The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again!

by Ingelman-Sundberg, Catharina

  There was a lot of stuff that had to be moved. Anders and Emma came to help. They arrived in a Volvo estate and had even attached quite a large trailer. The personal belongings of the League of Pensioners were loaded into the back of the Volvo, but there wasn’t room for it all and Anders would look after the rest and drive it out to them later. They needed the trailer for another purpose. Together with Rake, Anders attached the trailer to the minibus and then they filled it with all the whisky they had left in the earth cellar, and topped that with some bottles of liqueur and champagne.

  ‘Pity about all the booze,’ said Rake, and he patted one of the boxes sadly.

  ‘OK, ready? I’m starting up now,’ said Anders, and he rolled down the hill until he got as far as the corner out to the road. They had gathered there earlier in the morning and discovered that that was the only place where you couldn’t see either their own big old house or the yellow house. That way, nobody would be able to see that the cars and boats were gone. Anders pulled up the handbrake, got out of the minibus and looked about him.

  ‘Yes, this should do nicely, just a little bit further,’ he noted, before getting back into the bus again. Then he reversed a bit closer to the ditch so that the trailer was leaning over at an ominous angle and now blocked the road.

  ‘Right that’s perfect,’ he said, pleased, and got out again. Then he went round to the back of the bus and opened the doors. Together with Brains and Rake, he pushed out some cartons of whisky which fell onto the road. Then he opened the bonnet, took out the sparking plugs and gave them to Brains.

  ‘Now the most depressing part.’ Rake sighed and pushed out some more boxes of champagne and liqueur which fell onto the whisky so that many of the bottles got smashed. Slowly the precious drink dripped onto the gravel and seeped down into the ditch.

  ‘This is just too sad,’ muttered Rake, who always found it hard to see precious drops going to waste. He purposefully went up to the trailer and dipped his hand in one of the aromatic puddles. Then he licked his fingers and thumb for a long time, savouring the taste.

  The Copenhagen meeting had gone on a bit longer than expected, but in the end the committee made the decision that the Bandangels had waited for, for such a long time. Their club had been admitted into Mad Angels as full members. The successful way in which the Bandangels had emptied the storehouse in the Stockholm docks had tilted the decision in their favour. Beylings had lost everything when they hadn’t paid in those ten million, and now the motorbike gang had acquired lots of goods worth so much more. Tompa and Jörgen cheered when they heard the decision and then knocked back so many beers that they had to sing and roar out all the time. On the Saturday evening, the celebrations knew no bounds. They ran riot along the Ströget and in the early hours of the following morning, Tompa, now drunk and crazy, had put swimming trunks on a statue of the Little Mermaid, making her look quite ridiculous. She didn’t look any better when he added a hat and sunglasses, and painted her lips with motor oil. In the end, Jörgen had been forced to stop him, when Tompa carved the Bandangels logo on her tail fin and added an ‘I love you’. Luckily, Tompa was always in a happy mood when he was drunk, so he had nothing against Jörgen deleting the logo, and, joyfully singing, they wandered along the shore until they finally collapsed on a park bench. When they woke up at dawn, they hobbled back to the hotel in a lovely sunrise, fell asleep and didn’t wake up until lunchtime, when they had more or less recovered. Tompa lay half awake, looking rather the worse for wear, when his mobile rang.

  ‘Who’s ringing now?’ he complained, picking up the phone.

  ‘Lillemor,’ he said, and he pointed at the mobile when Jörgen gave him a questioning look.

  ‘Oh yeah, the hocus-pocus woman,’ mumbled Jörgen, and he watched as Tompa listened with half-closed eyes and hummed and hawed now and then without saying much.

  ‘Sure, we’ll come right away, old girl!’ Tompa said finally, and he smiled and put the mobile on the bedside table. He turned towards Jörgen. ‘She’s quite a laugh, that Lillemor. She sounded totally pissed and said that all our stuff had gone.’

  ‘What if she’s right? What if Beylings have been there and taken all their stuff back?’

  ‘She was pissed out of her mind. Nope, cool it.’

  ‘But to be on the safe side, I think we’d best leave now,’ said Jörgen. And that’s what they did.

  It was early evening when Tompa, Jörgen and four other Bandangels members came roaring into Myrstigen. On their way up the hill they could see that something was wrong and they screeched to a halt. The oldies’ minibus was stuck there with one wheel in the ditch while the big trailer blocked the road. Here and there lay boxes and broken bottles in the road, and some whisky bottles of the very finest sort had rolled into the ditch.

  Tompa exclaimed, ‘Those old people shouldn’t be allowed to drive!’

  The bikers got off their bikes and looked at the mess.

  ‘Well, perhaps it’s not such a bad thing? Just look at what they’ve left: whisky and champagne. Let them keep on driving! Let’s just take a few bottles!’ Jörgen suggested.

  ‘Yeah, we’ll just help ourselves!’ said Tompa, grabbing a bottle. The boys started to walk round the trailer to see how they could lift it away from the road. Then there was a sudden rustling in the bushes and Martha came from down by the beach.

  ‘Oh dearie me, sorry about this, it all went wrong! I tried to drive and I shouldn’t have done,’ she started to explain, throwing up her hands. ‘But we’ve phoned for a tow truck so it’ll all be sorted soon. Why not have a drink with us down in the sauna in the meanwhile? We’ve got some pickled herring and vodka too.’

  Tompa and Jörgen looked at the trailer, thought it over and glanced down towards the bay.

  ‘You can just leave your motorbikes here. That’s all right. They’re not in the way. Take a bottle, we can’t drink it all by ourselves,’ Martha went on, and she pointed at the damaged cartons with the whisky bottles.

  ‘Herring and vodka. Yeah, why not? What do you say, lads?’ Tompa turned to the others.

  The boys who had driven all the way from Copenhagen and only had two breaks were hot and tired and had absolutely nothing against going straight to a table with food waiting. Herring, and vodka to wash it down – that was never wrong. The old girl was right. They could leave their bikes at the bottom of the hill and perhaps go for a swim afterwards, too. Several hours in that black leather gear had left its mark. They all stank of sweat.

  ‘OK, then,’ Tompa and Jörgen mumbled, and the others nodded in agreement. They took off their helmets and followed Martha down to the beach. There on the terrace outside the sauna stood a long table with various sorts of herring and several bottles of vodka. Koskenkorva from Finland, some flavoured Swedish varieties and a Smirnoff glistened in the sun, and from the sauna you could smell the burning birch logs. It all smelt very inviting.

  ‘Well, now, boys, just help yourselves. There’s nothing as delightful as an early summer evening. One should enjoy it!’ said Christina briskly, and she tried to hide the fact that her legs were trembling and her kneecaps were shaking out of step. The boys combed their sweaty hair, mumbled a thank-you and looked on with amusement as the old ladies filled their schnapps glasses. Brains and Rake, for their part, served fancy breads and freshly baked bread while Martha put out serving dishes filled with herring, sliced eggs and beetroot.

  ‘Did you know, boys, that we oldies used to sing in the same choir? Now, let’s all join in and sing a traditional drinking song together!’

  ‘Helan går, sjung hopp fallerallan lej,’ Martha started up in a jolly tone and then the rest of the League of Pensioners, including Gunnar, sang in parts and the Bandangels joined them as best they could and under general amusement. ‘Skååål!’ they all shouted out across the water as they raised their glasses and then downed their drinks in one. The herring, bread and trimmings went the rounds, and they had hardly started eating before it was time for a new toast.
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  ‘Now we shall sing the bumble-bee song,’ said Anna-Greta with her thunderous voice, and she held up her schnapps glass. ‘Are you ready, boys?’

  And whether they were ready or not, Anna-Greta soon smothered any objections when she started singing.

  ‘We are little bumble-bees, that’s what we are, bzzzz, bzzzz. We are little bumble-bees, that’s what we are, bzzzz, bzzzz.’ At this point she started giggling. ‘We are little bumble-bees and here’s a toast for you, we are little bumble-bees . . .’ Then she burst out laughing and lost the thread.

  Now Christina took over: ‘We are little angels, that’s what we are, swoosh, swoosh. We are little angels, that’s what we are, swoosh, swoosh. We are little angels and here’s a toast for you . . .’

  Then Martha, who realized that these giants would need more than a few schnapps to get drunk, took over and in quick succession proposed toasts for the sauna, the coming summer, the birch trees, the cowslips and all the whisky that had spilled on the road, while Rake went round after round and made sure that the schnapps glasses were never empty. After a while, when the Bandangels had toasted more times than they could remember, the leather gear started to feel sticky and the smell of sweat spread among them.

  ‘What about it, mates? We were going to go for a swim before dinner, right? Come and join us!’ Brains exclaimed, and he started to take off his shirt.

  ‘Yes, you go for a swim, and I’ll start making dinner,’ Martha added. ‘What about something on the grill? I’ve got some lovely lamb steaks . . .’

  ‘No,’ said Jörgen.

  ‘Now listen, boys. We’re still waiting for the tow truck and you have had such a long journey. What do you say? This evening we neighbours can provide dinner. So you can have a sauna and go for a swim. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure that,’ said Tompa, hesitating. He thought about the telephone call from Lillemor and that perhaps he ought to go and check that everything was as it should be. Oh, but if he went to see her now, she would surely insist on telling his fortune and he wouldn’t be able to get away. She’d been drunk and would probably still be sleeping off her hangover. Anyway, if anything serious had happened, then the oldies would have said something, wouldn’t they? A bit of grub first would do no harm. Lillemor could sometimes be a real fusspot. They were better off with these old girls and guys, and that Martha, she wasn’t nearly as weird as Lillemor.

  ‘A bit of grub and a sauna would just fit the bill,’ Tompa decided, with Jörgen and the others soon expressing agreement. Relieved, they started to take off their sweaty leather waistcoats and dirty boots.

  ‘Right then, we girls will go and prepare the food,’ said Martha, and she started to walk up towards the road. ‘Rake, you can help us to get the grill going.’

  Rake nodded and followed after the ladies while Brains and the bikers got undressed. They threw off their clothes in the room outside the sauna just like Brains, and then went in and sat on the benches. Brains poured some water onto the hot stones and put all his concentration into not spilling it. Even so, he did spill most of the water because, to tell the truth, he had never been so nervous in all his life. Here he was, sitting naked with six drunken Bandangels bikers, as Martha had instructed. What idiotic idea had she thought up now? Did she care so little about him that she could put him at such risk? Brains tried to keep his spirits up by talking about motorbikes and trips he had made when he was young. Besides, he and Rake had put a whole crate of beer in the sauna outhouse earlier that day, and now and then he nipped out to fetch a few bottles which he handed round. The atmosphere became all the jollier and everybody was having a good time, although it gradually got far too hot. Brains ladled some more water onto the stones and loudly announced: ‘Time for a swim, boys, right?’

  ‘It’s hot in here,’ Tompa agreed and the Bandangels members made their way, on somewhat unsteady legs and with merry shouts, down towards the bay. At that moment, Brains suddenly remembered that the luxury boats were no longer there and started to panic. Now Tompa and the other lads would see what had happened.

  ‘Listen, guys, it’s much better to swim from the shore over there,’ he said and pointed in the other direction. ‘Just run across and throw yourselves in!’

  ‘That’s it. I’ll race you!’ Tompa roared out.

  ‘You go and enjoy yourselves, you youngsters. I must take it a bit easy and have a shower instead,’ said Brains, and he stayed behind.

  ‘We’re grilling a large joint of lamb. Do you want chips to go with it?’ Martha called out from higher up the slope.

  ‘Oh yeah, that’d be great,’ Tompa bawled merrily and took the lead down to the beach. ‘Last one in is a sissy!’ he shouted out, and then dived in head first. Brains watched, and when they were all out of sight, he put on his clothes and hurried up to the road.

  ‘Roast lamb!’ he shouted, and that was the signal to the others. Straight away, Rake, Christina and Anna-Greta came out from behind the bushes and hurried to the sauna. They grabbed the bikers’ clothes and boots as quickly as they could and stuffed them into large carrier bags from the supermarket. Then they ran as fast as they could up to the minibus where Anders and Emma were just unhooking the trailer.

  ‘Have you got the old clothes’ trunk?’ Anna-Greta asked when she climbed into the bus.

  ‘Yes, we’ve put that inside,’ Emma answered, a little out of breath.

  ‘The luggage too?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve packed everything,’ said Anders.

  ‘We’re ready, then. Time for action!’ said Brains, and he opened the bonnet and put back the spark plugs while Martha climbed in and took up position behind the steering wheel. Many a year had passed since she first got her driving licence, but she knew how to steer. As soon as Rake and the girls were installed on the back seats, she started the engine and grabbed the steering wheel. The minibus roared into action, and turned so quickly that they almost ended up in the ditch and jerked to a halt again.

  ‘Goodness, it is fast!’ said Martha, and she opened the car door so that Brains, too, could jump in. ‘Hang on, everybody!’

  ‘Yes, what do you think we’re doing?’ Rake muttered, taking a firm grip with both hands on the door handle. ‘Why didn’t you let Anders drive?’

  ‘He’s got the Volvo. He and Emma have just driven off with the last of our stuff and they’re waiting for us further on.’

  The previous evening, Martha and her friends had realized that they must leave the old house and had decided to hide at a place where nobody would look for them, let alone find them. Rake was in charge when they dug up the gold in the garden, but as they were in such a hurry, they were rather careless. The plants had grown so many roots that soil and worms as well as manure and seeds followed along in the rush, and even half of an ants’ nest full of pismires. But, finally, Rake and Christina could level out the ground again and put all the gold in new black rubbish bags which they – with considerable effort – managed to pack in the car.

  It had not been easy to make the decision to leave their house, and Martha mourned the fact that she couldn’t take her gym equipment with her. Rake had smiled and looked unusually jolly. Clothes, toiletry articles, kitchen equipment and everything else they needed, it was all squeezed into the car which, in the end, was so full that Anders and Emma hardly fitted in themselves. But now the brother and sister would, at any rate, be waiting for them at the car park just after the Skuru Bridge, so that they could travel together. If everything went according to plan, that was.

  Martha drove out towards Värmdövägen at a crazy speed and, already on the first straight bit of the road, she pulled out her mobile and handed it to Christina.

  ‘Please phone the police!’

  Christina keyed in 112.

  ‘Is that the police? Well, it’s about the money from the Handelsbanken robbery. You can fetch the money and the villains at Myrstigen 3, Norra Lagnö,’ Christina said, disguising her voice. ‘The boys are in the s
auna at the moment and, if you’re quick, you’ll be able to nab them straight away. The money? That is hidden inside a shop dummy. It is slightly burnt, but don’t let that fool you. That’s where the thieves have hidden their loot. Hurry now, before those villains have time to escape!’

  Christina ended the call and pulled out the pay-as-you-go sim card.

  Lillemor gave a start when she heard the police sirens. Her head ached and she regretted that she had yet again drunk too much cheap wine. That she never learned. Nowadays she didn’t have a good head for alcohol. Anyhow, it was too late now and she had already slept away the whole day. Clumsily, she rinsed her face in cold water and went into the living room to see what had happened. She opened the door to the terrace. Oh, there were the boys’ motorbikes, how nice – they had followed her advice and returned from Copenhagen. How strange that they had parked their bikes by the ditch down the hill. And the police sirens, what a dreadful noise! It sounded almost as if the pigs were on their way to her house! A moment later, the sirens were silenced, and two police vans screeched to a halt and deliberately blocked the road. What was going on? Admittedly, the Tarot cards had said that she would experience some exciting events this week, but this was really a bit much! Lillemor went to the edge of the terrace to get a better view.