Read Online The Core of the Sun by Johanna Sinisalo - Free Book Online

He’s been skillful at locating shipments coming on the market, knows where to find sailors on freighters willing to take risks, people who are planning a trip abroad or foreigners visiting Finland for some reason, people with diplomatic immunity or enough connections in government that their bags aren’t searched too thoroughly at customs. But some new kind of net has closed tight, some new step has been taken. The authorities are always learning more about users’ behavior, the smuggling channels, the methods the mules use. It wasn’t very long ago that you could supposedly depend on the customs officials not even knowing the difference between canned cherry tomatoes and whole cayenne peppers. Now it seems that nothing gets through their filter.
    Jare heard a rumor that another mule was killed in a raid a week ago. The same seller who robbed me at the cemetery. I don’t know if I should be afraid or glad.
    I walk as quickly as I can in an eloi’s shoes, trying to make my stride seem purposeful, to look as if I have some errand to run—some shopping to do—or a date. Stopping for even a moment would be a signal to any masco that I wanted company.
    I cross Hämeenkatu into the park, and go around the block of wooden houses. Some of the oldest houses are scheduled to be torn down to make room for modern three-story cement buildings. When I get to the corner of Rongankatu I freeze.
    A bulletin board.
    A primitive means of communication but effective, perhaps for that very reason.
    The wall of a building slated for demolition is covered with obscenity, typical pubescent masco drawings of genitalia, dirty words, and initials. Among the swamp of filth, you sometimes find messages that mean something quite different from what they seem to say.
    My eyes immediately fix on one of the drawings. It’s childish looking, a cartoonish scribble of a hedgehog wearing a hat, and underneath it says in crooked letters “Dandy” and “Oct. 18, 2016.”
    I can see that it was drawn several days ago. The rain has smeared the lines a bit; the marks of the felt pen are slightly faded.
    Today is the eighteenth.
    There’s no way for me to get in touch with Jare. He’s working in the field somewhere outside town.
    This is the first shipment I’ve heard of in a long, long time, and I can almost taste the satisfying heat in my mouth; my salivary glands activate at the mere thought of it.
    I check how much money I have on me. A pretty paltry amount even if I wanted only a gram for myself, but maybe I can make a contact. Reserve a batch and swear that he’ll get a good price for it.
    But this isn’t my turf. That scares me.
    What if the seller is jumpy when I approach him and know the code? Whenever I’m around dealers Jare warns them well ahead of time that he has an eloi for an assistant.
    But what could the guy do? Call for a policeman?
    The thought almost makes me smile. And another thought. Maybe I can get a sample.
    Even just a little one.
    The Hedgehog refreshment bar is just a couple of blocks away.
    A hedgehog.
    Wearing a hat.
    I step into the bar and glance around at the customers. Many of the mascos have their hats on a corner of the table, but only a few are sitting alone; the rest have eloi companions. I buy a cranberry juice and look around like I’m trying to find someplace to sit. Just then a couple of new masco customers come in, and one of the men in the bar starts to rub the brim of his hat, as if in thought.
    Got it.
    I walk up to his table. In a low, flirty voice I say, “Hi there. That’s sure a nice hat you’ve got. You must be quite a dandy .” I breathe the last word in a sexy whisper.
    The masco’s eyes snap open. I’m startled by his reaction—almost too surprised, the smell of fear spitting into the air—but then I realize he’s looking past me, over my shoulder, and a firm hand from behind me grabs my arm and