“Five hundred million!” they all exclaimed in horror, but at the same time looked remarkably high-spirited.
“But Martha dear, what do you actually have in mind?” wondered Brains, upset.
“Um, just a little robbery for the sake of a good cause,” said Martha and popped another wafer into her mouth.
Then Anna-Greta joined in and described what she and Martha had thought about when they had seen Bielke’s expensive motor yachts on the Internet. Floating fortunes that were registered in the Cayman Islands and which their neighbor didn’t pay any taxes for.
“And so you do realize,” Anna-Greta concluded, “that it would be extremely difficult for him to report any of them as stolen.”
ANDERS STOOD WITH HIS HANDS BY HIS SIDES AND STARED AT the barge which lay and rocked slightly among some old alder trees in Huvudsta. The stern scraped against the jetty, while the bow had got entangled in some branches. On the deck lay the damaged, burnt sign with the words “SILVER PUNK RESTAURANT”—the barge had gone adrift and ended up on the other side of the lake. It hadn’t been difficult to find.
“Here we see the remains of Christina’s Vintage Village. This is how her vision ended up. What fantasies!” he said.
Emma didn’t answer, stubbed out her cigarette and went out onto the jetty. The gunwale was damaged, some burnt rope and fenders too, and a cupboard and box had burnt up in the bow. Otherwise everything was intact.
“What fantasies? Mother knows what she is talking about. Why not moor the barge here in Huvudsta instead and then open up again like she and the seniors want? Speed dating and the whole thing.”
“You make it sound so simple!”
“Right. And when the guests have done their dating on the boat they can go for a walk in the greenery here.” Emma threw out her hand toward the slope, the trees and the extensive lawns next to them. “And up there, you know,” she said, pointing at the old manor house, “that is Huvudsta Gård, which is where they conspired against King Gustav III at the end of the eighteenth century.”
“And what has that got to do with it?”
“Well, just think. Once upon a time the king’s murderers gathered together up there and planned the murder. Don’t you get it? We can expand the speed dating with historic walks on Sundays. It’ll be a success. I promise.”
A grunt could be heard from her brother, as so often when he was thinking, and Emma lay an encouraging hand on his shoulder. She felt sorry for him. He was a man in his prime, but unemployed. That could put a damper on anyone’s interest.
“Hell, I’m so tired of Mother and everything she thinks up. Now she and the others want us to take over again when things go wrong. But that restaurant project is dangerous. Just look, the mafia tried to torch the boat!” He pointed at the charred gunwale and fenders.
“But Mother has explained. That happened in Hornsberg. The League of Pensioners were inside the mafia’s area there. But here, here we can do what we want.”
“You think so, do you? We always have to step in and clean up after them.”
“But our children can go swimming here, and there are horses over in those stables. It couldn’t be better. If you’re going to get all grumpy, then I’ll find another partner,” said Emma and her green eyes narrowed. Her brother saw the warning signal.
“Oh what the hell, I’m over forty years old and it is still Mum who decides. Don’t you understand?”
“We can clean up the barge, get rid of the smoke smell and throw out that dreadful wild boar. Anders, get it together!”
“Oh, all right, if we take away the beaver and that wolf too, then—”
“Of course we can. I knew it. I can rely on you!”
Emma took a big stride toward him and gave her brother a hug. They had worked together before. It would work out OK this time too.
“Have you thought about something? Martha is bloody good at organizing. While we slave away with her restaurant she and the gang will travel down to Saint-Tropez. How can she manage to arrange it all like that? Next time it ought to be the opposite.”
“Anders, she isn’t going there to lie in the sun. I bet you anything that she has something fishy planned.”
Brother and sister looked out across the glittering water and thought about it for a while. Then Emma said: “Just as long as Mother doesn’t get into trouble. As if it wasn’t enough that we must worry about her because she is old. On top of that we have to worry about her ending up in prison!”
47
INDEED, PERHAPS IT ALL WENT RATHER QUICKLY, BUT AS SOON as they had the chance to lay their hands on the big money, the League of Pensioners had gone off to Saint-Tropez. If you are going to succeed, you must make an effort, Martha had said. And the thought that Bielke would not be able to report his boat as stolen had triggered the League of Pensioners to make their decision. It isn’t every day you can steal about five hundred million kronor without the victim going to the police. So why not make an attempt?
IT WAS ALREADY LOVELY SUMMER WEATHER IN SAINT-TROPEZ. Men in open shirts and shorts and women in thin, flowery dresses relaxed at the cafes with a glass of wine or an espresso in their hands, while tanned and freckly tourists strolled along the quay and looked at the shining luxury yachts. The wind felt nice and warm against one’s skin and there was a smell of fish and sea. The League of Pensioners, who had still not acclimatized themselves, walked slowly and sweated under the strong Mediterranean sun.
“But Rake, you don’t need to pull your hat down over your head and sneak around just because we are on recon,” said Martha as she eyed him. “We should stroll along calmly and quietly so that nobody suspects anything.”
The League of Pensioners had been in Saint-Tropez just over a week and every day they had gone down to the harbor to hunt for Bielke’s motor yacht, the luxury boat they intended stealing. Of course it was awful to be embarking on a new crime, but on the other hand it felt somehow safe and familiar with a scoundrel they already knew. And that man was a real top dog in the criminal world since he didn’t pay taxes in Sweden. Martha and her friends had grumbled about his unsuitable style of living and they had discussed the issue almost every day—since what he did was, nevertheless, legal. Law and morality are not the same thing, Martha tried to claim, but Brains, from a working-class background in a Stockholm suburb, thought that they weren’t much better themselves. He didn’t feel comfortable with their having a company in a tax haven and he didn’t grasp much of what it was all about. On the other hand, he enjoyed the heat and thought that a change of scenery would certainly be good for them both. As is so often the case, when you were off traveling, you came closer to one another, and he and Martha really needed that now. Things had not gone so well between them as of late, and here perhaps they would be able find each other again.
The sun shone and a pleasant afternoon breeze blew in from the sea. A warm glittering light was reflected in the waves and sailing boats and large motor yachts lay at anchor in the bay. Far away you could just make out a green stretch of coast and the only thing that disturbed the beautiful scene was a rusty container ship from Panama. The local press had written about that Panama wreck and Martha and her gang had thought it looked really ugly. The ship was in such bad condition that it might any day be towed out to sea and sunk since it was a danger to shipping. The League of Pensioners thought it would be good to be rid of the eyesore.
“So you don’t like my having my hat pulled down over my forehead?” muttered Rake. He pushed it to the back of his head, combed his hair and mumbled something about fussy women. Why couldn’t he have a hat instead of a sun visor, if he wanted! It went very well with his beige summer suit and the matching bandanna. Although, he had to admit, Martha was very sharply dressed today, but just because of that she didn’t have to criticize him. He glanced at her and gave a start. Yes, in fact, she had dressed so elegantly that you could hardly recognize her. She had a wide-brimmed hat with a veil, an expensive flowery dress from Dior—or whoever—a chic f
ashionable pink handbag and white high heels with a pattern of small red flowers etched on the heels. She looked like a countess who was rolling in money. The rest of the gang, too, had fitted themselves out with expensive clothes—Martha had said that as a first step in the planned coup they would charter Bielke’s luxury yacht. And to do that they must look like real millionaires, not like upstarts who were trying to imitate the rich. But it would cost ten thousand euros a week, that was what Bielke charged.
“Ugh, so expensive,” groaned Anna-Greta.
“What does it matter?” Martha remarked. “We don’t intend to pay anyway.”
“Scandalous. One can’t do that,” protested Christina.
“Oh yes we can. Bielke is a tax dodger so it serves him right. But it will be tough. First, we must charter the yacht, then steal it, and, after that, sell everything. Until then we won’t have any money to give away.”
“Oh, I see, yes, well, in that case. Then it’s all right,” said Christina somewhat calmer. “Out in the blue, that’s what we’ll do, a real to-do!” She tried to make poetry but even she didn’t think it was that brilliant.
The old friends walked out along a long jetty where the large luxury yachts were moored side by side with their sterns against the jetty. Mediterranean mooring. Most of them were white, a few were in a variety of shades of dark blue, and they all had a name painted on the stern. Almost all the yachts had one or two decks but, except for a man who was busy washing and polishing one of the boats, they seemed strangely abandoned.
“We’ve walked around here for ages without seeing the slightest sign of Bielke and his boat. Where is the man?” wondered Brains. He looked at Martha with displeasure.
His fiancée had admittedly accepted the blame for the problems in their relationship, and she had asked him to forgive her and had promised—cross my heart and hope to die—that they would devote themselves to each other here in France. Take things a little easy. So when they had been sitting on the edge of the bed and had had a heart-to-heart talk, he, in turn, had said he was sorry that his head had been turned by Betty and he thought that he and Martha should try to find their way back to each other again. Perhaps even get married, if that felt right. They had hugged each other a long time and he had felt secure and harmonious again. But the plane had hardly landed before Martha became her old self. Almost immediately she set them all to work. Above all they had walked around in the harbor looking for luxury yachts, and they had also tried to find out how they were chartered and how they were staffed. He grunted and thought that Martha had forgotten all about him and that her words were empty. Then he felt her hand in his.
“As soon as we’ve laid our hands on Bielke’s boat we can relax and really devote ourselves to looking after each other,” she whispered.
“Um, you think so?” he mumbled. “But what if he has sailed to Australia?”
“Ah, no way; it isn’t a sailing boat anyway,” Martha reassured him.
“Bielke runs a charter business, so the boat will be out at sea. It will come back any day, I promise,” said Anna-Greta.
“Yes, do you hear that, Brains?” Martha squeezed his hand. “And remember that we are planning for our Vintage Village and in order to give more help to health-care staff in Sweden.”
“Oh yes, the Pleasure Village. Yes, what would Sweden do without you?” Rake grumbled.
Martha pretended not to hear. Instead she steered her walker past a carelessly coiled mooring rope and a black cat that lay stretched out in the sun. (She didn’t really need the walker, but since she was wearing newly purchased high heels, she had taken it along to be on the safe side.)
“Oh, it’s so beautiful here,” exclaimed Anna-Greta as she looked out across the harbor. “And the sea is so invitingly blue that soon I’ll jump in with my clothes on.”
“Wow, some action!” exclaimed Rake.
“Don’t forget that we are here on recon,” Martha exhorted. “Work first, play later!”
“Stop bossing us. We can think for ourselves,” muttered Brains. “We know we’re going to steal Bielke’s boat. You are an expert at ‘first this, first that,’ but when are you and me going to have time to be together?”
“Quiet, damn it!” said Rake and he held up his index finger. “Somebody might hear us. There are Swedes down here. And don’t despair,” he added, lowering his voice. “Martha loves you, I promise.”
“If she hadn’t needed help from somebody to hotwire boat engines, then I wouldn’t even have been asked to come along,” Brains moaned. “Go off to the Mediterranean to steal motor yachts. Not a tiny bank robbery any more, no, now she’s going to nab hundreds of millions! She has got greedier and greedier just like all the other capitalist idiots.”
Rake put his hand on Brains’s shoulder. “But Brains, you ought to be proud. Who else thinks about how the poor people back home can have a decent life and be able to live on their pensions? Not the politicians, at any rate.”
“No, but—”
“And not the capitalists either. They just hand out bonuses to themselves. Martha, however, has introduced Sweden’s first low-wage bonus. She ought to be given a medal!”
“Without capitalists, there would be no jobs. Talk about that they are necessary!” muttered Brains, stuck his hands in his pants pockets and turned completely silent. But he had to admit to himself that Rake was right about Martha thinking of those that others forgot. She only wanted to support those who were in a difficult situation. He squirmed a little.
“Only I wish she could think a little about us too.”
“You, you mean!”
“Er, yes,” Brains had to concede. “What I mean is that I would like to sit at a cafe by the water and look out across the sea, enjoying a chocolate cake with a cup of cappuccino. Like everybody else.”
Brains and Rake were lagging behind a bit, and Martha stopped to wait for them to catch up.
“Brains,” Martha started to speak and turned a happy face toward him. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have some cappuccino?” He felt a warm hand in his. “I’ve booked a table at Club 55 where they have your favorite cake with chocolate and whipped cream. What about that? We can’t just eat healthy crackers every day.”
“Um,” answered Brains, blushing. Martha had worked out what he longed for so she had booked a table at the fanciest place in all of Saint-Tropez. Good God, she knew him so well. “Club 55 at the Plage de Pampelonne?” he stuttered.
“Yes, right, I registered us as members. We are meant to be stinking rich millionaires, aren’t we? And how otherwise will we find people who are rich enough to buy a stolen motor yacht?”
Then she smiled, looking pleased and happy, and the next moment he felt a wave of warmth spread through his body. What plans she made! And she could always guess what he was thinking. Of course he got irritated sometimes, but there was no denying what an exciting, unpredictable woman she was! He would have liked to have gone there with her, just the two of them, to sit cozily under a patio umbrella, but all the others had heard her suggestion.
“What if we get to see a fantastic old jazz legend or Sylvester Stallone?” Anna-Greta contributed and rolled her eyes. “Club 55 is where all the celebrities hang out.”
“Or why not Elton John?” said Christina. “I’ve heard that he goes there.”
“You know what, I can be Elton John. I have the experience,” Rake cut in.
Christina giggled. “No, you are fine as you are. Now let’s go for a coffee!”
The gang of pensioners moved off toward the beach walk and hailed a taxi. Tired but satisfied, they sank down into the seats and asked to be driven to the Plage de Pampelonne. Their expectations were great, but when they arrived they discovered to their surprise that Club 55 wasn’t so special; it looked like one of many luxury cafes by the Mediterranean. A waiter dressed in white showed them to their table and laid out some menus. They had only just ordered their coffee and cakes and were already in high spirits and eagerly looking around for famous
film stars. Martha discreetly pulled out her theater binoculars, but however hard she tried, she couldn’t see any celebrities. No, the paparazzi on the beach stalked young, unknown girls.
“Have you seen that? Scantily clad women with breasts that stick right out and Donald Duck lips,” Christina pointed out. It is true that she had had a facelift herself, but there were limits.
“My, my, and look at those tattooed men with their unkempt beards. No, I prefer the cleanly shaven menfolk from bygone days!” exclaimed Anna-Greta.
“No celebrities—evidently this isn’t our day,” said Martha, putting her binoculars away.
“Um, don’t say that,” said Rake who only looked around at breast height.
Brains wasn’t interested in celebrities but he’d become interested in some boats out at anchor. Fascinated, he watched the large luxury yachts bobbing out there in the waves. Motorboats, sailing boats and yachts as big as ocean-going ferries. In comparison with them, the boats in Djursholm were like small dinghies.
“Have you seen that motor yacht over there? It must be worth several hundred million at least,” he said, indicating a large dark-blue luxury boat with a helicopter pad.
“Yes, it certainly will be, and just have a look at that!” said Martha pointing at a man in a black wetsuit who came flying by, ten meters above the water’s surface. He looked like he had come straight out of a James Bond film. When he got closer to the beach, he swept around in wide circles right in front of a horde of girls.
“What a show-off,” snorted Anna-Greta, putting her hands over her ears. “Crazy dangerous!”
“A Jet Ski like that can go at forty kilometers an hour, at least. People are crazy. Rushing around on jets of water when there are sails,” Rake announced.
“It looks like he’s flying on jets of water,” said Christina. “The billionaires are playing.”
“Yes, he controls the jets with a throttle in each hand,” Rake noted.
“What if cars could use water jets instead of gas. That would be more friendly to the environment,” Brains reflected.
The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly Page 27
