vodka go to the head quick, and they taste good as well, hence their popularity.
On the way back to the table, Milo stops me. “You’re a lucky man,” he says.
“How so?”
“Having two beautiful women.”
And a child was born in Bethlehem. He’s about to do what he enjoys most, and stretch a simple statement into a story of epic proportion. “As far as I know, I’m married to Kate and monogamous. Did brain surgery make me forget I’m a Mormon?”
“On the way over here, Mirjami told me she’s in love with you.”
“That’s just silly. She doesn’t even know me.”
He shrugs. “She wasn’t joking.”
I ignore this foolishness, take Kate’s drink to her, and sit beside her.
None of us had ever been in such company before. Prime Minister Paavo Jokitalo. Minister of Finance Risto Kouva. Minister of Foreign Affairs Daniel Solstrand. Minister of Foreign Trade and Development Sauli Sivola. The head of the Social Democratic Party, Hannu Nykyri. Member of European Parliament and the head of Real Finns, Topi Ruutio, and Minister of the Interior Osmo Ahtiainen. Most of them are accompanied by husbands or wives, girlfriends, mistresses. It’s a big do, decided upon last night, on Vappu, when they were drunk. They decided to continue today. Their country and their hangovers can wait.
The band is great. I eavesdrop on conversations held in loud voices that carry over the music.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe great people discussing weighty matters of state. It was the gossip of the smashed. So-and-so had a bad scrape job and now she’s sterile. So-and-so gave so-and-so snout. She’s a tampon—a stuck-up cunt.
Given my recent problem with teen-type hard-ons and sexual preoccupation, I thought having Kate, Aino, Mirjami and Jenna surrounding me might cause slavering and maybe even auto-ejaculation. The effect is the opposite. It’s a bit like eating at a gourmet buffet. All that sumptuous quiff in one place adjusts my perspective and has a calming effect. The others are young beauties, but I still think Kate the most gorgeous.
At a certain point, the prime minister stands and taps his glass with a spoon for quiet. When he has the attention of all, he says, “We have special guests with us tonight.” He asks Milo and me to stand. “These men are national heroes.”
He talks about me being shot twice in the line of duty, and recounts the story of how Milo and I, without backup, entered a school for dysfunctional children under attack by a maniac and ended the siege. Who knows how many young lives we saved?
I imagine the school shooter’s head slump after Milo put a bullet in the back of it. And then the prime minister both pisses me off and makes me cringe.
“And now,” he says, “along with this young man…” He gestures for Sweetness to stand. Sweetness plays the role, lazily stretches his arms in a way that seems natural, and shows the twin monster .45s in their holsters under his jacket. The crowd is drunk and over-impressed. Sweetness gets up. “…they’ll soon bring to justice the murderer of Lisbet Soderlund, an event of such horror that it will be remembered as a dark nadir in the annals of Finnish history. These men are our Untouchables.” He slurs the word. “Untushables.”
Milo shoots me a “Told ya so” smirk. “Inspector Vaara,” the prime minister asks, “would you tell us how the case progresses?”
Rounds of shots start hitting the table at regular intervals. The true boozing begins.
Jenna gazes at Sweetness with an adoration that extends far beyond familial love. A Jerry Lee Lewis scenario is in the making.
I put on my practiced in the mirror smile, the extra-wide version. “With strong-arm tactics, shakedowns, extortion, threats, intimidation and beatings, we intend to terrorize Finland’s racist community until they give up the killer of their own volition, to save themselves more pain.”
The crowd doesn’t know if I’m joking or not. Either way, they like it. They laugh and clap. I notice Kate does neither. The crowd gets drunker and mills around. All the men make it to our end of the table at some point. Whether they’re interested in us crime fighters or not, we’ve got the young primo tail and they want a closer look. Of course, the nation’s leading politicians combined with said primo tail makes our group the focus of attention of all the other patrons in the restaurant.
Kate makes friends with Mirjami and Jenna. Kate wears an evening dress and her Manolo pumps. Mirjami has forsaken Hello Kitty garb and
Kate gives a smirk and drunken snort. “Like being married to Tony Soprano.”
Mirjami asks more personal things, what I’m like as a person. Sneaky. Kate doesn’t catch on. I don’t care for it.
The male politicos all introduce themselves at some point. They’re at that state of drunkenness where they’ve forgotten their own escorts and that our girls are taken and hope our lookers will shoot them some trim.
The prime minister isn’t so drunk, just polite. He strikes up a conversation with Kate, finds out she manages Kamp, and suggests the possibility of making a deal for all foreign dignitaries to stay there at a fixed rate. She gives him a business card. He promises to call. She beams excitement. Everyone drinks too much, except me. A little after midnight, the interior minister suggests a continuation of affairs of state aboard his yacht tomorrow. All present are invited and should meet at the Nyland Yacht Club Blekholmen clubhouse at noon. He asks who’s in. All shout approval.
The interior minister and Jyri approach me. “Allow me to introduce Inspector Vaara, my hatchet man,” Jyri says.
I say, “I prefer the term ‘enforcer.’”
The minister says he’d like for me to be at the yacht club, and hopes I’ll bring Kate. He would like to speak with her as well. This piques my curiosity. I thanked Jyri for arranging the babysitter, she seemed perfect, but said I would need another tomorrow.
“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 Soderlund 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
