I say, “I’d like to discuss the murders of Kaarina Saukko and Lisbet S?derlund with you. And I’d like to talk about a website called I Would Give Two Years of My Life to Kill Lisbet S?derlund. She’s dead. That same group had a member whose user name was Heinrich Himmler. This member discussed sending Finland’s blacks to the gas chamber. Two young black men were murdered in a makeshift gas chamber. I want Himmler’s identity.”
“I know nothing about any of those things why would I know anything about murders and threatening websites and their contributors.”
“Veikko Saukko promised to donate a million euros to Real Finns. He reneged. Shortly thereafter, his son and daughter were kidnapped and the daughter murdered. On your blog, you’ve slandered Lisbet S?derlund countless times, blamed her personally for Finland’s immigration policies and, after her death, implied that it was the best thing that has happened to our country in years. You see, I read all your blogs. I’m a big fan. And, as you’re so active in racial social networking on the Internet, I’m willing to bet that you were a member of that Facebook group, and that, beloved as you are by so many racists, and as a representative of the Real Finns party, you’re privy to a great deal of information, even if it’s just gossip and hearsay.”
He put his hand on his dog’s back, as if for comfort, or perhaps as if the dog was a kind of talisman for him. “As I have stated many times I am not a racist. I am maahanmuuttokriitikko—a critic of immigrants. In the words of ‘Martin Lucifer King,’ ‘In the end we will remember not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends,’ and so I write my thoughts because I love my country and other thinking people read those thoughts because they see the truth in them and the lies behind stinking ruiners of our race and nation like Lisbet S?derlund.”
“I’ve noticed that racists seem well-versed in the thoughts of Dr. King.”
“Know thy enemy. We’ll have a Muslim niggertown surrounding Helsinki and then they’ll burn their own homes down like the niggers in LA and like the niggers in Paris. And just the same when they start looting instead of stealing from their so-called oppressors downtown that own valuable merchandise they’ll knock out the front windows of stores in their own neighborhoods and steal flashy sneakers and flat-screen TVs and designer jeans and toaster ovens. That’s how much brains they have and that’s how much thanks they give us for bringing them here and saving their lives and letting them live on our dime. Fuck them. Send them home to face genocide by machete-wielding niggers just like themselves. And if it came to a national referendum, every nigger in Finland would be executed. They should never have been let out of their self-created hellholes in the first place. And fuck you and fuck Lisbet S?derlund that nigger-dick-sucker traitor. I’m glad she’s dead and get off of my property now.”
“I can’t. You still haven’t answered my questions.”
Malinen pets his dog. “Meet my dog Sparky. Sparky is special. He’s a Fila Brasileiro. A breed so aggressive that they’re outlawed in certain places, a hundred-twenty-pound monster and a trained attack dog and doesn’t like people who threaten me and I’ll turn Sparky loose and order him to kill you.”
“Go ahead,” I say.
Malinen shouts the command and the dog leaps. I swing my cane and the lion bites it in the loose skin on the side of its neck. I hold it at arm’s length and hit it on the snout full blast with my Taser. The dog falls to the ground and quivers. I zap it again.
“Milo,” I say, “amputate a leg off that thing,” and I drag it over to him with my cane.
I choose Milo because, with his fertile mind, he would get the point I was making, and would also know how to do it. He uses a zip-lock handcuff for a tourniquet and pulls it tight around the dog’s left hind leg at the hip.
Malinen shakes, starts to cry. “Why would you do that to poor Sparky?” he asks, apparently forgetting that he had ordered it to attack me.