The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! (7 page)

All five of them had, however, been a bit careless about their physical condition so now they would have to make sure they got back into shape before they could even begin to think up any new
crimes. Martha looked on Blocket.se and eventually found some cheap equipment from a gym that had closed. An exercise treadmill, dumbbells, ropes and rowing machines were stored in the garden shed
until a gym was ready in part of the cellar. She rubbed her hands in delight and looked forward to becoming fitter again.

At their new house, Christina often sat in the library or on the veranda. She had bought a whole lot of classics as well as a big box of English detective stories. While she organized them on
the shelves, she hummed to herself or quoted lines of well-known poems. She hadn’t felt so good for ages.

Brains was happy with life too. He had got hold of an old motorcycle which he worked on out in the yard. What he had really wanted was a Harley-Davidson but that was too expensive, so he’d
had to settle for a bike from the First World War.

Rake inspected the greenhouse and thought about what he would like to grow in there. Tomatoes were a must, but perhaps cucumbers and grapes too. Then he wandered around in the garden, had a good
look at the fruit bushes and started planning what he would sow in the spring. Now and then he glanced up at the neighbouring house. The woman he had glimpsed behind the curtains seemed exciting.
She had jet-black hair.

Anna-Greta had been checking an online auction site and finally had found a fancy vinyl gramophone together with fifteen large boxes of vinyl records. Her friends had grumbled at first, but
after she had agreed that she wouldn’t play her favourite religious song and her accordion music more than once a day, they went along with it. The collection also included a lot of records
with choral music, and that was practical, of course, if they wanted to learn some new songs for their repertoire. Admittedly, they didn’t sing quite so often nowadays, as they couldn’t
perform with their choir The Vocal Chord now that they were on the run, but they couldn’t drop music completely.

Every time Anna-Greta put on a record, she thought of her old love, Gunnar. She had met him onboard a cruise ship when the League of Pensioners were midway through their first major robbery. He
had come to visit her while she was in prison for her part in the art heist and her criminal activity hadn’t seemed to bother him. In those moments when she thought of him, she wandered
around a room or stared absent-mindedly out through a window. Anna-Greta had phoned him several times but had only got through to an answering service. Now she regretted not keeping in better touch
with him while she was living in Las Vegas. Even though she was surrounded by her friends, she did actually feel a bit lonely.

When they had all settled down in their new home, Martha gathered the friends together in the library for an important meeting.

‘We can’t call ourselves the League of Pensioners any longer because that name is notorious in Sweden. We must give ourselves a new name,’ she said.

‘I think we should go with a name that sounds more international,’ mused Rake, who had travelled the most in his younger days.

They discussed Halloween, Angel Birds, Grey Oldies, Hidden Diamonds and a whole lot of other titles before finally settling on Outlaw Oldies.

‘It’s got a contemporary feel to it,’ Martha said enthusiastically and then she and Brains went down to the newly purchased letter box by the road and glued on the name with
big black letters. From now on, all the post was to be sent to Outlaw Oldies, Myrstigen 2, Norra Lagnö, Värmdö. The five pensioners had acquired a new home and a new life. And a new,
dangerous, challenging name.

The lights were on upstairs in the eighteenth-century house further up the slope where the group of bachelors lived. The old wooden building had white mullioned windows, a very
solid-looking front door and brown-stained wooden front steps. But the decorative banisters on the steps were painted black and resembled wings and the handrails had been painted white and red. The
colours were no coincidence as the people who lived in the house were in fact a proud gang of bikers who had climbed quite high in the biker hierarchy. Bandangels had their sights set on being part
of Mad Angels. If they did as they were told, they would be admitted as members of the respected club, according to the Yellow Villa, the greatest club around.

‘It’s time to collect our bloody money!’ said Tompa, as he got up from the armchair and went into the hall. His trousers sounded like an old leather sofa, and his heavy boots
made the floor creak. Tompa Eriksson and Jörgen Smäck, two beefy bikers dressed in black, put on their leather jackets and pulled on steel-capped boots. From the hat rail they took their
knuckledusters, gloves and helmets. Then they looked for their scarves and pulled their hoods on before leaving the house.

It was a cold day and they wrapped the scarves a few extra times round their necks. Then they carefully put on their helmets before kick-starting their motorbikes. The engines came to life with
a roar and the two men rolled down the slope. Down by the row of letter boxes by the road, Tompa stopped to see if they’d received any post. He was just about to unlock the letter box when he
glanced at the box next to it.

‘Just look at this!
Outlaw Oldies
, what the fuck!?’

The two men looked at each other and Tompa nervously revved his engine a few times.

‘Who the hell are these outsiders? They don’t belong here.’

‘No, damn it, they must be sent packing!’

‘We’ll have to check up on them. But not just now . . .’ Tompa revved his engine and he and Jörgen disappeared with a roar down the road.

When they reached the pizzeria in the Östermalm district of central Stockholm, Tompa felt an irritating sense of discomfort. Something was bugging him, but he tried to
repress the feeling as best he could. He had a job to do and this wasn’t the time to start mulling over things. He took off his helmet and strode into the pizzeria closely followed by his
mate. When he first joined the gang, he had hated this type of task, but after a while he had got used to it. People who didn’t pay, only had themselves to blame. The two men walked quickly
through the dining area and straight into the office. The owner, who sat in front of his desk with a half-eaten pizza, a can of beer and a pile of papers, gave a start. Tompa stood in front of him
with his hands by his sides.

‘The money!’

‘It’s on its way.’

‘You said that last week too.’

The owner took out a bunch of keys, unlocked a desk drawer and, with trembling hands, opened a little metal cash box. There were a few five-hundred-kronor notes inside.

‘Look for yourselves. This is all I’ve got at the moment.’

‘You’ll have to cough up the money NOW!’

‘I promise.’

‘You said that last time, too!’

Jörgen directed some hard, well-aimed punches at the man’s face, causing him to fall to the floor. He continued to punch the pizzeria man until he huddled up whining.

‘Tomorrow, I promise, you’ll get your money after lunch.’

‘And we’d bloody well better get it, do you understand?’ said Tompa, kicking the man in the stomach. In a rage he also kicked the cash box so that the banknotes flew off in all
directions. Then the two bikers left the premises as if nothing had happened.

In the evening, Tompa couldn’t stop thinking about the letter box. A rival gang as neighbours – that was all he needed! The huge LCD telly was on the highest volume
and there were some empty beer cans on the coffee table. Next to them were a bowl of nuts and an opened packet of crisps. Shrieking American voices, shrill film music and the sound of people
shooting wildly around them filled the room. Jörgen was half-asleep in the armchair with the remote in his hand. Tompa took a handful of nuts.

‘What sort of neighbours are they? Outlaw Oldies?’ Tompa asked out loud to the room. Jörgen Smäck pushed himself up out of the armchair.

‘Yes, who are they? They moved in and, since then, we haven’t seen them.’

‘Perhaps they’re keeping a low profile after their latest raid.’

‘Or they’re busy with some protection racket.’

‘Feels a threat to have them so close.’

Jörgen Smäck lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The gang down there had dumbbells, rowing machines, a bench press and a load of other gym equipment – he had seen the equipment
in their garden before they had hidden it all in the cellar. So these new neighbours were clearly strong-arm giants who didn’t want to show themselves at a gym but did want to keep fit. And
then there had been a hell of a lot of traffic with vans unloading washing machines and spin driers, sofas, chairs, a sawing machine, a cutting machine, a grinder, chandeliers, heaps of books,
paintings . . . indeed, there was no end to it. Must all be stolen property. But the worst of it all was that these shady types seemed to have moved in for good.

‘They never show themselves. Just sit inside waiting. Believe me, there is something suspicious about them,’ said Tompa.

‘Yeah, the whole thing is bloody fishy, besides that Super-Grandpa with the wheeled walker, of course. Have you seen the old geezer with the cloth cap? The guy who does his repairs and
mechanical stuff outside? Now he has attached two hooters, headlights, a plough and an engine to his wheeled walker.’

‘What a bloke! You shouldn’t count out old guys. When it comes to old-fashioned technology, that sort of Super-Grandpa is unbeatable!’

The two mates walked across to the window and looked down at the big house. The lights were on upstairs but everything seemed to be shrouded in peace and quiet. The newcomers obviously
didn’t want to reveal that people were living there, but you could see their shadows on the wallpaper inside the curtains. Jörgen used his beer can as an ashtray and started
coughing.

‘Perhaps they are wannabes?’

‘Wannabes for the Grandidos gang? Hmm. We ought to have a closer look. I don’t want to get a bullet in my neck.’

‘We’ve got the gang to help us if things get hot. Mad Angels never back down.’ Jörgen threw the beer can away, opened the fridge and took out two new cans. Tompa shook his
head.

‘We can’t ask Mad Angels for help on this, we aren’t full members yet. No, we’ll have to take a closer look first. You know, knock on the door and discuss where the
boundary goes or something like that.’

‘OK, then, and we’ll take the knuckledusters.’

‘And the chains?’

‘No need, they’ll see our tattoos.’

‘But I’m wearing a bulletproof vest and leather trousers at any rate.’

‘That sounds wise. And steel-capped boots.’

It was a grey morning and a damp mist lay over the bay. Martha had to use her asthma spray several times and now and then she coughed a little. She had woken up early and, to
get started for the day, she had brewed coffee for herself and the others. An hour later, Christina came and joined her and now she looked out of the window at the overcast morning.

‘Usch, such weather! Some wafer biscuits and freshly baked buns would brighten things up,’ Christina said, getting out some milk, butter, yeast and flour. Then she looked for the
salt, found the sugar and cinnamon in the larder, and set to work. There was baking to do!

Martha got out a packet of Fazer Lakritsi sticks and the Finnish lemon liquorice that was Brains’s favourite candy. When he started nibbling on that he simply couldn’t stop. With
some expertise, she poured the black sticks into a glass bowl on the kitchen table. Liquorice usually put Brains in a good mood, and she loved to see him happy. More and more often she found
herself doing something that she hoped would please him. Since they had left the Diamond House retirement home they had become much closer friends and planned many crimes together. They worked
perfectly together in mutual understanding, almost like an older and kinder variety of Bonnie and Clyde – but without any guns, of course.

Steps could be heard from the stairs as Brains came down. His eyes lit up when he caught sight of the bowl with the liquorice sticks. He gave Martha a wink and took a handful.

‘If only you knew how much I adore lemon liquorice!’ he said and sat down beside her. And although that was exactly what she did know, she felt warm all over and pleased with
herself. She leaned a little closer to him.

When the others came down, Martha got up and laid the table for their usual breakfast with tea, coffee, eggs, soured milk, ham and sandwiches. Then she added some liqueur glasses, a bowl of
wafers and a bottle of Lapponia cloudberry liqueur. They all sat and waited for the lovely aroma from the first batch of cinnamon buns that would soon come from the oven. Martha thought over all
that had happened. Despite everybody having been so mortified after losing the diamonds, the mood in the house was good. After living in a retirement home, they now appreciated every day in which
they could do their own thing. Here there was nobody who told them what to do and when, and they could run their own lives.

Since it was dark and there was slushy snow outside, they preferred to stay indoors. Martha had read that you should lie low after a robbery, so it suited them well. Las Vegas was, of course,
very far away but nowadays the world had become global.

The passivity made them lethargic and every time Martha asked Brains to get their gym equipment in the cellar into good working order, he had found excuses. Instead, he drank coffee, played
cards, and watched a whole lot of cooking programmes on TV Martha sighed. All of Sweden seemed to be cooking on TV nowadays. They made soup on one TV channel and served casserole on another. What
was the point of it if the viewers couldn’t be invited to eat, but were simply expected to watch while others ate?

Brains and Rake had just recently discovered computer games and had become far more enthusiastic than was good for them. They stared at their computer screens like compulsive gamblers and even
claimed that it was much more exciting than reading books. Christina had then called them uneducated, after which the two friends had withdrawn to Brains’s room and played in secret.