“She’s my aunt,” he said, “and she loves kids. She’d probably pay you to let her babysit again, just ask her. Come to the bar with me,” he says, “and I’ll show you something.”
We walk over, lean against it, and Jyri keeps his voice hushed. “Did you know,” he says, “that there are now more spies in Finland than at any time since the Cold War?”
“No, I didn’t,” I answer.
“Russia has by far the most here, around thirty trained operatives, followed by the U.S. and China, and then there are small representations by other countries as well. They’re seeking information about our defense policy and intentions toward NATO, and countries economically and technologically behind us are looking for shortcuts through espionage.”
“And the point is?”
“I know who they are, and some of them are quite upset about heroin revenues lost by theft. Your campaign against the drug trade ends now until the S?derlund murder is solved, for the obvious reason that you’re under scrutiny. You were upset because we’ve taken no steps to interdict the human slave trade. You made an attempt and it ended badly.”
I start to speak, but he raises a hand to silence me. “Yes, I know all about it. I had you move money and drugs from one criminal’s house to another. I then spoke to a Russian spy, told him I knew about his problem, gave him names and the address where you left the money and dope, and said I prefer they take care of it in-house. The men who raped and murdered the women you tried to help were among them. I asked him for proof when the matter was resolved.”
He takes out his iPhone and shows me an image. Five men are in a warehouse, naked. Chains hanging from a crossbeam have hooks on the end. These hooks are driven into the soft flesh behind the chins of five men. Their toes are inches from the floor. They’re in various states of being tortured to death. Electrodes are attached to tongues and genitals. A couple lack genitals and or other body parts. A couple have most of their skin flayed off.
“One would assume that they were told they wouldn’t be allowed to die until they revealed the location of the rest of the drugs and money they’ve stolen,” Jyri said. “Of course, they couldn’t. I’ve seen the dossiers of these men. They’ve trafficked in hundreds of women and subjected many to unthinkable abuse. Now they’ve paid, and gangsters will no longer be searching for the real thieves, meaning you and yours. You have indeed done something to, as you put it, ‘help people.’ That was my gift to you.”
He deletes the image. I thank him. Now I can believe that, in some small way, justice has been served by my activities. I go back to my seat beside Kate.
Real Finn boss Topi Ruutio stops by and one of his redneck nationalist supporters comes to worship. We’re speaking English and the devotee, loud, drunk and rude, tells Kate to learn to speak fucking Finnish. He must think it will score points with Ruutio, who seems like a nice guy. Ruutio calls him an ill-mannered cunthead and tells him to fuck off.
On the way out, Milo hands Kate a set of car keys. He points down the street at a brand-new Audi S4. “That belongs to you,” he says.
“Why?”
Milo looks at the ground, hands in pockets. “I upset you the other day when I slipped and you found out about the body dump and I wanted to make it up to you.”
Kate is second-day drunk and weaving a bit. She kisses his cheek. “You think you can buy my affection,” she says, “but you can’t.”
He reddens, turns away. She giggles. “You don’t have to, I already like you. But if you want to keep showering me with expensive gifts, I’ll let you.”