“Serves him right to get a garbage truck in his swimming pool,” Christina commented.
“If we can steal back those millions that the state never received in taxes, then we would be doing a good deed,” Rake pointed out. “Then we’ll have something to give to health care and all the rest. His assets are worth more than many bank robberies.”
“Yes, right, bank robberies are just pocket money,” said Anna-Greta.
“Bank robberies are for amateurs, hiding assets is for the professionals!” Christina added.
The League of Pensioners discussed this from various angles trying to work out what they should do, when they suddenly realized that they had missed the news on the radio. They were on the run and ought to keep themselves well informed. They all shook their heads at this carelessness, but when they turned on the radio in time for the twelve o’clock news, they didn’t know if they should be pleased or disappointed. There was nothing at all about the Nordea bank robbery.
SOME DAYS PASSED, AND MARTHA AND HER FRIENDS WANDERED around in the cramped cabin without being able to decide whether they should travel home or not. Rake went on a few walks among the properties and looked at the different gardens. He talked with the property owners and asked them about their plants and their borders. He had once again started to dream about a greenhouse of his own and wondered about erecting one in Djursholm in the spring. Besides, Martha had talked about that Vintage Village for the elderly. If they succeeded in creating one of those, perhaps he could get an active gardening club going with lots of members who could build their own greenhouses. That would be really awesome! Rake felt at home among these gardens and became all the more keen, but Brains for his part became gloomier. He had nowhere to work on his inventions and he thought that he had become distanced from Martha. On the few occasions when they had argued or had differences of opinion they had always been able to talk things over before they went to bed, but now that he was living in the storage shed they didn’t have that possibility. There hadn’t been time for those heart-to-heart conversations, nor had there been any opportunities to cuddle with her. He had recently asked her to marry him, and now here he was sitting on his own on a bed in a shed! No, he had had enough. The tiny cabin was too cramped for them, and continuing to stay there would be utterly crazy.
THE NEXT DAY, BRAINS ASKED FOR A MEETING. MARTHA FELT A little uneasy when she saw his face and realized that this was serious.
Somewhat nervous, she put out the coffee pot and cups together with Christina’s biscuits and turned on the news on the radio. Just as she was about to pour the coffee, there was knocking at the door. They all looked at one another worriedly and didn’t really know if they should dare to see who it was. Suddenly the door swung open and Nils strode in. His leather jacket was not buttoned and his eyes gleamed.
“Now hold on tight!” he exclaimed and spread his arms wide. “The police!”
21
THE POLICE? A MURMUR OF HORROR COULD BE HEARD, AND Martha got up ready to flee. Brains got to his feet too, and was halfway out the door before he quickly retraced his steps and put his arm around Martha.
“We’d better hide, my dear,” he said and quickly glanced out of the window. “There must be good hiding places. I’ll look after you.”
“No, no! Calm down, for God’s sake! I’ve got good news,” said Nils and he plonked himself down on the sofa bed. “The police have locked up three old fellows for the Nordea robbery. They are between fifty and seventy years old and are known as the Old Fellows Gang. Isn’t that something!”
“Wonderful!” said Christina and she hugged Rake.
“Old Fellows Gang! Just because you’re more than fifty you don’t have to be called an old fellow,” snorted Rake.
“So the Old Fellows Gang have been arrested for the Nordea robbery.” Martha smiled with a glance at the men in her league. “Could it be that the technology you used was a little old-fashioned?”
“What are you talking about? It worked just fine!” Brains objected.
“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I was mainly thinking that we didn’t use weapons,” she tried to smooth things over.
“Hmm,” said Anna-Greta. “As long as the Old Fellows Gang are behind bars we can continue at full speed. We could start up our Penshy Restaurant.”
“Yes, that would be wonderful indeed,” said Christina, all ears. “I can work out some menus and do some preliminary sketches for the interior. If we start work now, we could have it ready by Christmas! The first stage of the Vintage Village.”
“Pleasure Village,” Rake interjected.
“Well, whatever, but we should definitely travel back to Stockholm tomorrow.”
“I agree, because as soon as the police realize that they have arrested the wrong people, we’ll be back in the danger zone,” said Martha. “But we can manage to do a lot in the meantime.”
“An Old Village with a disco for Gray Panthers, for example,” said Rake.
“But first we must celebrate,” Brains chipped in.
“With tap water and lingonberry juice? Or what about bottled water?” Rake made a face. “There isn’t a drop left. Martha sold it all.”
“We can celebrate later, we must lie low,” Christina pointed out.
“When I grow up I’m going to be a dachshund. Then it would be easier to lie low,” said Rake.
“In Djursholm we’ve got lots and lots of bottles of champagne,” Martha tempted them and when she saw the smiles she knew that they were all on the same wavelength. It was high time to return to Stockholm. The capital awaited them.
THE RETIRED FORMER POLICE CHIEF INSPECTOR BLOMBERG SAT on his brown corduroy sofa from IKEA and swore out loud. He had drunk his beer and the bowl of chips was empty. He felt in the bowl and swore again. On the TV news he had just heard that the Nordea bank robbery was solved and that the culprits had been apprehended.
“But what bumbling amateurs! The Old Fellows Gang? Not a chance that it could have been them. Those young beginners at the Kungsholmen station haven’t a clue!” he burst out and hissed so loudly that the cat, Einstein, leapt up from the sofa and ran and hid in the closet. Of all the criminal gangs, Chief Inspector Jöback and his team had gone and arrested the members of the Old Fellows Gang! How could they be so stupid? There was no way that those fellows could have robbed the bank. They had used weapons during their previous crimes and would never rob a bank without their pistols. And then the detectives went and arrested the old guys even though they didn’t find a single cartridge. No the culprits must be people like the seniors in the League of Pensioners. People who didn’t resort to guns but managed to carry out their robberies nevertheless. Admittedly, nobody had seen those silver-haired retirees for quite a while, but they could have been deliberately keeping a low profile and were now back because they’d run out of dough. That was how it went for many criminals. And the Nordea bank robbery was unique. The explosive material and the way the fuse had been set up, all of that pointed to old-fashioned methods. They still hadn’t stopped him from accessing the police archives on Kungsholmen, and he had scoured all the documents.
Blomberg contemplated visiting the police station to present his theories, but hesitated. He had begun to tire of Jöback and the team up there. They didn’t seem to respect his knowledge and they never offered him coffee and cakes. No, he was always the one who had to take something with him. In fact, that was pretty appalling. So why shouldn’t he keep his theories to himself? Not until they offered a reward for information would he, perhaps, assist them with his tips. That Jöback did indeed try to be friendly, but he couldn’t hide his pomposity and arrogance. But, of course, he was a beginner and only forty-eight years old, almost still a trainee. Blomberg mulled things over. What if he were to open a detective agency, a private detective agency of his very own . . . Yes, then he could carry out investigations, gather information and subsequently sell it to the police. Or perhaps, even better, catch the crooks himself. He had dreamed of ha
ving his own detective agency since he was ten years old when he read Astrid Lindgren’s book Blomkvist, the Master Detective. Instead, he had become a policeman and had been satisfied with that, in the past. But now he wanted more. Why not fulfill his old dreams?
First and foremost he needed to track down the seniors in the League of Pensioners. Perhaps he could get them put on trial for earlier robberies in Stockholm. If he succeeded in doing that, then he would get lots of extra jobs to do for the police. And it would pay well too. Of course, there were other possible suspects who could have committed the crime, but not many gangs of retirees had taken on banks before. When he was still on active duty, he had tipped off some colleagues at Interpol, but he had not actually followed up on those contacts before he retired. But now? Well, why not contact his friends at Interpol and get a little help to nail the League of Pensioners? Of course, he was a retiree too, but at least he had been the one to first come up with this line of inquiry.
Blomberg immediately felt in a much better mood. He got up and went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and eyed the beer cans a long while before selecting a strong brew for himself and a packet of fresh herring for Einstein. From now on, the seniors would be his top priority. Everything else would have to wait.
22
MARTHA AND HER FRIENDS HAD BEEN HOME A FEW DAYS recuperating. It was Anna-Greta who had made the travel arrangements; she had had the tickets sent to her iPhone, and she was so proud of herself that you could hardly speak to her. But the journey and all the hullabaloo in the community gardens had taken their toll, and the whole gang had been obliged to take things a bit easy. At their age you weren’t as energetic as you used to be, and there were limits to their capacity. Martha hadn’t even managed to start up their gymnastics exercises again, so they all realized that she too was worn out. But after a weekend of computer games and reading up in the tower and some intense walks around Djursholm, they got their energy back. On Monday morning Martha had announced that they would ensure that the bank robbery money ended up among those who needed it. The question was how they should go about it. The League of Pensioners had gathered together in the library and Martha spoke first.
“We decided to give away the bonus money to those in health care,” she said and rocked back and forth in the rocking chair with a whole wheat biscuit in her hand. There was a tray on the table with different-colored tumblers and a jar of a health drink which Christina had recommended, something with ginger in it. And in a deep dish next to that were whole wheat biscuits—or flaky biscuits, as Rake called them.
“Righto, that idea of hiding money in bibles wasn’t perhaps so brilliant,” Christina thought out loud. “But think how nice it would be to hand out the bonuses personally. And we could take flowers with us too.”
“Yes, but we can’t visit tens of thousands of people all over Sweden and give them flowers. We’d all be dead before we’ve finished,” Rake objected.
“Ugh,” said Anna-Greta.
“I know. We can announce a lottery with cash prizes,” Martha suggested with a pleased look on her face.
“Lottery?” Brains interjected. “That sounds plain crazy.”
“Listen now. A lottery with cash prizes could be called ‘Bonus wages to those who were left without’ and to take part you must send in your name, address and email address to us.”
“And once we get the addresses, we can check their annual earnings in the Tax Authority databases so that we can be sure that no high earners have snuck in by mistake. Then we send the bonus money directly to the winners,” said Anna-Greta. “Excellent!”
“But how will people find out about the lottery?” Brains wondered.
“We can put an advert in Medicine Today, the National Health Guide and Health magazine,” Martha proposed.
“OK, then all we have to do is concoct a good text for the ad,” said Christina. “First of all, the name of the lottery itself, and then a text about how it works.”
“Yes, that’s it!” they murmured in unison. They leaned back in their chairs, closed their eyes and tried to think—all except Rake, who immediately dozed off. Anna-Greta got up and turned on the computer, and when the others each made their own suggestions she typed them into the document. When they had finished she printed the document and gave each of them a copy. Here were, to put it mildly, lots and lots of ideas, she noted. “Down with Bonuses, Up with Bonuses, Bonus Roundabout, Bonus Twist, Bonus Bingo and Winged Bonus,” she read out loud.
“We’re voting for Bonus Bingo,” said Christina and Anna-Greta, while Brains and Martha thought that the lottery should be named Bonus Wage to those who were left without. That was two against two; they needed a casting vote so Rake was woken with a poke in the ribs.
“Bonus Bingo, you what?” Rake muttered as he came to his senses and rubbed his eyes. “Er, what the hell, name it Cow Bingo!” he announced, then puffed up the cushion on his armchair and closed his eyes again.
In the end they all agreed on Bonus Bingo, and after a discussion about the bingo lottery on TV and whether Cow Bingo was an insult to animals (or not), they finally got their pens out.
“I know,” said Martha. “We’ll advertise with a picture of our target group, all those people who are badly paid at hospitals, health clinics and in home healthcare. Then we write ‘Bonus lottery just for you’ right under the picture.”
Now there was a general murmur of approval and Anna-Greta immediately looked for a suitable photo on the Internet. After a few minutes of scrolling she selected a group photo with nurses, auxiliary personnel and janitors who had lined up smiling in front of some hospital steps. Then she added some text in a small font saying that the lottery participants should give their name and address so that the donors could see who would get the money.
“But, dear friends. All of this is very well, but our money won’t stretch far. It is like pissing in the Mississippi!” Martha sighed. “We must get some more.”
“What did you say?” Anna-Greta shouted with her hand behind her ear. “Singing about Missy Pippy?”
“Like I said before,” Martha went on, “the bank robbery money won’t go very far. We must think big, we must think outside the box. I’ve been thinking about Bielke and—”
“Well, can’t we start a political party and get a state subsidy? Then we’d get buckets of money,” Brains broke in.
“Not a bad idea. Then we’d get paid for nothing,” said Anna-Greta.
“Not a bad idea—no, it’s a rotten idea! No, now we’re getting totally sidetracked,” sighed Rake. “I’m hungry. Can’t we just adjourn this meeting and eat our dinner?”
Martha glanced around the room, got up and put her arm in Anna-Greta’s.
“You’re right, Rake. For big decisions you always need food in your tummy and time to think about it. And now we do actually need hundreds of millions.”
23
THE PEA SOUP WAS COMING TO A BOIL ON THE STOVE AND big bubbles surfaced in the large pan. A pleasant aroma spread. Anna-Greta put in some diced carrots and bits of ham, adding thyme to make it a bit spicy. And even a little Cederlunds Punsch followed before she realized what she was doing. Martha leaned over the pan and tasted.
“Um, smells good, but a little more salt and pepper perhaps,” she said and smacked her lips. She put the spoon down and pushed the pan away. Anna-Greta nodded, added some more spices and shook a bit of marjoram over it all. She tasted it.
“Yes, this will be good. And we’ll have crackers to go with it, and cheese, of course. Now all that remains is to set the table for the others.” She put the pan back on the hotplate. Martha opened the cupboard and started to take out the dishes. Anna-Greta watched her with a wide smile. They had been together in the kitchen for more than an hour and it felt as if something new and great was in the offing. When she had put out all the plates and silverware, she sat down to catch her breath.
“We’ve got some great challenges ahead of us, and without you, Anna-Greta, we can’t deal
with them,” said Martha. “We must get at the big money, and it’s a case of make or break.”
She rested her head in her hands and asked Anna-Greta to give her an update on their money transfers and everything about Bielke’s business dealings. Then she let Anna-Greta talk away without being interrupted. What was so wonderful about Martha was that she didn’t care about prestige, but was happy to listen to others. In the end, they had sat down together in front of the computer and studied motor yachts for sale to find out what boats like that cost. They had googled cabins, interiors and swimming pools, and seeing all the massive wealth had been something of an eye-opener. The motor yachts moored in Cannes, Antibes and Saint-Tropez were literally floating palaces. But when they tried to trace the owners, they met with difficulty. Almost all the valuable boats were owned by companies. The same applied to their neighbor’s most expensive boat in Saint-Tropez, a six hundred million-kronor yacht with several decks and a helicopter pad. If Anna-Greta hadn’t been so clever at navigating through cyberspace, they would never have traced Bielke’s company, but after a few searches they had discovered that it was called Aurora Yacht Inc. and was registered in Georgetown on the Cayman Islands.
“No wonder he’s never at home in Stockholm. He’s fully occupied,” said Martha pointing at the picture of the luxury yacht. “Heavens above, what a life!”
“If only we could get hold of that boat, then we’d have some proper start-up capital for our Vintage Village or, at any rate, for the restaurant,” Anna-Greta said. “The only question is how. This is going to be our toughest challenge yet.”
“We can get Nils to drive the boat, Rake’s son is a seaman, remember.”
“Yes, what a good idea.”
“Then we must train with yoga and gymnastics so that we’ll have the strength to hold on if the sea is rough,” Martha went on.
Anna-Greta nodded, although not quite as enthusiastically.
The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly Page 13
