Raid and the Blackest Sheep (24 page)

    
“I think I’m finished…smoking.”

    
Nygren looked at Raid. Raid nodded.

    
“It was a joke.”

    
“I got it.”

    
“Everything comes to an end eventually.”

    
“You didn’t finish your story.”

    
“Maybe you were listening after all… When I arrived at the meeting place, the kid was nowhere to be seen. I asked the receptionist and found out that he and his cronies had taken off at the crack of dawn. Lucky for me he was easy to find. Everyone knew the local lowlife and prodigal son. I had to use a bit of force to get into the house. The guy was holed up in the upstairs bedroom, taking a nap in his daddy’s chippendale bed with the silk sheets and all. I woke him up a little rough and knocked him upside the head a few times, but he claimed he didn’t have any money at the moment. Supposedly, he had to liquidate some assets. At the time, I didn’t have a car, so I asked him if he did. He had two: a Porsche and this. I took the Mercedes. It’s been seven years already and the car has served me faithfully.”

    
“Interesting story, but did you cheat?”

    
“The story is educational, too,” Nygren went on, oblivious to Raid’s question.

    
“You must think I need a little education,” Raid said.

    
“Everybody does.”

    
“Right.”

    
“What do you know about women, for example?” Nygren asked.

    
“I’m a big boy now.”

    
“Every man thinks he knows everything about women, even if he can barely manage a bra strap. A woman can make heaven or hell of a man’s life, or both at the same time. I’d advise you to treat the matter with the seriousness it demands.”

    
“I do.”

    
“If you did, you’d have a woman.”

    
“I have.”

    
“But not anymore.”

    
“That’s a question of interpretation. Do you have one?”

    
“Don’t do as I do, do as I say.”

    
“How many times have you been married?”

    
Nygren counted on his fingers.

    
“Three.”

    
“You didn’t treat the matter with the seriousness it demanded.”

    
“That’s right. The first lasted six years, the second and third were under a year. I shouldn’t even count the third. She was a prison shrink and far more in need of help than I was. Criminals don’t make good husbands.”

    
“True.”

    
“I’m almost sixty years old—you’re about half that. Based on my age, I’ve got twice your life experience, and I’m willing to pass it on to you. You should get it for free while you can. Ask me whatever you want.”

    
“Where we sleeping tonight?”

    
“In a hotel.”

    
“What are we doing here?”

    
“Meeting an old friend of mine.”

    
Raid turned his eyes back to the road.

    
“That’s all your questions? A sorry showing. My forte is the meaning of life. In prison there was plenty of time and a good library for those who wanted to exercise something other than their criminal instinct. Have you read Primo Levi’s
If This Is a Man
?”

    
“No, but I’ve read Shakespeare’s
Moby Dick.
”

    
“What about
Twain’s ‘Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven
?’”

    
“No, but I’ve read Adam Smith’s
The Communist Manifesto
.”

    
Nygren was undeterred by Raid’s
wisecracks
.

    
“You’re stubborn, just like when you were a little boy. Haven’t you learned how to take advice yet?”

    
“Let’s have it.”

    
“Read. Reading is the shortcut to everything. A book is like a little package with generations of wisdom on the meaning of life.”

    
“You don’t think I read?”

    
“Do you?”

    
“Of course I do.”

    
“What did you mean when you said that whether you were dating was a question of interpretation?”

    
“Just that.”

    
“I’ve certainly heard more intelligible expressions. Either you have a woman or you don’t. Which is it?”

    
“None of your business.”

    
“So that’s how it is?”

    
“First tell me if you cheated that kid.”

    
“Yes, but I didn’t need to. He was a pitiful gambler. Now your turn.”

    
“There’s a woman…she’s waiting for me.”

    
“Is she a good woman?”

    
“Yes.”

    
“What’s she do for a living? Not that it makes a difference…”

    
“It doesn’t.”

    
“I can almost guess how you met.”

    
“You guessed right.”

    
“How long has she had to wait?”

    
“Six months.”

    
“Have you been in contact?”

    
“I sent a card.”

    
“Just one?”

    
“Just one.”

    
“If she waits for you, hold onto her. One card isn’t a lot.”

    
“Right.”

    
“Does she know what you do?”

    
“Yes.”

    
“And she’s still waiting? Again, hold onto that one.”

    
“You might know her dad.”

    
“Do I?”

    
“If you know Uki.”

    
“Uki?”

    
“Yeah.”

    
“
The
Uki?”

    
“Yeah.”

    
“Small world…too small. Uki helped me out with a job once. Opened a door for me…the door to a safe. A real professional. And you’re dating his daughter? Hold onto that girl, but keep your distance from her dad. That’s my free advice for you.”

* * *

Nygren gave directions as he studied the map.

    
“Go right at the next intersection. Then left. There’s the sign right there.”

    
Raid pulled into a combination gas station, auto repair shop, and small bar. The 1960s building was clad in white asbestos shingles, some of which had cracked. Nygren took a look around. Signs of decay were apparent elsewhere as well.

    
“Doesn’t look like much,” Raid said.

    
A young man in his twenties was tending the register. His long hair was tied back in a pony tail.

    
“Hiltunen? Is he here?” Nygren asked.

    
The young man appraised the visitors before answering.

    
“Back in the shop. I’ll get him.”

    
“Thanks, but we can find him.”

    
Dressed in blue overalls and a cap, Hiltunen stood inspecting the radiator of a car that was parked over the service pit. Nygren had to clear his throat to get the man’s attention.

    
“Hello,” said Nygren.

    
“Nygren!”

    
Hiltunen’s age was difficult to gauge. He was small and dreary. His brown eyes were bright and friendly, but tinged with worry. Raid suspected that he and Nygren were to blame for that.

    
“We were on our way north to buy some reindeer antler tonic and I figured we’d stop and say hi.”

    
Hiltunen was hardly overjoyed.

    
“Where’d you get this address?”

    
“From a friend. You have time for coffee? My treat.”

    
Hiltunen hesitated briefly before accepting the invitation.

    
Hiltunen kept his coveralls and cap on. He tore some paper towels off a roll and wiped down his shoes, which were brand-new and gleaming, hardly a match for his coveralls.

    
Outside, the wind drove the rain across the pavement. The gas pumps were sheltered by a small canopy, which provided little cover now. A woman filling up her car lost her hat, which rolled across the parking lot and under a parked van.

    
Hiltunen was wrapping up a summary of the years since his prison release.

    
“…so I’ve been managing this place for about seven years. The owner’s retiring and means to sell the place. We’ll see what happens to me. I’m old enough now that it looks like I’ll end up on unemployment.”

    
“How’s business?”

    
“Not so bad, though you wouldn’t believe that by lookin’ at it. The owner’s just too stingy to fix it up. The location’s good. If he’d just invest a little in the repair shop and spruce it up a bit things would get better. My boy’s a good mechanic…been working with cars since he was a little kid.”

    
Hiltunen nodded at the young man behind the register.

    
“That him?”

    
A look of fear crossed Hiltunen’s face, as though he had revealed too much.

    
“Yeah.”

    
“How’s your wife?”

    
“Working in the hospital kitchen… What about you?”

    
“Retired.”

    
Hiltunen glanced at Raid from beneath the brim of his cap and Nygren noticed.

    
“That’s my nephew. He’s my chauffeur and tour guide. We’re headed to Lapland. You ever thought of buying this place for yourself?”

    
“With what money? With my record, I can’t get a loan without serious equity.”

    
“How much do you need?”

    
“What do you mean?”

    
“I could give you loan.”

    
Hiltunen shook his head.

    
“Nothin’ against you, but I don’t wanna get mixed up in anything. Been tryin’ to stay clear of ex-cons, no matter how nice they are…”

    
“What about Rusanen?”

    
“What about him?”

    
“You working for him?”

    
“Some small gigs… I got to…”

    
“Not anymore.”

    
“How’s that?”

    
“He’s dead. He was shot yesterday.”

    
“Can’t be…”

    
“He is.”

    
“Best news I’ve heard all day…see that in the paper?”

    
“No, but word travels.”

    
“It’s about time someone put him out of his misery… I thought about it myself, but wasn’t man enough.”

    
“About my offer, maybe you misunderstood. I don’t want to interfere with your life, just want to loan you some money.”

    
“How come?”

    
“You have to invest your money somewhere. A reasonable interest rate would suffice.”

    
“What’s reasonable interest?”

    
“Five percent.”

    
“Fifty grand. I can get the rest from the bank.”

    
“Is that enough?”

    
“It’ll have to be.”

    
Nygren held out his hand, “Deal?”

    
“What kinda money is this?”

    
“From my retirement account.”

    
“What about collateral?”

    
“Make the place profitable. That’s all the collateral I need.”