The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again!

by Ingelman-Sundberg, Catharina

  ‘Good luck? You’ve said that every day and you’ve always been wrong. No, let’s grab them!’ Stewart slapped his palm hard on the table so that his mobile phone did a hop.

  ‘Take it easy. Let them carry on a while; this is good entertainment.’

  ‘But the balloons on the wheelchairs, what about those? It isn’t Thanksgiving yet, damn it. And just look at those sun hats. They must be crazy, the lot of them.’

  ‘This is amusing! And have you seen, they’ve got powered wheelchairs today. What if they crash into something?’

  ‘I didn’t bloody well take this security job to go chasing old people in wheelchairs. No, let’s throw them out. I’ve had enough. We’ll check that guy over by the Black Jack table too. A card pro. He’s got sunglasses on and probably has a transmitter there.’

  ‘A suspect simply because he hasn’t won several days in a row? No, hold your horses, Stewart.’ His colleague yawned. ‘By the way, the old lot are moving across to the bar. Just look at that, their baskets are full of betting chips. I hope they spend it all on something fun.’

  Stewart leaned towards the TV screen and zoomed in on them.

  ‘No, they aren’t going to the bar. They’re on their way to the toilets.’

  ‘I’m not bloody well chasing them there!’

  ‘But five people wouldn’t go to the toilets at the same time. I’m telling the security guards.’ Stewart picked up his mobile and dialled the number.

  For a moment Martha stared at the pile of betting chips that the croupier had placed in front of her, then she swept them all into her basket. She glanced again at the staff entrance. The guard had been hovering at the door and now looked as though he might be exiting the staffroom. They couldn’t wait any longer. She put on her sun hat and poked Brains in the ribs.

  ‘Action!’ she whispered and raised her hand as a sign to the others. Christina, Anna-Greta and Rake put on their sun hats too and followed after her.

  Brains steered his Flexmobil Classic wheelchair in the direction of the toilets, and, just as he passed the staffroom door, he had a bad coughing attack. When the guard was on his way out, Brains leaned forward and coughed out his false teeth. The security guard paid scant attention to the bent-over old man, and strode off towards the gambling hall with a security bag in his hand. Brains looked up with a grin and made a thumbs-up sign to the others. He had been spot on target. His loose teeth lay on the threshold and the door had not closed properly.

  ‘I must just powder my nose!’ announced Christina loudly, her sun hat pulled low over her head. She pretended to drive off towards the toilets but just outside the staffroom she made it look as if the powered wheelchair had gone wrong. Determinedly, she pushed the joystick back and forth so that the chair twirled round a few times while Brains cautiously held the door to the room open. ‘The balloons!’ Martha indicated with hand signals, and when Brains released them they elegantly hovered up by the ceiling. Christina then manoeuvred her chair over the threshold and backed into the room at full speed closely followed by Rake and Anna-Greta.

  As long as they cover the camera lenses properly, Martha thought, but said instead: ‘OK, go, go, go!’ And she also sped into the room. Finally, Brains looked around, adjusted his sun hat and followed the others.

  Once they were all in the staffroom with the door pulled shut behind them, Christina quickly yanked out the cushions from the seats of the wheelchairs, which she had filled with cash boxes similar to those used to keep the betting chips in. It hadn’t been an easy task for Brains to transform the bag-in-boxes into false cash boxes but foil and silver paint had done the trick, though unfortunately they had managed to spill some wine across the foil whilst Brains was making them. Christina sniffed at the mock cash boxes. They still smelt of wine, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Besides, the wine had been good so they had all had such a nice evening. Brains and Martha had already made their way along a corridor to open the storeroom, where the casino kept its aluminium cases with cash boxes full of betting chips.

  Brains had to mess around a bit before he managed to pick the complicated locks of the cases, but suddenly his face lit up and a distinct click could be heard as the first lock was opened. The gang rapidly started to switch their empty fake cash boxes with the real ones from the casino. When they had finished, Christina zipped the boxes with the chips inside the wheelchair cushions before putting them back in the wheelchairs. Then Brains locked the cases and put them back in the storeroom and closed the door.

  ‘I hope the guards didn’t see that,’ Martha muttered with a prayer up towards the ceiling. ‘There might have been a gap in the balloons.’

  ‘That’s why we had the sun hats, have you forgotten?’ said Brains. ‘Right, let’s get out of here!’

  ‘What about the balloons?’ said Christina.

  ‘And the false teeth,’ Martha added.

  ‘Don’t worry about the balloons, and I’ve got a spare pair of teeth!’ Brains shouted.

  For a moment it was all a bit chaotic but in the end they got things in order and were all seated in the powered wheelchairs ready to move again. Somewhat tense, they grasped their joysticks and set off at full speed towards the door, without bearing in mind that Brains had tinkered with the engines of each of the wheelchairs. They now shot off like New Year’s rockets.

  ‘What the . . .!’ exclaimed Anna-Greta and almost lost her hat.

  ‘I told you I had improved their performance,’ Brains panted.

  But as they emerged from the staffroom, they had to suddenly brake. Standing there were two security guards.

  ‘What are you doing? You’re not allowed in here!’ the tallest and beefiest of them shouted out, blocking their path.

  ‘The toilets? They were here yesterday,’ Martha answered quick as a flash.

  ‘Oh dear, they are further down the corridor.’ The younger security guard pointed.

  ‘No, they were here yesterday, I know that for a fact!’ Martha insisted.

  ‘If you go to the right by the entrance, then—’

  ‘Oh no, that’s where the betting tables are, you can’t fool me.’

  Then the big guard grabbed hold of her wheelchair and turned it to point down the corridor. ‘That way!’ he said.

  ‘All right then,’ said Martha and she pressed the joystick as far as she could. ‘The toilets next stop. Goodness, how fast we’re going!’ she managed to add before she disappeared at full speed towards the Ladies, closely followed by the others. Brains and Rake went to the Gents and after a few minutes they all rolled out to the designated meeting place in the car park.

  ‘How did it go?’ Martha asked. ‘Did you get your radio transmitter in place?’

  ‘Yes, I sure did. I fixed it behind the mirror in the toilets,’ confirmed Brains.

  ‘Good, now we can send a message to the security guards if we need to. You are clever, Brains,’ Martha said. They smiled at each other, nodded and then drove off as agreed back to their hotel. In the lobby they stopped in front of the lifts.

  ‘Eighth floor, but make it snappy!’ said Martha.

  ‘Don’t say that Brains has tinkered with the lift engine too!’ said Anna-Greta with a sigh.

  Once they reached the eighth floor, they made a beeline for Martha’s room where they hastily pulled out the cash boxes from the cushions.

  ‘That’s better, I couldn’t have put up with that hard metal in my back for another second!’ said Rake, rubbing the curve of his back and then handing over his boxes to Brains. His comrade then picked the locks, took out the betting chips and began to put them into each of the wheelchair baskets.

  ‘These are the genuine things – and we can cash them in,’ cackled Anna-Greta, rolling her eyes in delight at the sight of the colourful piles of chips.

  It was quite a fiddly task to empty all the cash boxes and fill the baskets, but in the end they managed to get all the betting chips out and covered them with shawls and sun hats.

  ‘N
ow the hardest part remains,’ said Martha. ‘We must pretend that this is just an ordinary win and that this evening is just like all the other evenings when we have won lots.’

  ‘Then why did we try to lose earlier this evening?’ Rake wondered.

  ‘To avoid attracting attention, have you forgotten?’ Martha cut him off, but had to admit to herself that perhaps she hadn’t thought it through properly – because it would indeed have seemed strange if they hadn’t won anything during the entire evening and then had gone to the cash desk with chips worth several million. Being a criminal required a lot of brainwork, Martha thought. It was much better than sudoku, crosswords or self-help manuals for keeping the mind active.

  ‘What if the staff get suspicious?’ said Christina worryingly pointing at the basket jam-packed with betting chips.

  ‘Pah, we just behave as though we are confused,’ said Martha. ‘Now let’s be off. Time for the next move!’

  The League of Pensioners took the lift down to the lobby, rolled out of the hotel and returned to the casino. To be on the safe side, they had covered the betting chips over very carefully, but, even so, Martha thought that the security guards looked curiously at them when they approached the cash desks. And indeed one of them adjusted his earphone, joined his colleague and stopped them abruptly.

  ‘Excuse me, madam, but will you please follow us for a security check.’ The guard looked strict.

  ‘Goodness me!’ stuttered Anna-Greta.

  ‘Pah, we simply forgot to cash in our chips,’ said Martha nonchalantly. ‘To think one can be so absent-minded!’

  ‘Yes, I think we drank too much champagne,’ Christina added with a nervous giggle. The security guard picked up one of the chips from her basket and held it up against the light.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, so silly of us to forget to cash in our chips. We were sooo distracted by these powered wheelchairs,’ said Brains.

  ‘We’re not used to them, you see, and we were fully concentrating on steering them,’ Anna-Greta added and for the sake of appearances steered her wheelchair straight into the wall so that her hat fell off. One of the security guards picked it up.

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ cackled Anna-Greta. ‘It’s always difficult to swing,’ she added in her broken English.

  But the guards did not allow themselves to be distracted.

  ‘Would you please get up? We want to examine the baskets.’

  Then the lady in the cash desk reacted, sticking out her head and saying in a loud voice: ‘I can vouch for them! These people are regular gamblers who tend to win. They’ve come in with just as many chips before. They are on a winning streak!’

  The guards looked confused but backed away a little and Rake gave the cash-desk lady a grateful wink. She started to count the betting chips under the penetrating gaze of the security guards. Brains noticed they didn’t seem to be giving up, and he gave Martha a questioning look.

  Was it time now?

  Martha nodded and then he discreetly pressed the remote which activated the radio transmitter in the toilets. The prerecorded message started up straight away and the very next moment the older of the two security guards pushed his earphone a bit further into his ear. He widened his eyes and grabbed his colleague.

  ‘Alarm! Let’s go!’

  The two men rushed off towards the gambling room and Brains looked pleased with himself.

  ‘The radio transmitter worked perfectly. As soon as people get an order they lose all their common sense!’

  Martha smiled. It had been complicated recording the order to the guards, and there was no way of knowing whether or not someone might discover the transmitter in the Gents toilets and take it away. But everything had worked according to plan. She gave Brains a wink.

  ‘Brains, you are a genius. You can’t imagine how much I appreciate you!’

  Despite the fact that they were busy carrying out a complicated crime, Brains blushed right up to his hairline.

  While the lady behind the desk changed their betting chips for cash, Martha and her friends pushed the bundles of dollars into their wheelchair baskets, wrapping them in the shawls and covering them over well. Then Rake bowed deeply, smiled his most charming smile and thanked the woman for her help. Then they all left the building as quickly as they possibly could.

  Once out on the Tarmac, they picked up speed. When they pushed the joysticks to max, they shot away on their improved wheelchairs towards the hotel. Back in suite 831 again, they congratulated themselves on their success. But there was still more to do before their robbery was complete. Brains and Rake hid the cash boxes while the others took the dollar bundles to the bank so that Anna-Greta, as usual, could transfer the money from the League of Pensioners’ Las Vegas account to various accounts in Sweden. Once all this had been done, they took a taxi straight to the airport.

  The next day was exceptionally hot. A steaming, nasty-smelling smoke billowed out from the Tarmac cooker when the four road workers smoothed out the surface. They had been putting down gravel and Tarmac all day long and were beginning to get tired. Some had tied handkerchiefs around their hair to avoid getting drops of sweat in their eyes, others had their caps pulled low over their faces. Some way away, a steamroller with enormous wheels was rolling back and forth over the sticky black road surface. The men had already Tarmacked quite a lot but they still had a fair bit left to do. The road up to the Hotel Orleans must be ready by the evening, and they had about one third left. Then, suddenly, they heard a strange sound. At first nobody bothered about it, but then the driver put on the brakes and jumped down from the cabin. He carefully avoided getting Tarmac under his shoes and reached the pothole they were busy filling. He bent down and started poking around in the gravel. At the edge of the new Tarmac he caught sight of a bit of grey metal. He pushed some of the gravel aside and saw that at the end of the bit of metal there was a little lock. His curiosity aroused, he dug a bit deeper in the gravel and soon could pull up a buckled, box-like bit of scrap metal. He turned it this way and that in his hands and then held it up for all to see.

  ‘Just look at this. The remains of a cash box. What the hell’s it doing here?’

  4

  In the brick-red police headquarters at Kronoberg in Stockholm, Chief Inspector Ernst Blomberg sat with his hands behind his neck and his feet up on the desk. The computer screen in front of him was lit up and seemed to challenge him to use it, but it was after 6 p.m. and he didn’t feel like working overtime. Soon he would be retiring and it was high time for him to take things a bit easier. And as for his pension . . . He sat up straight, keyed in the password and accessed the internal police database. The Police Pension Fund, yes. He would work out how much money he would get when he retired. He had some big tax debts from the days he had been an entrepreneur and had concocted some sticky face creams in his garage. His products sold like hotcakes but he had been careless with his book-keeping. He had to pay for that, but if he had a good pension things might turn out OK. He entered his password and accessed the amount in his pension account. This was private business during working hours, but what the hell. Just think of all those weekends he’d stepped in to help when his colleagues had refused. He looked at the various funds where his pension money was invested and worked out the total value. He groaned. It was a pitifully small amount. But who actually paid money into the funds and what did the out-payments look like? The police department had sent him on a special IT course so he ought to be able to check that information. He stretched out to the bowl of sweets on the desk and took a handful. At the same moment the screen started fluttering. Some money had just been transferred into the account, increasing his total balance. Mysterious . . . surely nobody worked in the bank at this time of the day? But if it meant more money for retired chief inspectors like himself that was fine with him. He personally would need every extra krona. The rent for his flat had suddenly been hiked up, and he still had that old tax debt to pay off. He thought about the economic
criminals he had investigated over the years. They had all had pots of money with their luxury penthouse flats, big yachts, Porsches and all the rest of it, while he – the leading IT specialist in the police force – was only going to get a few measly thousand kronor a month. Nobody else knew how to sneak a look into people’s e-mail or bank accounts without them knowing. Yet he hadn’t been given a pay rise. Blomberg muttered to himself and was just about to take some more sweets when the screen started flickering again. Another few hundred thousand kronor had been added to the pension fund again. Who on earth wanted to support retired policemen with almost half a million? He must trace the donor. If somebody was so keen to support the pension fund, then perhaps they might be persuaded to give even more money? Yes, he could perhaps start a charitable organization. Transfer all the money to . . . No, no, he mustn’t think along those lines. That would be the same as committing a crime!

  Suddenly he felt afraid, got up and turned off the computer. Best to go home and feed the cat. He had bought some beer and crisps for the evening’s hockey match as well so he might as well go and enjoy his evening.

  The following evening Blomberg stayed on in his office, muttering that he must do overtime. At nine o’clock, when all of his colleagues had gone home, he logged into the Police Pension Fund again and found a new figure – four hundred thousand kronor. Where did the money come from? His fingers danced over the keyboard and, after a while, he found what he wanted. He leaned back in his chair and rocked back and forth while he tried to digest the information. The Police Pension Fund had received the money from a bank in Las Vegas. But the Swedish police didn’t have an office out there, did they? Chief Inspector Blomberg got up and went and fetched a cup of coffee. A double espresso. Because he understood at least so much – he would be spending quite a few hours in front of the computer. He keyed in his secret alias and logged into the pension fund account again. From there it shouldn’t be too difficult to trace the account in Las Vegas where the money had come from. Why not create an account for a charitable foundation and reroute the money into that? Nobody would ever check it. He smiled a little to himself, and immediately felt very affluent. At last he had found a good use for his IT skills. And with a bit of luck there might be a few more payments from Las Vegas during the night.