Vengeance (3 page)

    
Saarnikangas was wearing a green military coat. His dark, greasy hair reached his shoulders. The man’s face was thin, his skin pale and pock-marked. But having kicked a heroin addiction, he was in better shape now than he had been for years.

    
His gaze was fixed on a group of about a half-dozen black men, who were slowly climbing the stairs to the second floor of the mall, where a mosque was located.

    
He pulled out his cell phone and glanced at the time: 11:22. He’d give the guy three more minutes before leaving, and wouldn’t take his calls anymore.

    
The man had promised Saarnikangas twenty euros just to listen to a proposal. Free money was enough of a reason, but it wasn’t the only one. Was this guy in as bad of shape as word on the street would have it? The fact that he was willing to pay for a meeting wasn’t a good sign.

    
A knock on the passenger side window startled Saarnikangas. He hadn’t noticed the man approaching—he must have snuck up from the rear.

    
The Ducato didn’t have power locks, but if it did, they would have been broken. Saarnikangas leaned over, lifted the passenger side lock, and snatched his music system off the seat. He shut off the music.

    
“Hey,” said the forty-something man. His hair was short, his cheeks sunken. The lambswool collar of his brown leather jacket was dirty.

    
The rugged-faced Eero Salmela seemed initially like his former self, but then Saarnikangas looked in his eyes: blurry and full of fear.

    
“They let you out of the hospital?” said Saarnikangas, smiling with his mouth carefully closed. Heroin had ruined his teeth. He also wanted to be cautious. He knew that a year ago, while in prison, Salmela had taken an iron pipe to the head, and had done a long stretch in the medical ward before returning to his cellblock to serve out the final months of his sentence. A blow to the head can make a man unpredictable. Saarnikangas might be sharper, but Salmela was still the stronger man.

    
“Yeah. Back in the summer.”

    
“Cool. You alright?” Saarnikangas said, more as a statement.

    
Salmela said nothing, just settled into the passenger seat and stared over Saarnikangas’ shoulder at the mall.

    
“That place is so big, I’d get lost in it.”

    
“Yeah, same here.”

    
Salmela shot a cold look at Saarnikangas, but then fluttered his eyelids so long that it gave the impression of stupidity. “I lost a few brain cells back in prison, but don’t mock me. You know how ex-cons deal with people who give them shit.”

    
“I didn’t say anything. Wasn’t laughing,” Saarnikangas apologized. No doubt Salmela had a knife on him.

    
“You know where I just was?”

    
“Nope.”

    
“Playing bingo.”

    
“Huh?”

    
“Fucking bingo.”

    
Best be quiet, Saarnikangas thought, and said nothing.

    
Salmela calmed down. “The doc said it might help. The lady says ‘B-6’ and I match it on the sheet. I got thirty euros of bingo money from the welfare office. They call it therapy.”

    
How come I don’t get that kind of assistance, Saarnikangas wondered.

    
Salmela continued, “Kids’ crossword puzzles supposedly help too, but they make my head hurt like hell.”

    
Saarnikangas didn’t know what to say, so he just turned and nodded. Kids’ crosswords? He felt like laughing, but the threat of a knife kept his mouth shut.

    
A few years back, Salmela had run a stolen goods business and bought some hot cell phones and laptops from Saarnikangas. Salmela had paid a shitty price, but at least he had paid. Some buyers had just walked off with the stuff Saarnikangas brought, ignoring his pleas for money.

    
Salmela had been tough, but fair. A couple of years ago, Salmela’s son had been killed in a turf battle between rival drug gangs. In his sorrow, the devastated father was driven to more serious crimes. Saarnikangas didn’t quite know for what, but Salmela had spent a few years in the pen. There he had apparently mixed with the wrong crowd and had been found in a stairwell, beaten unconscious.

    
“So what happened in the slammer?”

    
Salmela sneered. “You know. Those…the stairs there are damn steep. Easy to trip. Don’t remember much else.”

    
“That so?”

    
“Yeah. That’s what happened.” Salmela averted his eyes.

    
Saarnikangas was quiet for a moment. “You had something you wanted to talk about?”

    
“Yeah. Listen…” Salmela began hesitantly. “I need some help with something I’m working on.”

    
“What’s that?” Saarnikangas asked, though he was already certain he’d say no. It was still good to know about any deals out there.

    
Salmela glanced about, though there was nobody else in the cab. “I got a little deal going on and I need some assistance.”

    
Saarnikangas understood immediately. “How much you need?”

    
“Say, about three grand.”

    
Saarnikangas didn’t have that kind of money, but went on with the game. “What kind of deal?”

    
“You’d be able to help me then?” Salmela brightened.

    
“I asked what kind of deal. Didn’t promise anything.”

    
Salmela lowered his voice to a whisper. “Four pounds of speed from Tallinn. You get a piece of the action. Your three Gs will be six within the month.”

    
Yeah, right, Saarnikangas thought. A drug smuggling operation run by a bingo whiz that can’t figure out kids’ crossword puzzles. Count me in for sure. “I’m not so sure,” Saarnikangas mumbled.

    
“My partner has good contacts there. The job is a piece of cake, really. A-all I need is a little financing and it’ll take care of itself.”

    
Saarnikangas made eye contact with Salmela. “Eero. Why you doing this? I thought drugs weren’t your thing.”

    
Salmela was quiet for a moment. “They’re not.”

    
“Then why?”

    
“I owe some money. This is the only chance I have to w-wiggle out of it.”

    
“Is that really it?”

    
“Yeah. That’s it.”

    
“Four pounds of dope costs ten grand wholesale. What about the rest of it? The other seven? You have them yet?”

    
Salmela smirked. “Almost.”

    
“Who’s your mule?”

    
“That’s one thing I have to figure out. The dope costs ten grand wholesale in Tallinn, but twelve shipped here. I can save two grand if I bring it myself.”

    
“You got a buyer?”

    
“Yup.”

    
“Who?” Saarnikangas demanded.

    
“I’ll tell you when I get the three grand.”

    
Saarnikangas shook his head. “Sorry, no loose cash right now.”

    
“Huh?”

    
“None.”

    
“Alright. No problem.”

    
Disappointed, Salmela turned abruptly away. “I’ll get the financing, you know. You’ll miss out, but that’s your loss.”

    
Saarnikangas was sure he could live with the loss.

    
“Hey Eero. Maybe I can help with the other part.”

    
“What other part?”

    
“Well, getting the dope across the gulf.”

    
“H-how? You’d bring it yourself?”

    
“I’ve got some old drug convictions so I can’t do it myself. Too risky.”

    
Saarnikangas pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and looked up a number in the directory. Next to the van’s hand brake lay an old receipt, and Saarnikangas jotted a name and number on the back.

    
Salmela extended his hand, but Saarnikangas didn’t offer the number.

    
“I’ll give it to you for a hundred.”

    
“What is it?”

    
“An Estonian girl’s number. She’s ferried a few shipments before. Charges maybe three, four-hundred euros for a four pound job.”

    
Salmela stared at Saarnikangas’ hand.

    
“Can’t promise she’ll do it, but she knows the drill.”

    
Salmela fished a hundred euros out of his pocket and handed it over. “Okay.”

    
Saarnikangas noticed some more bills in Salmela’s hand. “And the twenty for the meeting, too.”

    
The ex-con dealt out another twenty and Saarnikangas shoved the money into his jacket pocket.

    
“Anything else?” he asked.

    
“Nah,” said Salmela. As he swung out of the van, he reminded Saarnikangas not to say anything about this job to anyone. Saarnikangas agreed.

    
He watched Salmela’s departure with a heavy mind. The number he had sold was indeed for Tallinn, but that second-rate whore certainly wouldn’t agree to be anybody’s mule.

    
This would not end well. Narcotics and Customs ate these kinds of operations for breakfast, at least if Salmela could actually get his hands on the dope. Especially with rookies like Salmela, Estonian suppliers had a reputation for taking payment but delivering nothing. In any case, Salmela would probably be better off in prison.

CHAPTER 3

WEDNESDAY, 2:30 P.M.

TALLINN HARBOR, ESTONIA

The effect of the sea was usually amazing. If it was raining in Helsinki, a few hours on a southbound ferry brought passengers to sunny Tallinn, with temperatures 15 degrees warmer. Usually, that is, but not this time.

    
A hard rain beat against the windows of Terminal Four at the Tallinn harbor. Suhonen was squinting out the window to see if any taxis were waiting; he didn’t want to step out into the torrent for no reason. Not one in sight.