Kristian comes bounding up to my desk in the storeroom and, in his own way, answers my questions about time and place. Questions I have asked only myself, silently, over the two days since my visit to Tapanila.
‘They’re twisting Juhani’s leg out the back,’ says Kristian. ‘They’ve driven a car up against the loading bay, and Juhani’s leg is trapped between the bumper and the grille. He says not to call the police. That’s the way to conduct negotiations these days, he says, to gently take your opponent out of his comfort zone. But I’m not so sure. I’ve done plenty of business courses, and I’ve never…’
Kristian looks confused, but also a little disappointed, if I’m reading him right. It’s generally quite easy to read him, and many times I’ve had the distinct impression that he always says what he is thinking – even when it might be wise to consider other options instead. He is wearing the park’s T-shirt, as always, regardless of the temperature inside the hall, which has been lowered several times now. He looks muscular and out of sorts.
‘Toy of Finland?’ I ask.
Kristian nods. Then neither of us says anything for a moment. I go through my calculations mentally one more time. With every passing moment, Kristian looks more eager to hear what I have to say. I decide that the time is right.
‘Kristian,’ I begin. ‘This park means a lot to you, yes?’
‘I like everything about it,’ he says bluntly. ‘And the career opportunities are endless, as you’ve shown me. I’ve lost count of all the different titles I’ve had.’
‘That’s true,’ I agree. ‘And now you’ve got plenty of experience at building up the equipment and taking it down again.’
‘I don’t know anybody quicker,’ he says.
‘Neither do I,’ I say honestly. ‘That’s why I’m soon going to ask for your help again. This is about the park. About building and taking down equipment. In record time.’
Kristian clearly thinks about this for a minute; I can see it with the naked eye. And he no longer seems as disappointed or discontented as a moment ago.
‘People think I’m all brawn and no brains,’ he says. ‘But I can think too, you know.’
‘I can see that.’
‘What’s my new title going to be?’
I quickly think over the task at hand and what it will require, not forgetting the direction our last conversation about titles took.
‘Leading construction and dismantling manager?’
Kristian seems to shed the last vestiges of disappointment. That doesn’t mean he isn’t thinking. He’s thinking so hard I can almost hear it.
‘I think leading construction and dismantling managerial manager would be clearer,’ he says, after a moment’s consideration.
‘Then that’s agreed,’ I say. ‘One more thing. Like the last one, this task is top secret. Not a word to anybody.’
Kristian confirms that he understands and seems content at the outcome of our conversation. Then he remembers something.
‘Juhani’s leg,’ he says. ‘It’s still jammed between the bumper and the loading bay.’
‘I haven’t forgotten Juhani,’ I reply in all honesty. ‘I’ll take care of it. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Kristian.’
Liitokangas is standing next to the car, and Sauvonen is sitting behind the wheel. The car door is open and the engine is running. Liitokangas shows Sauvonen a tiny gap between his thumb and index finger, and Sauvonen slowly releases the clutch. I don’t see the car move, but I assume it must have edged a few millimetres closer to the loading bay because Juhani’s panting and low-pitched growls intensify. He is in a tight spot, quite literally a jam, and in what looks like a particularly awkward position. His left leg is stuck between the car and the loading bay, his right leg is trying to climb up onto the bay, and the rest of him is lying quite uncomfortably across the car’s bonnet. Liitokangas is the first to notice my arrival.
‘We’re not really getting anywhere with your new CEO,’ he says.
I’ve walked along the bridge to where Juhani is stuck, and Sauvonen sees me from the car. He slams on the hand brake, switches off the engine and jumps out.
‘He’s about as useless as you,’ says Sauvonen, pointing at Juhani.
‘I wouldn’t go that far…’ Juhani gasps.
‘So, what exactly is the problem?’ I ask.
Sauvonen looks at me as though I have said something to offend him personally. Liitokangas slowly shakes that giant chin of his.
‘The problem,’ he begins, ‘is that this so-called CEO claims he can’t afford to pay for the equipment we’ve delivered.’
‘Same shit, different arsehole,’ Sauvonen confirms.
Sauvonen’s words prove in part what I’ve suspected all along – they affirm my calculations, and at the same time they give me the chance to proceed a little more quickly than I’d been planning.
‘That doesn’t sound right,’ I say. ‘Our financial situation is about to change.’
Sauvonen and Liitokangas exchange glances, while Juhani’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, really wobbles it back and forth, but only at me. His expression tells me he wants me to keep quiet. But I’m only just getting started.
‘We are slightly modifying our business structure,’ I say, ‘selling off part of the park, maybe all of it. We’ve already been in negotiations, and we’ve had an offer.’
Sauvonen turns to Juhani, who stops shaking his head as though he has run into a wall – which is, after all, literally the case.
‘That means there will be money coming your way,’ says Sauvonen. ‘Why did you say there’s no money?’
I know Juhani. He’s pretending he hasn’t heard the question. Sauvonen takes a step closer, leans over him.
‘You get money from selling a business, right?’ he asks, stressing each word individually.
‘Yes,’ says Juhani. ‘You get money from selling a business.’
Sauvonen remains leaning over Juhani for a few seconds more, then stands up straight and turns to Liitokangas. ‘Can I release the hand brake?’
Liitokangas looks at me. ‘How do we know you’ll pay up once the park is sold?’
‘We’ll have a binding contract,’ I say. ‘And we’ll sign it.’
‘And when will this happen?’ he asks.
It is a bleak, grey day. Maybe this is why I think of the warmth of the Curly Cake Café and the fragrant, oven-hot pastries. The Blueberry Whirl and the Hot-Chocolate Hiccups. They come to mind without even trying. Naturally, I’m not especially enjoying seeing my brother pinned between a car and the adventure park – even though he got himself stuck in this predicament all by himself – and I don’t like having to use my mathematical and contractual expertise for arrangements like this, but right now I can’t see any other options. I want to save my life, I want to save the park – and I want to save Juhani too, whether he realises it or not.
‘The paperwork is all ready,’ I say. ‘Shall we sit down?’
As they leave, Liitokangas and Sauvonen threaten us both once more for good measure. Most of the threats are aimed at Juhani, which is understandable: before ending up crushed by the car, Juhani had made it clear to Toy of Finland that he runs the park now and he’s the one who makes the decisions, so the buck stops with him. Sauvonen glowers at us from the door of the Curly Cake, the dark monorail of his eyebrows accentuating his expression, then the two men disappear.
The sound world in the café is the usual: the steady din is punctuated with higher shrieks and squeals, and at times with loud cries. Dishes clatter, chair legs rattle and scrape across the floor. Juhani and I sit next to each other. The men from Toy of Finland had been sitting across the table from us, both enjoying their Bandit’s Butterscotch Buns and glasses of Raspberry Hiss. Finally, Juhani breaks the silence.
‘My own brother,’ he says, stands up and walks out of the café.