Jarkko shrugged. “As you wish.”
Jones stood a few feet behind Payne, listening to their conversation. He would have stepped closer, but he didn’t feel like getting slimed. Instead, he simply nodded his head.
Jarkko nodded back. “So why are you here? You are day early.”
“No, we’re not,” Payne assured him. “Our trip is today.”
“Impossible! Russia is closed today. There is no getting through.”
“Closed? What do you mean it’s closed?”
“Do you not understand Jarkko? My English is good. Russia is closed.”
Payne had visited enough places around the world and had dealt with enough shady characters to recognize a shakedown when he saw one. Sometimes the problem was solved with a few dollars. Other times it required a little finesse. But in his experience, there was always a workable solution. It was just a matter of figuring out what that was.
Jarkko picked up a hose from behind the counter and began spraying the ground in a slow, sweeping motion. A thin layer of grime floated toward the closest drain.
Payne spoke over the sound of gushing water. “Obviously, you’re the expert here. If you say Russia is closed, then Russia is closed. Who am I to doubt you?”
Jarkko continued to work as he considered Payne’s words. Finally, he turned off the hose. “That is all? No bribes? No threats? No promises to Jarkko?”
Payne shook his head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t want to insult you.”
“But you did insult me. You lied to Jarkko, and Jarkko did not like. I am man of principle. A simple man. A fisherman. I work hard every day. I have no time for lies. Or men who tell them.”
“Really? So you expect me to believe that Russia is closed?”
“No! Russia is not closed. Do not be a molopää! How you close a country? Jarkko was lying to teach you lesson. You no lie to Jarkko, then Jarkko no lie to you!”
“Fine,” Payne said. “No more lies.”
“Good! Start with name. Not name on fake passport. Real name. It is my secret.”
Payne realized he didn’t have much of a choice. If he wanted a ride to Saint Petersburg, he had to get on Jarkko’s good side. “My name is Jon. That’s D.J.”
Jarkko studied Payne’s eyes. “Yes, I believe you. Our trip is not canceled.”
“Glad to hear it. We can’t wait to leave.”
“Soon,” Jarkko said as he peeled off his gloves. He laid them on the countertop and pulled out a large thermos from behind it. “First, we toast my new friends, Jon and D.J.”
Jones approached, no longer worried about being slimed. “What are we drinking?”
“It is drink I invent. I call it Kafka. I name it after famous writer.”
Jones grimaced, unsure why a Finnish fisherman would name a drink after Franz Kafka, a German-speaking author. “Are you a fan of his stories?”
Jarkko ignored the question, pouring the beverage into the top of his thermos. “Drink!”
Jones eyed the cup suspiciously, then took a small sip. He immediately scrunched his face in disgust. “Good Lord! My tongue went numb. What the hell is that stuff ?”
“I already tell you. It is Kafka.”
“But what’s in it?”
“You want recipe? It is coffee made with vodka. Cof-ka. Kafka!”
“No water?”
“Water? Why use water? I fish in water. I clean with water. I no drink water.” Jarkko pointed toward Payne. “Give cup to Jon. He must drink before we go.”
“With pleasure,” Jones said as he handed the cup to Payne. “Bottoms up!”
Not wanting to insult his host, Payne took a sip of the potent cocktail. It was more disgusting than he could have imagined. It was like drinking bile. Grimacing, he handed the cup back to the Finn. “Now that we’re done with that, it’s your turn to tell me the truth.”
“Okay. What you want to know?”
“What’s a molopää?”
Jarkko laughed as he gulped the rest of the Kafka. “It is Finnish word for penis head.”
Jones grinned at the insult. “Wait a second. You called him a penis head?”
“Never! I never insult my new friend. I say don’t be a molopää.”
“Actually, that’s good advice,” cracked Jones. “I tell him that all the time.”
Jarkko laughed even louder. “I like you, D.J.! Come, give Jarkko hug!”
Before Jones could jump out of the way, he found himself wrapped in a massive bear hug. He tried not to breathe while his face was buried in Jarkko’s bloody apron, but the Finn’s grip was so tight that Jones wasn’t able to push himself away before he was forced to inhale. In a flash, he knew what it smelled like inside the belly of a whale.