156 / 194
140
often so I’d be ready for action when I needed to be quick. I
slipped the gun and spare cartridge under my left arm,
between the fat suit and the Santa coat. I opened a seam
and attached it with Velcro. I was used to do-it-yourself
repairs and sewing from a childhood spent on the remote
island of Hevonpersiinsaari, a backwoods locale whose very
name means Horse’s Ass Island, far removed from
department stores like Stockmann.
I pulled on thin red mittens edged with fur, because my
bare hands looked feminine even though I kept the nails
short and unpolished. I entered the elevator on the lowest
level of the parking garage. Bruun and I had agreed that I
would get into costume in the secret room. That way I
could best hide my identity.
“When the employees leave the building, they have to exit
through this well-lit corridor,” Bruun had explained to me
after the department store closed. The security measures
appeared sound: employees carrying anything from the
store would have to show a receipt. No system was 100
percent sure, but Bruun and the guards had been checking
the exits for over a month now and no one would have been
able to smuggle through the large amounts of expensive
goods that had been disappearing from the store: cameras,
phones, PDAs, expensive jewelry, as well as cosmetics
worth hundreds of euros. Design cutlery had been taken
from the housewares department. All together, the losses
had already climbed to nearly 30,000 euros.