Raid and the Blackest Sheep by Harri Nykänen

He would have expected the setback with Anna to have slowed him down a bit.
         “Susisaari called and sends her greetings.”
         “I’m gonna toss my bag in the room. You’re coming to lunch, right?”
         “I guess so.”
         Huusko hurried off to his room. Apparently forgetting that he was a patient at a physical rehab center, he bounded up the stairs by fours.
         The war veterans seized their regular table again. Jansson’s cellphone rang and he withdrew to a quiet corner.
         “It’s me.”
         Jansson recognized the voice immediately.
         “Hope it’s not a bad time. I heard you were in physical rehab.”
         “Not a bad time at all. I heard you were in Finland.”
         “Right.”
         “Work or play?”
         “Tough to say.”
         “Why?”
         “Sometimes it feels like work, sometimes it feels like play.”
         “What does?”
         “You don’t know?”
         “Yeah. You’re on the road with Nygren. Should I know why?”
         “Not as a cop.”
         “You’re not up to anything criminal?”
         “Not really.”
         “Not doing anything I wouldn’t do?”
         “No. Pretty sure you’d approve of everything I’m doing.”
         “A certain colleague of mine thinks Nygren’s planning a big job.”
         “Not true.”
         “You sure?”
         “Yes.”
         “Why’d you call, then?”
         “I want you guys to leave us alone.”
         “Hey, I’m just a plain lieutenant—I don’t have that kind of sway. Besides, the lieutenant who’s after Nygren is a pretty tough nut to crack. Almost impossible.”
         “You can assure your colleague he’s wasting his time. We’re attending to fully legitimate matters.”
         “Have you known Nygren long?”
         “Yes.”
         “You protecting him from someone?”
         “Yes again.”
         “You staying in Finland long?”
         “Tough to say.”
         “Is there a number I can get hold of you at…if I hear something.”
         “I’ll call you.”
         “Might be better to meet in person.”
         “Not yet.”
         “Where you at now?”
         “On the road,” Raid replied in English.
         “On the road,” Jansson repeated.
         “Right.”

 
     
     
    7.
     
    Raid and Nygren were the only customers at the village general store. The shopkeeper stood behind the meat counter in a white coat, following them with a curious gaze. The little store had been forcibly converted into a crowded mini-mart and the register had been squeezed right in front of the entrance. Behind the register was a woman in her fifties, likely the shopkeeper’s wife, judging from her self-important expression. She sat ramrod straight, like a prison guard. Not a single customer would get by her without paying.
         Nygren had piled a case of beer, a loaf of bread, cheese, canned pea soup, sausage links, a can of coffee and a couple of cartons of milk into the shopping cart. He lingered in the cookie aisle and picked out some chocolate cookies with strawberry filling, then veered sharply right and stopped in front of the meat counter.
         “A half pound of sliced ham.”
         The shopkeeper took careful aim with his metal tongs and lifted a pile of ham onto some wax paper. The scale showed nine ounces.
         “That’s fine,” said Nygren.
         His generosity won the shopkeeper’s approval.
         “Might I ask if you’re the owner of the old Nurminen place?”
         Nygren nodded.
         “Pleased to meet you. Folks around here sometimes wonder what type of guy owns that place.”
         “This type.”
         The shopkeeper glanced at Nygren as conspicuously as he dared. Dressed in sunglasses, a long black Italian coat and handmade Mexican boots, Nygren was certainly not a