The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! (17 page)

Blomberg immediately felt much brighter. His Las Vegas money would not be a problem for the Beylings specialists. He got up, fetched a tin of cat food and called to Einstein. His life as a
pensioner would perhaps not be so lonely and boring as he had feared.

The entire day, everybody at the Karlberg barracks was very angry. Because even though the ambulance bus looked its usual self on the outside, the fuel tank was almost empty
and inside was a dreadful mess. Not only were there lots of empty bottles everywhere, the drunken idiots hadn’t even tried to cover their tracks. The officers interrogated people, but,
despite their efforts, didn’t manage to get any confessions. None of the cadets would admit to having been drunk and borrowing the army ambulance bus to use for purposes that it was most
definitely not intended for. At a quickly convened meeting, it was decided to punish all the recruits: fifty extra push-ups and confinement to barracks for one week.

A real Harley-Davidson! Of course he ought to be more careful, but Brains was attracted by the Bandangels’ motorbikes in the same way that a gang of businessmen were
attracted by a red-light district. The Bandangels gang kept their brightly polished Harley-Davidsons inside the big old shed over by the neighbouring house, and Brains longed to be there. The bank
robbery was over and the ‘girls’ had bossed him around long enough. It was high time for him to think about himself.

Brains put on his knitted cap and gloves and walked up the slope, fully determined to get a look at the motorbikes. He was going to ring their doorbell, ask if could borrow a screwdriver and
then start talking about the bikes. But when nobody answered the doorbell, he was disappointed. It had been an effort to walk all the way up the slope. Mind you, as he was already here . . . Brains
was a man who liked to improvise and follow his own impulses. He glanced up at the house to make sure there was no sign of either of the bikers, but the whole house was as dead as before. Then he
went up to the shed and felt the door. It was locked, but there was nothing special about the lock, he noted. He pushed in the blade of his Swiss knife and carefully opened the door.

Four brightly polished Harley-Davidson motorbikes were parked by the wall and a bit further in he glimpsed a half-open door to another room. His heart was pounding, but he simply must go inside
and touch the beauties. There was a Street Glider. He took a deep breath and caressed the shining metal. His gaze wandered over the engine, the back axel and the handlebars, bringing a sparkle to
his eyes. And there was a Sportster 1200 with its engine suspended by rubber, and a Harley-Davidson Fatboy – not to mention that motorbike that Marlon Brando had in
The Wild One
. Tears
welled up in Brains’s eyes. He closed them and remembered the wind in his face when he had driven around on his Harley-Davidson in his youth. Devotedly he patted the motorbikes as if they
were dear pets. No doubt about it, beauty was not only lovely women and sunsets.

For quite a while he looked at the highly polished bikes and completely forgot that he was trespassing. Perhaps there was more to see further in, in the next room? To quell his curiosity he
pushed open the door, and as he did the smell of paint filled his nostrils. My God, the lads had their own club premises in here! The walls were painted red and the long bar was made of polished
black oak. The floor wasn’t of wood or linoleum, but had light-grey quarry tiles. There was a bunch of bar stools in the middle of the room and framed photos of old superbikes were spread out
below the bar counter. He gave a start. In a broken frame with cracked glass there was a picture of a genuine Harley Rider – his absolute favourite – discarded by a bin. The bike he had
when he’d met Lisbeth, the first love of his life. He remembered that particular summer as one of the best of his life and no bike he had owned since then came anywhere near it. For ages he
had wished for a picture of that bike, but had never managed to get hold of one. Now here it was, in a broken frame and about to be thrown away. He kept on looking at the photo and was soon lost in
a reverie. There were lots of photos here. Nobody would notice if he borrowed this particular one. He battled with his conscience for a moment, but then his emotions got the upper hand and he let
the photo disappear inside his overcoat.

Then he moved further inside the room. In the far corner he caught sight of empty tins of paint and buckets. The bikers were evidently busy decorating. For a moment, Brains recalled his youth at
the bar in Sundbyberg. They were a great gang that met there. Those were the days. They had worked on their bikes and dreamed of the fanciest superbikes and women. Brains would have liked to have a
beer with the boys in the bar now too, but perhaps two men wanting to join Mad Angels were not really his type. A lot of them were involved in extortion and black market stuff, and he’d even
heard that they were into drugs too. No, it was probably best to get out of here before the lads caught sight of him. Brains backed up, closed the door and hurried out the same way that he had come
in. On his way home, the thoughts whirled around inside his head. If the Bandangels fitted out a new clubhouse then they would soon attract Mad Angels and lots of other biker gangs. The quiet and
peaceful pensioner’s life he had imagined was evidently about to turn into something very different.

‘I’ve latched on to Martha’s money-bombing idea.’ Anna-Greta spoke so loudly that they all gave a start and found themselves thinking about exploding
bombs instead of giving to charity.

‘I think we should call our latest idea the Gift Drop Project,’ she went on and nodded to Gunnar to start up the computer. The League of Pensioners were gathered in the library and
they were now curious to see what Anna-Greta and Gunnar had concocted. Ever since the pair had been reunited, Gunnar had come to visit them several times a week. Recently he had even spent the
night in the guest room. And now he was involved in the Gift Drop Project. Gunnar pressed an icon on the computer labelled ‘Gift Drop’ and an aerial image of Stockholm, complete with
street names and the locations of various retirement homes, appeared.

For several days, Anna-Greta and Gunnar had been sitting in front of the computer, planning. In Gunnar’s company, Anna-Greta had picked up even more computer skills and the others had been
able to hear her chuckles of contentment as she worked with Gunnar. Now she was standing in front of the screen with a pointer in her hand, waiting for her friends to be quiet.

‘It’s one thing to rob a bank, but quite another to deal with the loot,’ Anna-Greta explained, as though she was giving a lecture. ‘We must ensure that the money
doesn’t end up in the wrong hands.’

‘Well, I’ve thought that for a long time,’ Rake said with a grin on his face.

Anna-Greta pretended not to hear him.

‘Internet shopping has progressed so enormously lately that we can order anything we want,’ she went on and pointed at pictures of mobile phones, cameras and furniture.

‘We pay over the Internet, store the goods here and then we can hand out the gifts after that. When we want to deliver something we simply use the services of a transport firm. And some
suppliers will even deliver goods directly to the customer; it’s amazing how modern it has become.’

‘But the stolen money is in banknotes and those numbers will be known. How can we pay with that?’ Christina wondered.

‘Now listen! There is something called laundering money,’ said Anna-Greta with burning cheeks, her gazed fixed upon the floor. For her, former bank-employee that she was, it
didn’t feel right to say this, but needs must.

‘Launder money? I know. The race tracks and casinos . . .’ began Rake, sounding like a man of the world.

‘Not exactly; in fact, it is better to use exchange bureaus. The staff have a duty to find out where the money comes from and what it is going to be used for. But that doesn’t work
in practice. Nobody cares. If we set our minds to it, we ought to be able to deposit around two hundred thousand kronor a day.’

‘Deposit?’ Brains asked.

‘Yes; we’ve got those fake personal identity numbers – you know, the temporary numbers that all people who move to Sweden get. I have opened some new accounts,’ said
Anna-Greta slapping her pointer against her hand like a real teacher. That is, like the teachers used to do in the old days.

‘It’s fantastic. You’ve done a really good job there. That sounds excellent,’ said Martha, as she got up and then returned a few moments later with the gang’s newly
purchased dining trolley. On it, there was a coffee pot, coffee cups and a bowl of wafer biscuits. While the precocious pensioner-villains drank their coffee, they concocted their very special
laundering plans, which had nothing to do with dirty clothes.

The next day, the League of Pensioners travelled into Stockholm to change the stolen money into foreign currency. They split up and went to different parts of the city. Martha
chose the Forex exchange office in Östermalm, Rake went to an office on Söder Island, Christina to an office in Vasastan, and Brains walked to Kungsholmen with two paper carrier bags full
of banknotes. Anna-Greta took the Roslag local train out to the fancy suburb of Djursholm to change her stolen money there. It was a setting in which she knew how to behave, and with a proud
posture, elegant fur coat and an authoritative voice, she asked to exchange her money for dollars, but it wasn’t so easy. The rules were a lot stricter than she remembered and it wasn’t
until she told them of her imminent journey to Florida and her plan to buy a plot of land in Gran Canaria, that finally they relented and agreed to change the money.

In the days that followed, they went to a whole number of exchange offices but their plan wasn’t working. The staff had been given newer, stricter instructions. So in the end, Anna-Greta
decided that they would have to go to the Solvalla horse races after all.

Anna-Greta really wanted to go on her own and fly under the radar as much as possible because, with her professional background, she was slightly ashamed of being seen at such a place. But when
she told Gunnar, he looked at her with such sad eyes that she understood – being in a relationship, or, at any rate, almost in a relationship, meant certain commitments – and if she
didn’t take him with her, he would be deeply offended.

One late sunny afternoon, Anna-Greta and Gunnar set off for the Solvalla racecourse. They took the underground to Rissne and decided to walk the last bit. Anna-Greta pushed the
Zimmer frame in front of her. They had Martha’s floral cloth bag filled with cash so Gunnar kept a watchful eye on the treasure in the basket.

‘The old guys with the hottest tips are the ones sitting over there, I’ve heard,’ said Gunnar, nodding in the direction of a cluster of men standing outside the racecourse.

‘But the basket is full of money, I don’t know if we dare go over there.’ Anna-Greta hesitated.

Betting on the horses and handling large amounts of cash was actually a bit scary. The banknotes from the Handelsbanken robbery were red-hot in the floral bag. Now that she thought about it,
they ought to have hidden the money in a simple sports bag, or indeed anything other than Martha’s floral cloth bag. It attracted too much attention. Her hands squeezed the handles of the
Zimmer frame. Gunnar noticed and stretched out a hand.

‘You know what, this is nothing compared to our Internet transfers. Now we’re dealing in small change.’

‘But how can you say that? When I worked in the bank we saved kronor in coins. Two hundred thousand in cash is not just a bit of pocket money.’

‘Of course, but if we spend these banknotes it’ll be nothing compared to what we lost on the Internet.’

Anna-Greta realized that Gunnar only wanted to calm her. Having company when you are out on an adventure wasn’t such a bad idea after all, she thought. Besides, Gunnar’s father had
been a big-time gambler and taught him quite a lot about racehorses. That felt reassuring.

Quickly, they walked on and after they had got their tickets they deliberately took a wrong turn and went into the Stallbacken – the stable area. This area was restricted to trainers,
jockeys and other people directly connected to the horses, but Anna-Greta and Gunnar had decided that they wanted to check on the condition of the horses themselves. Above all, they were hoping to
find somebody who was doing shady business because today they were going to be buying betting slips. Anna-Greta liked the sound of the words ‘betting slips’, it made her feel
adventurous. The plan was that if somebody won one hundred thousand on one of the horses, she would offer to buy the winning betting slip for one hundred and twenty-five thousand kronor in cash.
Then, when she went to the betting counter with the slip, she would get one hundred thousand that nobody could trace. Not bad. But decidedly shady . . .

The horses were warming up in the Stallbacken. Anna-Greta and Gunnar took a good look at them all. Anna-Greta was now feeling confidently eager. They were going to launder money and lots of
it!

‘Fighter Gull is going to win,’ an elderly man confided in her beside the entrance to one of the stable buildings.

‘But what about that one there?’ Anna-Greta wondered and pointed at a black horse with small ears without horse shoes.

‘Joker Ride? That one’s going to break into a gallop and will come in last.’

Anna-Greta and Gunnar walked on and went into the main building. They took the lift up to the restaurant from where they had a magnificent view of the racecourse. They sat down at one of the
tables and ordered beer and some prawn sandwiches. Anna-Greta looked around her and tried to find someone who might want to sell a winning slip. She looked around for someone who looked a bit
suspicious. Here, at any rate, was where the big-time gamblers congregated. If, for example, a gang of middle-aged women had backed a winner then they would celebrate with lots of noise, but the
professionals kept a straight face. So they had to be very attentive.

Leaning back, she listened to the talk all around her and watched as the horses gathered, ready for the start of the next race. Three minutes to go. Gunnar got up.