The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! Read online

  ‘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.

  Sometimes Anders and Emma came to visit, but after having tasted Martha’s fish and potato au gratin – when Martha had forgotten to turn the page in the cookbook and therefore only included half the ingredients – they avoided her cooking days. The brother and sister did, however, continue to fill the freezer and larder with meat, fish, berries and vegetables every time they came on a visit.

  The aroma of cinnamon buns became all the more intense and when two baking plates were ready, Martha thought it was high time to summon a meeting. They must continue to search for the golf bag and get some order in their everyday income. Not least, they ought to find out how their money in the Robbery Fund had been used. Martha wanted to see the retirement homes with her own eyes to make sure things had got better. And then, of course, there were their contributions to culture. She thought about their anonymous donation to the National Museum, along with which they had suggested the purchase of more paintings by the French Impressionists. Perhaps the museum had even purchased a new Renoir? It would be exciting to follow up what had happened. And they must also decide what they would do with the remaining capital in the Robbery Fund. None of the five friends liked passive riches. Money should promote culture, create jobs or be given to people of less fortunate circumstances in society – not left lying around in a bank account. Martha looked around the room. Her friends had already started on the buns and were now on their second cup of coffee. It was high time to get going.

  ‘Now, everybody, I think it’s time we got down to business,’ she said in a firm voice, but was interrupted by a creaking sound from the gate. They heard steps on the gravel path and, with an irritated wrinkle between her eyebrows, she went up to the kitchen window. Two big men wearing bulky leather jackets were approaching the door. The men were very beefy and walked with their l
egs apart and their arms out, rather like little children who have wet themselves. They wore black leather trousers and waistcoats, and clumsy black boots. It was a grim sight and they looked threatening.

  ‘They aren’t the police, but it doesn’t look good,’ said Martha, taking some hesitant steps into the hall. She stopped and opened the front door a little. The very next second it was pushed wide open and a damp, icy cold swept into the house. Martha saw the steel-capped boots and instinctively drew back, but still tried to manage a smile.

  ‘Visitors, how nice, please come in! Can I offer you some breakfast?’

  The men gave a start, but collected their wits when they smelt the aroma of freshly baked buns.

  Jörgen Smäck, neighbour,’ said the man with the most muscles and long rat-coloured hair. He held out a large hand.

  ‘Tompa Eriksson, also neighbour,’ said the giant with the shaved head and a tattoo on his neck. He nodded in greeting.

  ‘I’m Martha,’ she said, and tried to sound unconcerned.

  ‘We would like to have a chat with the gang who live here.’ The giant put his hands by his sides.

  ‘Yes, that’s fine. Take a seat,’ Martha answered. The men sat down at the kitchen table wearing their leather waistcoats and black T-shirts. Their forearms were covered in tattoos. Christina got out two coffee cups but her hands shook when she put them down on the table. With a forced smile she offered them a basket of freshly baked cinnamon buns.

  ‘Please, help yourselves!’

  The men each dug a hand into the basket and put several buns on the table. Anna-Greta said hello to them somewhat hesitantly. Christina backed away.

  ‘The boys, will they be coming soon?’ Tompa asked with his mouth full of bun.

  ‘Here we are!’ Rake and Brains held out their hands as they introduced themselves. ‘Boys, well, it isn’t every day we get called that. Thank you.’

  The two bikers looked uncomprehendingly at each other. Martha fetched two more glasses.

  ‘Some cloudberry liqueur perhaps? It goes nicely with wafer biscuits.’

  Yet another nervous shudder crossed the men’s faces before they gathered their wits together.

  ‘Cloudberry liqueur? Booze is booze, I guess. So why not,’ said Beefy and he filled his coffee cup. ‘We thought we’d say hello to our new neighbours, but perhaps they’ve gone away for the weekend?’

  ‘No, we’re sitting here,’ snorted Anna-Greta. ‘We are the people who bought the house; this is our new retirement home.’

  ‘Retirement home!’ Beefy and the Hulk glared at them. The bikers put their elbows down with a bang and exposed their thick lower arms. On the skin you could see fire-breathing dragons next to skulls and wings.

  ‘You’ve got some fancy tattoos there, boys,’ said Martha, leaning forward. She prodded Hulk on his elbow. ‘But doesn’t it hurt when they stick a needle in you to do that?’

  The giant knocked back the cloudberry liqueur in one go, and coughed.

  ‘It just pricks your skin a little. I’m not an old lady. But that gym equipment out in the garden, we thought—’

  ‘It’s important to keep fit,’ said Martha. ‘Even if you’re old, you have to exercise regularly. Don’t you do that too?’

  Beefy and the Hulk exchanged embarrassed looks and each took another wafer.

  ‘Don’t have time. Business, motorcycles and such.’

  Brains lit up.

  ‘Could that be Harley-Davidson?’

  ‘Of course!’

  Brains’s eyes glistened and a dreamy expression appeared on his face.

  ‘It would be fun to—’

  ‘Some more ginger biscuits?’ Anna-Greta cut him off.

  ‘No, we’re off now,’ replied Tompa, the one with the tattoos on his neck. He coughed and in a sheepish voice mumbled, ‘Well, thanks for the juice.’

  ‘Booze,’ Beefy corrected him.

  The two bikers got up, took their jackets and made their way towards the door. Martha grabbed a paper bag and filled it with ginger biscuits. When she handed it over, she saw that the one called Tompa had ‘Helena’ tattooed on his wrist. There wasn’t an arrow, nor was there a little heart, but nevertheless. She smiled to herself.

  ‘Here’s something to nibble on,’ she said.

  The men exchanged glances, raised their hands as a farewell and went out. Not until they heard the creak from the gate, did any of the five in the kitchen dare open their mouths.

  ‘Help! The estate agent didn’t say anything about that motorbike gang,’ said Christina.

  ‘Now I understand why it was so easy to bargain the price,’ Anna-Greta commented.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ Rake wondered out loud.

  ‘Keep on good terms with them,’ Martha answered.

  ‘But don’t you get it? They’re members of a motorbike gang,’ Anna-Greta protested.

  ‘Yes, that’s why I invited them in. They are our neighbours, so we must be nice to them. You should always keep on good terms with your neighbours.’

  ‘You must be crazy,’ muttered Rake. ‘What if they wring our necks?’

  ‘Who knows, one day we might have some use of them,’ said Martha and the smell of adventure spread through the room. ‘I’ve learned at least one thing about life. You never know what awaits you.’

  Up in the neighbours’ house the lights were on long into the night, and there too they had a meeting. The members of the Bandangels MC club had lots of projects going on, shady projects that they didn’t want anybody to know about.

  ‘But what shall we do about the old people, then? Just think what would happen if they discover what we’re doing,’ said Jörgen Smäck, scratching himself on his balloon of a stomach.

  ‘We needn’t worry about those slugs. They’ve got their hands full with baking cakes and playing cards. They won’t be causing us any bother. But I do have another idea. Why don’t we use them as front men? They can be our tools. A drunkard can squeal, but nobody would suspect those oldies of anything, would they? We can fill with them with all sorts of tall stories.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Don’t you get it? We’ll shovel a bit of snow for them and help with some heavy lifts. Then when we’ve gained their confidence we’ll have them sign some papers for us . . .’

  ‘That’s a good idea, Jörgen, you’re not stupid, you.’

  The bikers guffawed and with much laughter and jollity they ended the evening with a sauna and a crate of beer. That night they slept like logs.

  The days passed, but the five old friends couldn’t stop thinking about the diamonds. It wasn’t just because they were fantastically beautiful. The friends knew that they could get pots of money for them, and they could donate that money to people who needed it.

  ‘It’s high time we went on a golf safari,’ Martha announced. ‘It is late in the season and any day now the courses will be closed for the winter. Who knows, the golf bag might be out there somewhere.’

  Brains was the only one who supported her on this. He and Martha dressed up in the latest style of golf outfit and bought an ultra-light golf bag on wheels. Then they were ready. Admittedly, they only had one wedge club, but they didn’t want to end up with aching shoulders and knees from having to pull along anything too heavy.

  So that they would elegantly fit in and not arouse suspicion, Martha had bought a black polo sweater, a knitted cap, a pair of thermo trousers, a windcheater and a pair of thermo socks. For his part, Brains put on a pair of Teflon over-trousers to cover his old grey flannels. On the upper part of his body, he had a windcheater and, on top of everything, a black rain anorak. But he had stubbornly refused to wear a cap. It was hard enough going around in those plastic clothes as it was.

  They started looking for their missing golf bag out on the Värmdö course. Their special minibus stayed in the garage and instead they borrowed Anders’ less noticeable Volvo. Martha turned on the GPS and even though she thought that the loud mechanical voice ought to shut up when she spo
ke, both she and Brains thoroughly enjoyed the drive out to the golf clubs. They started at Wermdö Golf & Country Club and looked to see if there were any golf bags outside the clubhouse and the restaurant.

  ‘A five wood, scorecard and seven iron,’ Martha mumbled.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Just a few golf terms, in case anybody wonders what we’re doing here. Golf clubs want you to be members.’

  Most of the golf bags had wheels and looked both expensive and elegant, their own old-fashioned model with walking sticks in it was nowhere to be seen. Then Martha and Brains drove on to the next courses, and visited first Ingarö and then Nacka, but they didn’t strike lucky at either of them.

  Tired, they had a break for lunch and then continued to the clubs to the south and north of Stockholm. Here too, they wandered around a long time and peered at lots of golf bags – but without any luck. After having visited the Lidingö and Danderyd golf clubs they finally ended up out at Drottningholm. But by then they were so exhausted that they almost forgot why they were there. Instead they walked hand-in-hand across the soft green lawns and discussed life. In the end, Martha said:

  ‘This feels hopeless but we’ve had a nice day! Can’t we plan some new robberies so we can go out on day trips again?’

  ‘You don’t think we can go on day trips anyway?’ Brains asked.

  ‘Perhaps, but planning crimes helps keep our brains in good trim. And a new coup would give us more money than just the diamonds.’

  ‘Indeed. But you can do brain gymnastics too. There are courses.’

  ‘That’s true of course,’ said Martha. ‘But first and foremost we should find the diamonds and see what has happened with our Las Vegas money.’

  ‘Yes, we must ensure that the money has been put to good use,’ Brains agreed. ‘But how shall we do that? You haven’t forgotten that we are all on the Wanted list?’

  A chilling wind blew across the course and Martha found herself shivering. Brains put his arm around her shoulders to warm her.