Life Deluxe (48 page)

She remembered once when she’d been allowed to come along to Switzerland. Maybe eight years ago—she’d been a girl then. Different keys, codes, receptionists who smiled and spoke bad English. Safe deposit boxes en masse. Dad’d opened his, pulled it out, and brought it with him into a booth. Natalie’d had to wait outside.

She also told Bogdan to contact the coat checks he used to work with and inform them that payments were to be made only to him or one of his boys. She ordered Goran to inform the truckers who brought in the smuggled booze and cigarettes the same thing. From now on, you deliver only to Goran and to people Goran has approved. She asked Milorad to regain control over the amphetamine channels and their stolen goods business.

She would reconquer what was hers. Calculation: Stefanovic would perceive it as an open confrontation. Conclusion: a war would break out for real.

They had to be prepared.

They discussed the issue for a while. They had to make sure that all the underlings were on their guard. Got bulletproof vests, armed themselves, never went out alone. All jobs, even just selling smack, would be done in groups. Above all: Natalie would never be alone.

Finally: she brought up the Cherkasova story. The others squirmed uncomfortably in their seats.

She was clear: “I’ve understood what my father was doing. You don’t have to be ashamed. I don’t judge him, even if I’m not exactly overjoyed to hear that kind of thing. He was my father. That’s enough for me.”

Goran took over. “I’ve looked into this more. The politician, Svelander, is serving on a committee that decides over Baltic Sea issues. I’ve made the rounds. Your father was involved, that much I know.”

Natalie: “How?”

“I don’t exactly know yet. But Stefanovic has instructed this—eh … what word should I use?—prostitute, to film Svelander. The guy has influence over building permits in the Baltic Sea. And the Russians are building a gas pipe on the bottom of the sea. So Stefanovic wants to be able to blackmail that horndog with the films this woman is taking.”

The men, reinspected: the determination in their eyes, their faint nods, their humming. They understood, they realized, they knew—this wasn’t the usual small-scale shit. This was in a different league. Obvious. And Stefanovic was trying to run it on his own. Without giving Kum’s daughter her share. What an asshole.

“This is about the Russians,” Goran said. “Your father helped them by using this Cherkasova woman. Maybe he helped them in other ways too. And now Stefanovic is running the racket on his own. That’s not okay.”

“And where does this JW guy come into the picture?” Natalie asked. “We saw Stefanovic meet him.”

Goran looked into her eyes. He knew they’d met up. She didn’t know what he thought about that.

“I have no idea,” he said. “But he builds money-laundering systems. Him and Bladman’ve got to start playing for us. And now when there’s an open war with Stefanovic, they can’t put their heads in the sand anymore. They’ve got to pick sides.”

They ended the meeting. The men looked pleased—despite all the question marks. She’d finally taken control over the situation. They’d finally been given direction.

Nevertheless, she felt she had only herself to rely on. She was living in two worlds at once. The men were listening to her. Still, she was alone.

Alone with her grief.

Alone with the responsibility.

Alone with her hate.

Days passed. She put her law studies on hold. Worked frenetically. Reality was what mattered now. Called Goran, Bogdan, and Thomas several times every day. They called back from different phone numbers or Skype—they were security fascists. She appreciated that they were teaching her to be the same way. She talked, faxed, e-mailed American Express, SEB, Handelsbanken: at least saved something. She tried to get Beogradska Banka to understand that Bogdan was her representative, no one else. She studied the police investigation. She researched the Black & White Inn—mostly by talking to Thomas and Goran, but also through Mischa Bladman, who agreed to produce the bookkeeping and other documents. She looked up everything she could find about the politician who’d bought sex from Cherkasova, about Baltic Sea concessions, about the other men who paid for Melissa. She went around town and checked out restaurants, bars, pubs, and clubs that ought to get a visit paid to them by Bogdan or one of his men in order to put their coat checks under his protection. She tested out ideas about ways to import amphetamines, to cut the smack, to establish laboratories in Sweden instead of in the Baltics. This was all new for her—Milorad explained the whole setup, from the ground up. She schemed strategies for a meeting with Stefanovic—it was only a question of time before the shit hit the fan and he started to act. One thing was certain: she—they—needed money. Without cash, she couldn’t continue running this project. Without cash, she wouldn’t be able to handle a war with the traitor.

She woke up at six every morning. Went to bed past one every night. Drank eight cups of coffee every day, plus at least three cans of Red Bull, munched on valerian at night in order to sleep. She ate hard-boiled eggs and tomatoes. Lost weight. Told Viktor to stay away. She would call him “when I feel okay.”

She chatted with the girls sporadically on Facebook. Wrote to Louise that she was feeling too low to go out.

Mischa Bladman played unaffected. He agreed to sit down with Natalie in order to help her gain a general understanding of Dad’s company finances. Six of the companies’d folded. A few were dormant. Four remained. Kranjic Holding AB, the Demolition Experts in Nälsta AB, Clara’s Kitchen & Bar, Teck Toe AB. Dad’d controlled a number of companies without being listed as the official owner—Bladman was obviously nervous, didn’t want to discuss ownership shares right now. Didn’t know what ass cheek to sit on. Mischa Bladman never said it, but Natalie understood—he’d been taking instructions from Stefanovic up until this point.

She ordered a close-fitting bulletproof vest. Goran provided her with gorillas to always have in tow: Adam and Sascha. Some nights she slept at hotels. They checked under her car, they always positioned her farthest from the window, they never let her be the first to enter anywhere. She studied the police investigation for the twentieth time. There had to be something there. She considered telling the police that she knew where the weapons’d come from. She sat through meetings with her lawyer and another tax lawyer. She drove to the Frihamnen harbor and checked out the dock and how the tankers from Tallinn arrived—maybe bags of amphetamine could be tossed from the boats? She drank six Coca-Colas a day, ate ginseng tablets every morning, and munched on painkillers to reduce the headache that took hold at five o’clock every afternoon.

One day Goran called. “He wants to see you again,” he said.

“Good.”

“Natalie, just take it easy.”

They met four hours later. Same restaurant, Teatergrillen. Same red upholstery. Same lit candles. Same privacy.

Adam, her bodyguard, had to stay in the car.

JW was dressed in a dark gray suit and a green tie.

He got right to the heart of it: “This isn’t good.”

Natalie assumed he was referring to the situation between her and Stefanovic.

“Bladman is feeling pressured,” he said.

“Let me do my business, and then you and Bladman can do yours,” she said. “And the last time I saw you, you weren’t too keen on cooperating.”

“We cooperate with whoever it suits us to cooperate with. I have many clients. Your father was one of them. Now Stefanovic is one of them.”

Natalie didn’t plan on folding. She had to do what she had to do. At the same time, she needed JW’s help. It was he and Bladman who’d helped Dad with everything that Stefanovic was now trying to take over. And he was involved in the Cherkasova-Svelander story.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t take back what’s mine,” she said.

His eyes glittered. Maybe that was a weak smile at the corner of his mouth. “The right of ownership is the most important right we have. Trust me, I fight for it. But you also have to understand the reality of this situation. I can’t decide between clients.”

“You can have your principles, and I’ll have mine. I’m going to take back what’s mine. You and Bladman’ll have to pick sides, that’s all there is to it.”

“We’re not going to do that. But let me say this. You want something from me. I want several things from you. I think we’re going to be able to solve this. Just give me some time.”

He was different. Swedish—yet still the same talk and calm as in Dad’s men. Playboy look—but despite that he played in the same world as she did. He’d done time—but he still ordered wine with the same style as Dad used to do. He was playing several different games at once. Just like her, maybe.

And the entire time: that glitter in his eyes. She’d never met anyone like him.

At night, she texted Viktor and asked him to come over. Mom was at yoga. They ordered pizzas that he picked up on the way over. Natalie cut off the crusts and ate—the LCHF diet’d been discarded for now.

Viktor wondered what was going on. Why she never wanted to get together. Why people said they’d seen her downtown with some other guy. Natalie tried to explain—the situation was bad again. It wasn’t the same guy she was walking around with. It was different bodyguards.

Viktor kept whining. Natalie didn’t want to talk more about it. Said, “Let’s go into the den instead.”

She turned the TV on and settled into the couch with her feet
propped up on the coffee table. Viktor lay down beside her. A workplace reality series was playing on TV. You followed the lawyers at a criminal defense office in Stockholm.

Natalie put her arm on Viktor’s thigh. “Want to move this into my bedroom?”

That was one way of putting it.

“Dammit Natalie, we haven’t seen each other in over a week, we’ve hardly spoken, and now you want to fuck, just like that?”

“Stop.”

He smiled. “I like you.”

“Ditto,” she said.

Still, he didn’t do anything. Just sat there. Staring at the TV. A lawyer was babbling about how innocent his client was because the cocaine that’d been found was cut with lidocaine.

“Come on.”

Viktor made a lame move to bend closer to her. He wasn’t in the mood, that much was obvious. But Natalie didn’t want to wait for him to get horned up. She unbuttoned his fly. He was wearing Polo Ralph Lauren boxers. She pulled out his slack cock. Massaged it.

Viktor slipped down low in the couch. She continued to caress him. He really didn’t want to right now.

But that wasn’t her problem. She ran her hand over his eyes, made him close them. She slipped down his foreskin. Licked the tip.

He made sounds. That was a good sign.

His cock hardened to midsize. She took it in her mouth. It tasted of shower gel and sweat.

He mumbled, “Shouldn’t we go to your room?”

She ignored him. Continued sucking until he got fully erect.

She unbuttoned her own pants. Climbed on top of him.

“Not here,” he said.

She ignored him, moved him inside her.

She supported her arms against his chest. Pressed away with her arms. Moved up and down and to the sides. Felt him inside her.

She closed her eyes. Her thoughts were rushing. She moved faster.

They were going to go to the Black & White Inn tomorrow to have a talk with the rats who’d sold the weapons that’d been used on Dad. It was time for the truth to come out.

Viktor was half-lying on the couch. Natalie continued to fuck him—faster and harder movements. She heard her own breathing.

Viktor was silent. She didn’t give a shit about him.

She moved his hands up to her hips. Felt him grab hold of her. She pressed down as far as she could. His cock reached as deep as it would go.

She was close now.

Wiggled her butt. Pressed herself forward.

Up and down.

She saw masks and harlequins.

She saw a face on the inside of her eyelids.

Up and down.

She saw red drapes and flickering candles.

She saw the face again.

It was JW.

She saw JW.