Suhonen drove closer and waited to see if Salmela would come out. If the other side had a window, anyone inside would be able to see the glow from his headlights. But the little building seemed deserted. Suhonen wondered what kind of warehouse this was anyway. The location was strange. He knew that in the winter, snow was dumped in a nearby lot. Maybe the hut was used for that somehow.
He stopped the car next to the hut. There was enough space in the yard for him to swing the car around.
Suhonen stepped out and listened. The woods were quiet.
“Salmela,” he whispered. Nobody answered, not even the trees. Suhonen had no intention of shouting.
He waited there for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the dark. The zipper on his leather jacket was open for easy access to his Glock, which wasn’t drawn yet. Suhonen felt that a drawn weapon was a sign of fear. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, nor the unknown. Had he been, he may as well have applied for a desk job.
He could see into the woods now, at least somewhat, and he circled the hut. As he reached the gable end, he noticed the red paint flaking off the walls. Aside from that, the building was in surprisingly good condition. He peeked around the corner. The back side had a door, and a small lone window on the far end, close to the eaves.
Suhonen rounded the corner quietly. Only a few yards separated the building from the forest.
He continued on to the door. There were two alternatives: either go straight inside or shout for Salmela. Suhonen thought briefly, drew his pistol, and without warning, jerked the door open.
Salmela was kneeling on the floor. A piece of silver duct tape covered his mouth, but his eyes were directed to Suhonen’s right. Suhonen turned to look, dropped down and raised his weapon. In the corner, Rolf Steiner stood grinning, a pistol in his hand.
Suhonen fired and the shot was deafening. The bullet hit Steiner in his right thigh and he fell to the floor.
“Shi-it,” Steiner moaned, clutching his bleeding thigh.
Suhonen kicked the man’s fallen gun into the corner and his eyes darted around the room. It was some sort of tool shed, or at least it had been, for all that was left was a vise, a couple of stools, some electrical equipment and ropes. Other than Steiner and Salmela, nobody else was there.
Suhonen looked at the gangster. Blood was spilling onto the floor beneath his leg and the man was cursing in pain. With his gun off in the corner, Steiner seemed harmless, but “seemed” wasn’t good enough for Suhonen. He quickly checked the man’s pockets and tossed a bloody knife into the same corner, next to the gun.
Suhonen knelt down in front of Salmela and jerked the tape off of his mouth. His hands were apparently tied behind his back.
“You alright?” asked Suhonen.
“Watch out,” Salmela managed to say, but Suhonen knew it was already too late. He felt the pressure of cold metal against the back of his head. Apparently, his ears were still ringing so loudly he hadn’t heard the door open.
“Hello,” said Tapani Larsson coldly. “Drop the gun and put your hands behind your back.”
Suhonen weighed his options. Larsson was directly behind him, but Suhonen was kneeling, and wouldn’t be able to turn quickly enough to surprise the gangster. Larsson would surely pull the trigger, and even if Suhonen managed to dodge the bullet, Salmela was in the line of fire.
“Larsson, just shoot him and come help me,” Steiner groaned from the corner.
“Just wait,” Larsson commanded. “Hands behind your back, Suikkanen.”
“Suikkanen” referred to Suhonen’s alias, the same one he had used a couple of years ago when he arrested Larsson for extortion.
Suhonen lowered his weapon to the floor and started to stand up. But the barrel of Larsson’s gun did not yield, and he was forced to kneel again.
“I’m sure you know how to work these,” said Larsson as he handed Suhonen a pair of cuffs with his free hand. The barrel of the gun never left his head.
If he was going to try something, he should do it now, thought Suhonen. But he had no chance. No matter what, Larsson would be able to pull the trigger.
Suhonen put his hands behind his back and cuffed himself. Larsson hastily tightened them. At no point did he give Suhonen an opportunity to surprise him.
“Get up,” he commanded, and Suhonen stood up.
Without delay, Larsson shoved him into the wall, and the cop tumbled to the floor. Unable to use his hands to break his fall, his shoulder struck the cement floor hard.
“Help me,” Steiner wailed.
Larsson went to his brother’s side. His jeans were soaked with blood, which was now pooling on the floor. Larsson checked the man’s pulse-it was racing.
“You’ll be alright,” he attempted to comfort Steiner.
“You said he’d give a warning first, not just shoot. Fuck… This is the last time I agree to anything like this. Next time you can be the fucking decoy… Fuck… He pulled the trigger instantly… I should’ve shot his face off… once he came inside.” Steiner spoke haltingly.
That’s what the cops had always done before, Larsson thought. They always gave a warning. Their plan had been for Suhonen to arrest Steiner, and then for Larsson to surprise the cop. Even though the plan hadn’t worked out, for Larsson, the result was just as good.
True, Steiner’s leg looked bad. The bullet had apparently ruptured a large vein in his thigh, and he could bleed to death. Larsson considered his options, but they all led to the same conclusion. Steiner needed urgent medical care. He had to protect his brother-it was his duty to get the man to a hospital.
But on the other hand, now he finally had the chance to punish Suhonen. Every night in the pen, he had dwelt on revenge. But it would have to wait. A bullet in the back of the head would be fine for the rat, but too painless for the pig. Salmela should be kept alive for now, since executing him in front of Suhonen would intensify the agony.
A choice, that’s what this was about. Fuck, Larsson thought. Suhonen had to die and he would, but not so easily. He wanted to see the pig cry and beg for mercy. That’s what revenge was about. Domination and power. For the victim to be totally at your mercy and devoid of any hope. Larsson wanted to see him a desperate, blubbering mess-trying to cut a deal. But all in vain, for Larsson wouldn’t agree to any deal. He would only watch as each glimmer of hope faded away. This wasn’t about Suhonen dying, it was about how he would die. A quick death would be far too easy for this long-haired, leather-jacketed pile of shit. The man had to be crushed, but that would take time. Time that, because of Steiner’s leg wound, he didn’t have.
Larsson got up, walked to the corner, and grabbed two stools, which were slathered with white paint. He twisted a leg off of each one and set both stools in the middle of the room. He took a hank of rope off the workbench and threaded it through a hook in the rafters so that the end of the rope dangled at the level of the workbench. How fitting that there were two of these hooks, he thought. The hooks were meant for lifting heavy equipment in the shed, and could easily carry a man’s weight.
Larsson yanked Salmela to his feet and forced him into a kneeling position on the wobbly stool. Salmela struggled to keep his balance. His feet and hands were bound with zip ties. Larsson strapped them together with a second tie, so that his hands and feet were bound together behind his back.
Next, Larsson tied a noose around Salmela’s neck, pulled the rope taut and tied the other end to the bench, which was bolted to the floor.
Salmela swayed back and forth in an awkward-looking position. If he lost his balance, the rope would strangle him.