Raid and the Blackest Sheep Read Online Free Page A

duffle bag and wearing a gray tracksuit, running shoes and his trademark black leather jacket. His step was light, his manner unspoiled by any trace of worry. He had come from the direction of the staff dormitories—Jansson could guess which room.
         Huusko spotted Jansson standing by the bulletin board, studying it with his arms crossed.
         “I found something for us to do tonight.”
         “For us or you?”
         “You think I’d forget the man on whose goodwill my entire future hangs? Got us a window table at the Millhouse Tavern. Tonight we’ll have meat.”
         “Didn’t you already get some?”
         “C’mon, I’m talking about food. They got pepper steaks with creamy garlic mashed potatoes on the menu. On the way back we can stop by the deli for meat pies and fried sausages.”
         “Sounds good. We taking a taxi?”
         “Yup. To celebrate payday.”
         Jansson returned to his room and chose his best outfit: black pressed pants and a dark blue nautical blazer.
         Jansson had laid his clothes on the bed when his cellphone rang on the nightstand. The caller was unidentified—the display read only an asterisk.
         “Jansson.”
         “Kempas here. I heard you’re at rehab. Your old bones bothering you?”
         Kempas was a veteran lieutenant in charge of the Helsinki Police Department’s undercover operations. He had a reputation for being difficult.
         “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”
         “I hear you know a torpedo by the name of Raid.”
         For some reason, Kempas’ style grated on Jansson.
         “So?”
         “Working on a case over here and ran across his name. We need some background on him.”
         “What case?”
         “He’s travelling with Nygren, an old ex-con. I’d like to know why.”
         “And I’m supposed to know?”
         “I’ve been told you know Raid better than anyone in the department. They say you’re almost pals.”
         “Not enough that he calls me up to give regular updates.”
         “Can’t you venture a guess?”
         “Raid sells protection. Maybe he’s along as a bodyguard.”
         “Nygren’s never needed one before.”
         “Sorry, that’s my best guess.”
         “Maybe Raid’s helping Nygren with a job? Nygren has a record in Sweden too. Hasn’t Raid been living in Sweden for quite some time?”
         “There and Denmark.”
         “Maybe they know each other from there.”
         “Maybe.”
         “Well, we could use the names of anyone in Finland who knows Raid, and of course, anything else pertaining to him. You’re the one who investigated the Imatra Castle Hotel and warehouse shootings. Wasn’t Raid a suspect in those?”
         “Yeah, but tell me this… If Nygren and Raid haven’t done anything wrong, why are you after them?”
         “If Nygren hasn’t done anything yet, he’s about to. The guy’s been in the business for almost forty years, and I’d just as soon the bastard spent his retirement in a cell.”
         “What do you have against Nygren?”
         “Cops hate crooks like cats hate mice.”
         Jansson’s heart went cold. He knew Nygren, and didn’t consider him the worst of criminals. A career criminal, yes, but in his own way, he was entertaining.
         The first time Jansson met Nygren had been nearly twenty years earlier, while investigating a gunfight in an illicit Helsinki gambling house that attracted a host of shady characters.
         Nygren had been working the card table when a fight broke out among the gamblers. Two were shot; one of them was Nygren, who took a bullet in the stomach and nearly died.
         Jansson suspected that Nygren was the second shooter. There had to have been two, since two types of bullet casings had been found. The guns, however, were never recovered. When