179 / 194
163
“For God’s sake, don’t wave the knife around. I’ll take it off
. . .” I raised my hand toward my beard and trusted myself
to my luck. I had practiced the move many times, and I was
quick enough. Petri’s menacing expression vanished when
he saw the Glock in my hand.
“Scissors beat paper, and guns beat blades. Fine with me to
chat, but I pose the questions. Santa’s not taking wish lists
right now.”
Of course my gun was not loaded, but how would Petri
know that? He evidently hadn’t the slightest idea whose
sack I was bagging prey for.
“Drop the knife. Hands clasped behind your neck. On your
knees. Santa expects respect.”
Slowly Petri obeyed.
I kicked the knife to the side and demanded, “How’d a boy
with clean papers like you and Merja Salo-Virtanen get
mixed up with Jansson’s gang? Who joined first, Paula or
Veli-Pekka?”
“So you don’t know the whole story?” A glimmer of hope
flickered in Petri’s eyes but dimmed when I held the gun
closer to his temple.