John starts in. “Those fucking dickheads-”
I cut him off. “Just explain yourself.”
I watch him concoct a lie. It takes a while. He’s sloppy, drunk as hell, but propped up by speed or coke. I wonder how it’s possible to run up a three-hundred-euro tab when a pint of beer only costs two and a half euros. “Never mind,” I say, and go to the bar.
The bartender tells the story. John came in early, started drinking hard, got drunk and loud. He bought people drinks to make friends. He dropped a credit card. In the late afternoon, he asked if he could take a hundred euros in cash on his card. The bartender didn’t run the card, just made a note to add it to the final tab. John annoyed the shit out of everyone, but they put up with him since he kept the beer flowing. The bill got high, the bartender got suspicious. He ran the card. The card was dead. He asked John if he had another card. John gave him two more. Both dead. John got haughty. John started name-calling. John feigned indignation and tried to leave. A bouncer stopped him. Securitas was called in.
“I’ll pay the bill,” I say, and hand over my MasterCard. John has been in Helsinki for two days. Between champagne last night and his drinking binge today-and the hundred he took from the bartender, which I’m sure he used to buy drugs-he’s become an expensive annoyance. I’m not happy.
I go back to the table and sit across from him. My headache isn’t monster-from- Alien bad, but it’s getting worse again. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” I ask.
“Kari, it wasn’t my fault. Listen, Kari, there’s something wrong with their credit card machine, and they made out like it’s my mistake. Kari, you’re a cop. Do something. Kari, I swear to God I’m going to sue these bastards.”
I hate the American habit of using a person’s name over and over to create a fake sense of intimacy. “John,” I say, “here’s what I’m going to do, and here’s what you’re going to do. John, you’re a lying whore. John, you’re drunk and stoned. John, you’re going to sober up. John, you dumb motherfucker, you and I are going to cover this up because if Kate finds out, it’s going to upset her. John, when someone upsets my wife, I get upset. John, do you want me to be upset?”
He shakes his head no.
“Good. I should be finishing a death investigation right now and going home to Kate, where I want to be. Instead, I’m going to call Kate and tell her we’re having a little boys’ night out, to do some bonding.” I hate that term, but think he’ll relate to it. “My plan is this. I’m going to take you to a sauna, then to get something to eat. When we get back to my house, you’re going to act like a choirboy.”
He starts to speak. I press a finger to my lips. “I don’t want to hear your voice for a while. We clear?”
He nods yes. I call Kate. He stands, puts on his coat, weaves. I help him toward the door.
Kotiharjun sauna is within walking distance of both our apartment and Roskapankki. John never intended to go sightseeing today. He just wandered out and got smashed in the first place that looked inviting to him. He stumbles through the snow. The cold air and exercise will do him good. The sauna will be good for both of us, and also serve as a small punishment for his bad behavior. I’m going to use the opportunity to fuck with him, just a little.
Kotiharjun sauna opened its doors in 1928. It’s a Helsinki institution and one of my favorite places. The only public sauna left that’s both wood-fired and keeps to the old traditions. We approach it. A line of men are outside in the snow, sitting on a low wall, wrapped in towels, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer.
“What the fuck are naked guys doing in the snow?” John asks.