struck the concrete floor with a thud.
* * *
Saarnikangas drove his van along a wooded road.
A few minutes earlier, a man had called to confirm that he was at the gas station, then given directions to a house nearby. The caller hadn’t said what was in store-just told him to drive carefully.
Juha chewed his gum, though the taste was already gone. What kind of job was this anyway? The house probably had a stash of drugs that he was supposed to deliver. Maybe he could help himself to some of it-a small amount wouldn’t be missed. And if it was amphetamines, it would be easy to cut without anybody noticing. And selling some of his take would definitely improve his financial situation.
Juha spotted the red mailbox where he was supposed to turn. He had been told to park by the garage, and that the man on the phone would be waiting inside.
The headlights of the Fiat illuminated the graffiti-covered garage and the house behind it. Juha stopped in front of the garage as directed and got out.
Nobody around. Juha wondered if he should holler, then chose not to. His orders had been to wait. He spit out his gum.
Suddenly, the garage door creaked and rose, startling him. He saw a dark figure hoisting up the door.
“Back up to the door.”
Juha got back in the van, turned it around and backed up.
The man giving orders stood behind the van so that Juha couldn’t see him in the mirrors. The interior walls of the garage were also covered with tags.
“Stop!” the man yelled. Juha stopped the van, killed the engine, and engaged the emergency brake. “Come here.”
The garage was narrow, but Juha managed to squeeze between the door frame and the side of the van. He was initially blinded by the glare of a flashlight in the far corner, but the light shifted to the floor, and Juha saw the corpse. Jesus Christ, he thought to himself, then said it aloud.
“Shut up. Just listen,” said the voice. Saarnikangas couldn’t see the man, only that he had on a black ski mask and blue overalls. “Gimme your phone.”