The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! (21 page)

‘Must have been when we were having a kip. It looks like a bleeding department store in here!’

‘No, more like a booze shop,’ said Jörgen and he kept his headlamp pointed at the cartons of bottles. ‘But what have we got here? Cloudberry liqueur?’

‘Just look at the whisky and all that other stuff. These oldies are criminals – isn’t that what I said? They must have been out on a burglary tour again. They’re a crafty
lot!’

‘That must be why they wouldn’t sign those papers for us. That Martha, she’s a cunning one. Perhaps we ought to set her up!’

‘Yeah, or keep tabs on the whole gang.’

The two bikers looked around and behind some boxes of whisky and a treadmill they caught sight of two mannequins dressed in winter coats, dresses and boots.

‘Well that’s a surprise. Are they going to open a fashion boutique too?’

Jörgen lifted up one of the mannequins and held it up so that Tompa could see too. ‘So they weren’t dead bodies, they were shop-window dummies! Talk about false alarms –
this was nothing to worry about, then. No wonder they could manage to carry them.’

‘But what are they going to do with all this stuff?’

‘They must be a bunch of kleptomaniacs, the whole lot of them. Can’t be any other explanation.’

Tompa and Jörgen looked at the other boxes and then passed the mannequins again on their way out.

‘Hey, you know what? Wouldn’t it be fun if we had one of these dummies in our club room? We can dress it in a jacket with our logo on it, and then put it next to the bar
counter,’ Tompa suggested.

‘Yeah, that’d be fucking cool! We’ll do it!’

That evening, some Mad Angels members and the rest of the guys from Bandangels were coming for a party. And the club room needed to be ready by then. The shop dummy would be perfect. The two
bikers nodded to each other in agreement and set to work. They quickly took the coat and boots off one of the dummies and fashioned them to make it look as if the dummy was still lying there. With
a bit of luck, the old codgers wouldn’t even notice that the dummy was missing. When they had finished, they turned off their headlamps and put them in their pockets. It was time they were on
their way. They quickly put the door back onto its hinges, checked nobody had seen them and then hurried down the path to the gate – with the mannequin in Tompa’s arms. As they did so,
they heard an engine and saw a delivery lorry on its way up the hill.

Tompa quickly looked for a hiding place for the dummy, but didn’t have time to hide it before the van came to a halt just outside the gate.

‘We’ll have to pretend we live here,’ Tompa whispered to Jörgen as the driver jumped out of the lorry.

‘Ah, here come the goods we ordered,’ Jörgen improvized and the two of them exchanged glances. Tompa was reminded of all the booze and other stuff in the cellar. The
evening’s party was to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the Bandangels and to inaugurate their new club room. The pensioners probably wouldn’t even remember half of what they had
ordered. So they might as well borrow a few boxes of booze and arrange a prize-giving to reward the lads who had done a good job. Tompa walked up to the driver, looking as though he owned the
place.

‘You can unload the goods here beside the gate. We’ll sort it out.’

The driver, who was in his fifties, glanced quickly at Tompa.

‘Andersson, Myrstigan Two?’

‘Yepp, Andersson, that’s me. Myrstigen Two.’

‘Right you are, sign here!’

The driver held out his order pad, and Tompa scribbled something illegible.

‘Do you want it all here by the gate?’ The driver went round to the back of the van and opened the doors.

‘Here will do fine. We’ll put it all in the cellar afterwards.’

The driver looked at Tompa’s leather waistcoat and seemed to be weighing up how to react. But then he shrugged and lowered the ramp at the back of the lorry, got out the trolley and
started to pile up the boxes. He unloaded them at the gate, and then went and fetched some more. Looking rather stressed, he thumbed through his delivery instructions and checked the boxes still in
the lorry. Some boxes were to be delivered to a retirement home too, he noticed, and he fumbled with the lists. Then he put another three boxes on his trolley, stopped and checked through the lists
again, then changed his mind and replaced the three boxes with four others. Then he ticked off the items on his list and wheeled the boxes to the gate.

‘Right, then. That’s the lot,’ he said, at the same moment catching sight of the shop dummy. The dress hung down crookedly. ‘Ah, you’re in the fashion branch,
right?’

‘Not exactly.’ Tompa blushed.

‘Oh I see. Nowadays lots of guys like women’s clothes. You don’t have to be ashamed of something like that . . .’

‘What the . . .’ Tompa raised his hand to hit the driver but managed to restrain himself. ‘No, no, it’s for my girlfriend, you know. A surprise . . .’

The driver broke into a wide smile, closed the back doors of his lorry and climbed up into the cab.

‘Don’t be shy, guys. I know what it’s like. I like dressing up sometimes. You can actually find really lovely clothes second-hand. Lots of lace, frills and the like.’ He
laughed, put the lorry into first gear and drove off with the wheels spinning.

‘Idiot!’ Tompa muttered. ‘Take it easy. Drop it, and come and check out the boxes instead.’

‘There’ll be loads of stuff here for our party. What about having a raffle?’

‘A raffle? We’re not having an afternoon tea session for housewives, OK?’

‘Well, what about giving prizes?’

Tompa didn’t get any further than that before they heard the sound of an engine again and a delivery van from a well-known wine merchants approached at full speed. It slowed down and
finally came to a halt right in front of the old house. Jörgen prodded Tompa in his side.

‘This is our lucky day, no doubt about it!’

Tompa nodded and signalled to the driver to lower his side window.

‘Is this Andersson, Myrstigen Two?’

‘That’s right. You can put the boxes next to the others,’ directed Tompa authoritatively and he pointed to the pile next to the gate. ‘We’ve a party this
evening!’

The driver glanced at Tompa’s tattoos and hesitated.

‘Gimme the paper so I can scribble on it!’ Tompa roared and grabbed the delivery list. With a grand gesture he wrote his illegible signature, and then gave the driver a hearty thump
on his back. He talked a bit about the weather and watched as the stressed delivery driver unloaded his van with more boxes of booze. Perfect – just what they wanted! He followed after him
and helped to unload the cartons while Jörgen stacked them next to the others.

‘Cloudberry liqueur? Who drinks that?’ the driver asked when they had finished.

‘The girls, you know,’ said Tompa.

The driver rolled his eyes and climbed back into the cab.

‘And that shop dummy, what’s that for?’ the driver asked, pointing at the mannequin which leaned at an angle next to the gate.

‘Drunk as hell! Cloudberry liqueur is potent stuff,’ Tompa smirked.

The driver guffawed, started the van, raised his hand in a wave, and set off.

‘He didn’t check very carefully. Just because we were here by the gate he thought it was our booze,’ Tompa laughed.

‘He just wanted to be on his way as soon as he saw us. But what shall we do about the oldies?’

‘They’ll think the goods haven’t arrived yet or they’ll forget the whole order. Short-term memory and all that. That’s what happens when you get old. We can simply
take the lot.’

‘But if they kick up a fuss, what then?’

‘We’ll soon sort it out.’

‘OK, but we’d better take the shop dummy first before anybody else catches sight of it.’

Tompa fetched their big trolley from the yard and quickly loaded all the boxes. Then they took the lot up to their shed, unloaded it all and returned with the snow blower. They still had time to
cover the tracks of the deliveries.

The glassed-in veranda was really cosy and they were all happily occupied with something. Anna-Greta and Gunnar were solving sudoku puzzles, Martha was knitting, Christina was
reading and Rake looked longingly out across to where a big ship was passing. Brains put his feet up on the sheepskin stool in front of him and hummed in contentment.

‘We haven’t ended up in prison yet,’ Brains said. ‘Now we’ve fooled the police again. We’re getting good at this.’

Prison? They all gave a start and it was as if the light from the oil lamps fluttered in fright. The unease could be seen in everyone’s eyes. As with health care and schools, things had
gone downhill for the country’s prisons recently. No member of the League of Pensioners wanted to end up behind bars again.

The gang had eaten a good dinner and the coffee cups had been emptied. ‘We’ve committed a crime and mustn’t get too cocky, that would be dreadfully dangerous. The police might
be on our tracks without us having a clue about it,’ said Martha, putting her knitting down on her lap. She was busy knitting a scarf for Brains and discovered to her horror that she had made
it striped black and white, so that it reminded her of prison clothes. It might be best to dye it another colour perhaps? The week had passed by quickly, it was Friday evening and they really ought
to do something. After all, the art of living a good life was to brighten up grey everyday life with tiny treats. That was what made life worth living. She looked around her. Anna-Greta and Gunnar
were still busy with their sudoku, Brains had started to dismantle an old wireless and Rake had got out his Tarot cards. Christina looked up from her book and sneaked a look at him. Now that he
didn’t visit Lillemor any longer, he interpreted his future in the Tarot cards all by himself. He had laid the cards out in a circle on the veranda table and tried to work out if he could see
any sort of pattern. Christina gave him a stern look, put her book to one side and pulled out her nail file. Then she started to file her nails with rapid, sweeping movements. Rake hadn’t
actually been over to Lillemor for a long time, perhaps everything would work out in the end. Martha looked at the wall clock and put her knitting aside.

‘We ought to see if they mention the bank robbery on the news this evening. It’s been unusually quiet for a while.’ Martha got up and went into the library. The others looked
at each other, picked up their things and hesitantly followed after her. Rake extinguished the oil lamps and looked out across the bay again. Now the water was dark and still. Rake gathered up his
Tarot cards and thought about his son, Nils, who was out at sea for the majority of the year. It occurred to Rake that it would be nice if he could invite him to the house, then they could rent a
yacht and sail around for a few days. The islands here might not be a match for those outside Göteborg across on the west coast, but Nils ought to see a bit of them anyway. Rake recalled how
they had often visited the Maritime Museum together. Now that his son was grown up they hardly ever saw each other. But this coming summer perhaps things could be different. Rake nodded silently to
himself and steered his steps towards the library. Martha had already turned the TV on.

‘Yes, it’s weird that they haven’t said any more about the bank robbery,’ commented Brains. ‘That must mean they don’t have any leads.’

‘Pity for them! Ten million kronor are missing and the police don’t have a clue about the perpetrators.’ Anna-Greta smiled and squeezed Gunnar’s hand. The others quickly
exchanged glances. Nowadays Gunnar almost never went home; he spent most of his time here in the old house. He and Anna-Greta were always sitting in front of the computer, and after supper one of
them would sneak into the other’s room when they thought nobody was watching.

The opening jingle of the TV news could be heard and Martha now turned up the volume so that Anna-Greta could hear. Her friend still refused to use a hearing aid.

‘Perhaps it was rather rash of us to hand out the money so soon after the robbery. What if the police link the bank robbery with all the gifts to the retirement homes?’ Rake
said.

‘Oh no, nobody cares at all what goes on in retirement homes, we don’t need to worry,’ Martha said.

‘Besides, we haven’t handed everything out yet; we’ve got lots more in the cellar and other orders are awaiting delivery. I’ve sent off for some more stuff,’
Anna-Greta pointed out. ‘It should arrive any day now.’

‘Quiet, now they’re interviewing the police.’ Christina hushed everybody so that she could hear. She poured out a cup of coffee and listened attentively. The reporter
interviewed a Chief Inspector Blomberg who looked most concerned, and when he started to talk about a professional international gang being involved in a bank robbery, the friends burst out
laughing. The reporter asked whether the police had any leads, but the chief inspector just shook his head and said: ‘No comment!’ However, he did want to get in touch with shoe shops
that sold Oldvan boots.

‘Martha, couldn’t you have tied the laces a bit better?’ Rake complained.

‘For goodness’ sake, a stiff on a stretcher can’t rob a bank, even a policeman must understand that,’ Martha hissed in answer.

‘We would like the public to get in touch with any information they might have,’ Chief Inspector Blomberg went on. ‘We would gratefully welcome any observations made in the
vicinity of the bank.’ The reporter nodded enthusiastically and Blomberg twice cleared his throat before going on: ‘After the explosive was detonated inside the bank vault, we can see
two badly injured people being carried out on stretchers and taken to an ambulance on the CCTV But the strange thing is that nobody has seen them since.’

‘No, quite right,’ Christina joyfully exclaimed. ‘We’ve fooled the lot of you! Haha!’

‘We are hoping for the injured parties to get in contact with the police,’ Blomberg went on.

‘Right you are, I shall immediately ask the mannequins to phone you,’ Rake joked.

‘But the casualties must have been taken to hospital,’ the reporter pointed out. ‘Can’t you trace them there?’

‘Of course, but, like I said, we don’t want to make all the details public yet. We would, however, welcome more tips.’