Free Against the Wall by Jarkko Sipila Page A

soup?”
    Larsson laughed dryly. “That was funny, actually.”
    “It was?”
    “Sure. But Jorma Raitio’s been saying stuff about you that’s not so funny.”
    “So he’s talking about me, huh?” Salmela kept a poker face, but couldn’t help wondering what the hell his former friend and accomplice had done now.
    “Don’t you know?”
    “Of course I know,” he answered. They were nearing the volleyball court. The four of them walked in pairs, Salmela and Larsson in front, and the other two following.
    “He says you’re a snitch.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Is it?”
    “Yes.”
    They walked for a dozen yards, then Larsson continued, “He gave me the court papers from your case, asked me to read ’em, and do something about it.”
    “You read ’em?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So what’re you gonna do?”
    Larsson smiled. “What I’m doing right now—talking to you about it.”
    “Why?”
    “I guess you don’t know my background, but there was a time when I studied law. Wasn’t until later that I got lots of first-hand experience in it.”
    “A law student?” Salmela asked.
    “Based on your file, I can see why you got a shorter sentence. The Appellate Court’s decision was based on solid legal facts.”
    “I agree.”
    The men fell silent and walked for another dozen steps. Salmela wondered what this was really all about. Why had the gang taken an interest in him? In his own opinion, he was a middle-level player at the most. He didn’t have money, not even hidden on the outside.
    “Why aren’t you doing anything?” Larsson asked.
    “What am I supposed to do?”
    “Raitio is spreading bullshit rumors about you and you’re just sitting on the fence. People here’ll take that as a sign of guilt. Eventually, someone’s gonna take Raitio up on his offer.”
    “What offer?” said Salmela, then immediately regretted showing his ignorance.
    Larsson didn’t notice, or didn’t care.
    “An iron pipe to the knee and the head.”
    Salmela’s expression was grave. “How much is he offering for that?”
    “A grand.”
    Now Salmela understood what this was about. The Skulls were after a counter-offer. “And what’s your price?”
    “Two.”
    “I don’t have that kind of money in here.”
    “I don’t need it in here—we’ll take care of it on the outside.”
    Salmela wasn’t exactly looking forward to doing business with the Skulls. It would lead to trouble sooner or later. On the other hand, taking out a contract for a prison beating wasn’t all that risky. The victim would say he fell down some stairs, and the perpetrators would walk away scot-free. It was a code that even the guards understood. Ratting on another inmate would be an affront that would be paid back with interest, compounded at usury rates. If Salmela didn’t order the hit, he would end up in the prison hospital himself.
    “Two grand, you say?” Salmela wanted to confirm the exact amount.
    Larsson nodded.
    “Take care of it.”
    “Good. As a bonus, we’ll put the word out that you’re okay, and under our protection.”
    Larsson slowed down, indicating that the conversation was over. The three gangsters hung back about twenty yards for the rest of the walk, and Salmela continued on alone. This protection would cost him dearly, but he had no other sensible alternatives.
    Walking felt like a godsend suddenly—the old prison had plenty of staircases.
     
    * * *
     
    Since everyone was already there, the meeting started early. Mikko Kulta had been last to arrive.
    “Let’s keep it short,” Takamäki said from the head of the table. “Everyone is busy.”
    Joutsamo, Kohonen, Suhonen, and Kulta had taken their seats on one side of the table. Opposite them were a couple of detectives sent from Lieutenant Ariel Kafka’s team, and Kannas, the burly chief of forensics.
    “Anna,” Takamäki said, glancing at Joutsamo. “Anything new on Eriksson?”
    Joutsamo shook her head. “Nothing really. I don’t think we discussed the