Life Deluxe

by Jens Lapidus

  He wondered if Jorge had gotten away.

  He wondered how Javier was doing.

  Deputy Inspector Flemström explained the formal guidelines for what was about to happen. “So, Martin, we’re going to interrogate you now. You’re a former police officer, so you know how this works. I will soon start the recorder. Do you want something to drink before we begin? Coffee? Water?”

  Hägerström smiled inside once more. They were offering him something to drink to make him feel comfortable. He shook his head, declined.

  Jenny Flemström hit “record” on the Dictaphone.

  “This is an interrogation with Martin Hägerström. Deputy Inspector Jenny Flemström and Deputy Inspector Håkan Nilsson are present. The date is October eighth, and it is three o’clock in the morning. We are recording the interrogation.”

  Hägerström looked at Flemström. She was holding a pen in one hand, clicking the ballpoint up and down.

  “Tell us what you were doing at the Mug Café tonight.”

  “I was just there to grab a coffee with an acquaintance. His name is Javier.”

  “And how do you know him?”

  “We got to know each other in Thailand a couple weeks ago, I haven’t known him for long.”

  “Are you good friends?”

  “No, we’ve known each other for such a short time.”

  “And how long were you in Thailand?”

  “Around three weeks.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “Vacation. I used to work in Bangkok, so I know some people there.”

  “How did you get to know Javier?”

  “We happened to be staying at the same hotel in Phuket.”

  “Did you spend a lot of time together?”

  “Yes, by the end we were hanging out pretty much every day, but it was just for a few days.”

  “What’s Javier’s full name?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “How can you not know what his last name is? Don’t you think that sounds a little bit odd?”

  “Not at all—we didn’t have that type of relationship. We just drank beer and went to bars and stuff.”

  Flemström continued asking questions. She took notes. Nilsson was also taking notes in the background. When it was over, Hägerström was going to call Deputy Inspector Flemström and teach her some things about interrogation technique. She was too fast, wanted to move the interrogation along too quickly. She wasn’t taking the time to establish patterns.

  Maybe he ought to speak the truth, tell them he was an undercover operative in the middle of an important operation. But that might jeopardize the entire investigation. They were at a critical stage right now. So he just played along. He didn’t have anything to fear: he was a regular police officer in an unusual situation.

  Flemström moved into different territory. “Tell us a little bit about your background.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What do you do for work?”

  “I’m looking for work. Previously I worked as a corrections officer at the Salberga Penitentiary. And you know what I did before that. I was fired from the police force in the spring. I live in Stockholm and have a son who lives with his mother on Lidingö.”

  “Okay. And what kind of job are you looking for?”

  “Guard jobs, CO jobs, stuff like that.”

  “And how do you support yourself?”

  “I live cheaply, and I’ve saved up.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “On Östermalm. In a coop apartment, a two-bedroom on Banérgatan.”

  Hägerström stared straight into Flemström’s eyes. She reacted noticeably when he told her where he lived. He’d seen the same reaction many times from police colleagues. His housing situation didn’t exactly signal middle class. But Flemström was most certainly thinking: How can a former police officer and corrections officer afford to live in a coop on Östermalm?

  She went on. Leaned her torso across the table, toward Hägerström.

  “And Jorge Salinas Barrio—how do you know him?”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “Have you ever met him before?”

  “If you’re referring to Javier’s friend, then yes. We met once, also in Thailand.”

  “Does he know Javier well?”

  “Yes, I think so. I think they’re good friends. At least I know they knew each other before Thailand.”

  Deputy Inspector Flemström leaned back. Pleased with his answer. Again: entry-level interrogation technique. Lean in when you’re attacking, lean back when you’ve gotten what you want.

  “So what was he doing at the Mug Café?” she continued.

  “I have no idea. I didn’t know he was coming. Maybe Javier told him to come.”

  It was cold in the interrogation room. Hägerström glanced at the heater that was hanging on the wall. It was probably dead.

  Flemström continued: “Babak Behrang—do you know him?”

  “No.”

  “Have you heard of him?”

  “No, no clue.”

  “Mahmud al-Askori—do you recognize that name?”

  “No, never heard the name, never met him.”

  “Okay then. How about Robert Progat?”

  “No, same story there.”

  “Tom Lehtimäki?”

  “Same story. Who are they?”

  Flemström’s response came shooting back at him: “We’re the ones asking the questions here.”

  Once again Hägerström noticed how unprofessional she was. The right technique would have been to try to connect with him, make him feel comfortable, make him feel he had nothing to fear. Not to cut him off like that. He looked at Håkan Nilsson, tried to see if he understood what Hägerström understood.

  He basically got as much of a reaction as from the heater on the wall. Nilsson’s gaze was ice cold.

  He thought about Javier again. Hoped the officers hadn’t seriously hurt him. Hägerström would be released soon. Javier would definitely remain—that was the point of the hit. It felt strange.

  He thought about what he had done.

  How would this end? How would he get to see Javier again?

  * * *

  From: Lennart Torsfjäll [lennart.​torsfjall@​polise.​se]

  To: Leif Hammarskiöld [leif.​hammarskiold@​polis.​se]

  Sent: October 8

  Subject: Operation Tide; The Pillow Biter

  DELETE THIS EMAIL AFTER READING!

  Leif,

  I am writing to you this early morning so that you won’t be too shocked by tomorrow’s headlines. Tonight a raid took place in which the operative with the internal alias Pillow Biter was involved.

  As you know, the Pillow Biter’s primary mission has been to infiltrate and gather information regarding serious economic crime. Thereby he has become close with Johan “JW” Westlund, who is suspected of being a leader in the large money-laundering scheme that the Economic Crimes Bureau is currently investigating within the framework of the Octopus Project (see my attached memo). Over the past few weeks, the Pillow Biter has also gained access to a group of professional criminals, so-called “New Swedes,” who are suspected of carrying out the CIT robbery against Tomteboda. I personally steered him in that direction since I believe we can kill two birds with one stone.

  One of the suspects was arrested during the raid, which took place around three hours ago. Another suspect, Jorge Salinas Barrio, succeeded in escaping under spectacular circumstances and is still at large, but intensive efforts are being taken even as this e-mail is being written. Due to the nature of the Tomteboda robbery and the Pillow Biter’s background as a police officer, we can expect that the media will blow up tonight’s police failures. Therefore I wanted to inform you as to why the Pillow Biter was on the scene of the raid. I sincerely hope that we will have succeeded in detaining Salinas Barrio by the time you read this, so that we don’t have to be ridiculed further by our dear left-leaning media.
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  I want to add that the Pillow Biter’s so-called orientation does not appear to have otherwise affected the operation.

  I will call you tomorrow morning at nine o’clock as well. Do not hesitate to contact me at any time of the day or night.

  Finally, I suggest that we continue to use our agreed-upon encryption key for these e-mails.

  Lennart

  51

  Natalie’s feet hurt—she’d bruised them kicking Marko.

  It was nine o’clock at night. Not even twenty-four hours’d passed since she’d given that little traitor what he deserved. Even less time’d passed since Mischa Bladman’d called and told her that the Russians were getting involved. And at that point Bladman didn’t even know what they’d done to Marko.

  Still: he acted quickly. When she’d called back and told him she wanted to see JW, he set up a meeting right away.

  And now here she was, sitting in one of the executive suites at the Hotel Diplomat, waiting. Natalie was actually glad Bladman’d called and whined about Moscow—that forced JW to see her again.

  It was a corner suite, facing out toward the water in Nybroviken, apparently designed by some distinctive architect. A bedroom with a luxury bed, a living room with a luxury sofa, and a bathroom with its own steam sauna. Bathrobes from Pellevävare—thick and soft. Products from L’Occitane. Pale colors, simple patterns, sheer curtains that let in the autumn light. Parquet floors that creaked in an old-fashioned way, more authentic than their new floors at home in Näsbypark. There were fresh flowers everywhere, even in the bathroom.

  Adam was sitting in the sofa, playing with his cell phone. He looked calm. Natalie knew he was carrying at least two weapons.

  She’d opened the balcony doors. Fifth floor—ought to be safe. Adam in the living room, and one other guy down in the lobby—since the conflict with Stefanovic’d kicked into full gear, she actually felt safe only at home in her family’s house and in hotel rooms.

  But still, the fear was there, present all the time. Like chills along her spine, like a feeling that she was constantly being watched. She stopped drinking regular Red Bull and only downed Red Bull Energy Shot—not because it was that much stronger but because it took less time to ingest. She drank two at a time. She took valerian to come down. She made chamomile tea to calm her nerves. She couldn’t make up her mind. Did she want to crawl into bed and sleep, or did she want to stay awake twenty-four-seven?

  She thought about the preliminary results from Ulf Bergström, the forensic technician at Forensic Rapid Research, the private lab they’d hired. He hadn’t found any DNA he could use. But he’d found fingerprints on two guns at the Black & White Inn that were clear enough to be searchable. The person who bought the plastic explosives and the Russian weapons—probably a Stetjkin and the Glock—had also touched these guns. Natalie considered handing the information over to the police so that they could run the findings through their databases. Thomas dissuaded her. He wanted to try to do it on his own—maybe he could get access to the databases without having to involve the police formally. He thought he would know if it was possible in the next few days.

  The hotel phone rang. Natalie picked it up.

  “You have a visitor down here.”

  “Ask him to show ID.”

  There was silence on the phone for a moment, then the receptionist said, “Johan Westlund. He says he goes by JW.”

  “Okay, send him up.”

  At the very moment she hung up the phone, her cell rang. Her guy down in the lobby reported that JW was on his way up.

  There was a knock at the door. Adam peered through the peephole. Opened the door.

  Natalie took a deep breath—JW looked fantastic. His hair wasn’t as tightly slicked back as the last time they’d seen each other. His overcoat and jacket fit like an extra skin over his shirt, which must’ve been made of insanely nice cotton—it gleamed even thought the light from outside was pale. His cufflinks had a green stone set in the middle. They matched the handkerchief that peeked out of his breast pocket.

  But more than anything, it was his gaze. JW’s eyes were glittering. Natalie thought, He’s so fucking hot. And he knows we’re negotiating today.

  They embraced. He didn’t smile. Natalie told him to keep his coat on and showed him out to the balcony.

  They sat down. Natalie was wearing a pea coat and a scarf wrapped around her neck.

  The situation was different today: her war with Stefanovic’d escalated for real. JW probably felt pressured to act. As it should be—all the bury-your-head-in-the-sand games were over now.

  She cut right to it. “Your colleague told me that Moscow is getting fed up. Tell me more.”

  JW twiddled his thumbs. “I’ve already told you—you have to stop.”

  “Are you my boss or what?”

  “No, but I’m not speaking for myself. Moscow is irritated.”

  “Tell me more, please.”

  “All this conflict isn’t good for this city,” he said. “For instance, Moscow believes you and Stefanovic are playing hide-and-seek with the information they need. I don’t know any details, but it can’t continue like that.”

  Natalie had to remain calm. She wasn’t balanced—she felt excited, worried, and cool as ice all at the same time. The negotiation situation: so much was at stake. At the same time: she was visualizing JW in front of her, naked. She saw him kiss her. She was Natalie Kranjic—she set the rules of the game. She took what she wanted.

  She said, “Come with me into the bedroom.”

  She could tell by his eyes that he understood.

  They walked in through the living room. Adam didn’t even look up.

  They closed the bedroom door behind them.

  She positioned herself close to JW. His face a head’s length above hers. She took a tiny step forward.

  “There’s got to be a way for us to solve this, right?”

  He bent his head down, she could feel his breath, it smelled of spearmint.

  His face came up close against her. His chin brushed by her cheek.

  She grabbed hold of his neck. Pressed him against her. Kissed him.

  They threw themselves onto the bed. She rolled on top of him. He caressed her ass, hips, thighs.

  He said, “You’re so damn foxy.”

  She said, “You shouldn’t play so tough.”

  He laughed.

  She took off his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  He kissed her neck. Then he kissed her forehead and eyelids.

  The bed was even more comfortable than it looked. Natalie leaned back and stretched out. JW bit her earlobes and lips playfully.

  He cupped her breasts in his hands.

  She took his shirt off. JW was toned. Less than Viktor, but still with accentuated pecs and okay abs. She licked his nipples.

  He groaned.

  She pulled his fly down and pulled his cock out, licked the tip, took him in her mouth, held his cock at the root with one hand, and swallowed the entire length of him.

  He groaned louder.

  She didn’t want him to come. She released him and crawled up. He unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down. She was wearing pink Hanky Panky panties.

  She moved his head down toward her crotch.

  He kissed the inside of her thighs. The outside of her panties—warm breath through them.

  He slipped her panties off. Kissed her pussy.

  She felt him spread her with his fingers.

  His tongue carefully found its way down there.

  He brought one hand up to her breasts, carefully pinched one of her nipples.

  His tongue continued to swirl around down there. Slowly approached her clit.

  She felt how he massaged her pussy with the fingers of his other hand.

  Delivered wide-tongued licks, then with the thin tip of his tongue, to the side, back and forth, alternately. He moved it in circles.

  She tensed her body. Almost squirmed away from him.

 
He licked faster and faster.

  It was as though electric shocks were pulsing through her body.

  His tongue was everywhere.

  She screamed. Her body in convulsions.

  She came.

  They lay still. Her pulse was still racing.

  A minute or so later she climbed on top of him, sat. She was wet. His cock slipped in easily.

  He moved his pelvis. She moved in time with him.

  Natalie felt him inside her.

  She leaned forward. He grabbed hold of her ass.

  In and out. He caressed her breasts.

  The bed bounced to their rhythm.

  She saw him breathing faster.

  She felt sweat on her back.

  Saw sweat on JW’s brow.

  They moved in time with each other.

  His body pounded against the sheets.

  She was close to coming again.

  She felt the rush through her body.

  Pulsing shocks through her pussy, through her belly, through her back.

  Waves of pleasure washed over her heart.

  She screamed.

  It was unclear if he came as well.

  They were lying next to each other. Hadn’t said much yet.

  Natalie said, “At least you’re good for one thing.”

  “You too.”

  “Let’s finish talking.”

  He smiled. “Okay, I think it’ll go better now that we’ve broken the ice.”

  “What do you want in order to come over to my side?” she said.

  JW stared up at the ceiling. “Your war has to end. It’s ruining business. I want you to be as loyal to me in business as I will be to you. And I have a proposition.”

  Natalie waited.

  “I want you to make sure that a certain thing happens,” JW said.

  “What?”

  “I’ll get to that. Be patient.”

  He smiled.

  They talked. For a long time. Bounced ideas back and forth. JW offered propositions. Natalie told him what she needed help with—he already knew most of it. She wanted to understand exactly how he worked. He was unwilling to tell her.