“Ugh, oh dear! What was that?” Anna-Greta wondered, pressing even closer to him.
“Sh, someone is up on deck.” He put his arm around her waist and held her tightly. They stayed still and listened. Now it sounded like whispering voices up there.
“What if they are thieves?” Anna-Greta breathed.
“Could be homeless guys. I’ll go up and take a look.”
“No, don’t do that. It can be dangerous. Stay here with me,” whispered Anna-Greta.
He had second thoughts, remained sitting where he was and stroked her hand. After all he wasn’t twenty any more. What if he rushed up on deck, and the people up there hit him with a hammer? He cursed himself for not having his pistol, but it had been taken from him when he retired. Then he had never got around to applying for a license for a new one. The two sat there in the dark, their nerves on edge. They listened and waited. After a while, there were no more sounds of anybody moving up there and it had become silent again.
“They seem to have gone again. Perhaps they were just some guests who had forgotten something. And then they realized it was locked and closed,” said Anna-Greta in a whisper. She stroked him on his cheek. Blomberg had just been about to suggest that they went up, but now he was distracted. It was so nice to sit here with her, and hadn’t it sounded rather yearning, her voice? As if she was hoping that they were completely on their own again. And, of course, she could be right, a guest might have forgotten something. Yes, why should he always think like a policeman and believe that every sound was a break-in and every person a crook? He smiled in the dark at his own stupidity.
“Oh you’re so lovely,” he mumbled and leaned in closer. She shut her eyes and put her arms around him, but then suddenly sat up straight.
“What’s that?” she said and she sniffed the air suspiciously. “It smells of smoke, doesn’t it?”
“No, not at all,” he answered a little too quickly and he leaned against her once more. In the dark there in their record booth his alert professional attitude had given way to something else, something so much stronger. “You are so lovely,” he said again, and kissed her.
IT HAPPENED JUST WHEN THE WEASEL SQUIRTED GAS OVER THE fenders. A puff of flame and smoke came right at him and he stumbled backwards. Fuck, I poured too much, the insight flashed through his mind before the flames burnt him and set fire to the bandage. He waved and wildly flapped his hand to put it out, but in vain. Water! A rag! Fucking hell, what could he use to put the fire out? He rushed around and caught sight of the wooden box. Kenta had left the lid open. The Weasel reacted as fast as lightning. If he stuck his hand down into the box and closed the lid, then he ought to be able to smother the fire. He dived forward, stuck his hand in, but couldn’t close the lid.
He just had time to scream out, “Fucking lid . . . !” before the fuse of the first firework started to burn.
“Peeewiiihuuit,” came the sound from the wooden box when the fireworks got going. He saw the Galant party box and a green-painted Luxury show box stacked in there, before he was dazzled by a loud sparkling light and had to draw back. Two Bengali Flares started to rotate at the same time that a dozen or so colorful comets in the form of a sun fan shot up into the sky followed by palm bombs and sparkling stars. The barge was flooded in light and the sky lit up with white, red and green cascades of color.
“I said we ought to check what was in . . .” Kenta started.
“Shut up! Fucking help me,” screamed the Weasel and he tried to sit on his hand to smother the flames. Too late did he remember that he had just wiped the petrol off his hands onto the back of his pants.
“Aaaah, fucking damn hell! Keeeenta, help!”
But his friend had panicked and had run in terror toward the gangplank and down onto the quay while the flames spread between the fenders. The Weasel waved his hands up and down but the bandage was alight, the back of his pants was burning and the inside of his hand stung painfully—and especially where the woodpecker’s beak had been removed.
“Fucking hell, fucking damn hell!” he roared out and rushed across the deck while trying to rip off the bandage. Then steps could be heard from the stairs, a key was turned and the door opened with a jerk. An elderly man wearing an unbuttoned fluttering shirt and with a cell in his hand came rushing out onto the deck. When he saw the fire he keyed in something on the display and the Weasel realized that he must have phoned the fire department. Then he headed for the gangplank, but was stopped by an elderly woman with dishevelled hair and her clothes in disarray. She was as thin as a drainpipe, and held a fire extinguisher in her hand. When she saw the fire she acted resolutely. She quickly took a few steps forward, pulled out the cotter pin and pressed the handle. The very next second he was engulfed in foam and had disappeared under a sea of bubbles. Helpless, he gasped for air only to get another dose of foam right in his mouth. He coughed, spat and wallowed there helplessly a while before he finally managed to get his hand free and could wipe his mouth and face clean.
“Saved!” noted the woman cockily with a glance at his smoking pants and sooty bandage, and then quickly moved on to deal with the burning fenders. At the same moment, the man with the cell was ready; he stopped her and took over the extinguisher. He was just about to put the flashlight away to carry on the firefighting work when he caught sight of the Weasel.
“Ahah, so it’s you, you scum! At last! Now I’ll put you in the pokey!”
The Weasel got up quickly. Shit, a fucking pig? He threw himself down the gangplank and ran after the fleeing Kenta. Feeling the cold sting through the hole that had been burnt in his pants, and with the bandage fluttering like a pennant, he fled as fast as he could toward their little motorboat at Hornsberg. Panting, he reached it just as Kenta had got the engine going. His friend untied the mooring ropes and he jumped in almost at the same second that Kenta opened the throttle. Without any lights, they disappeared into the night in the direction of Huvudsta.
“Hell, that was just one big fuckup,” groaned the Weasel trying to sort out his bandage. “This stings like hell!”
“Who would damn well have thought that there’d be seniors making out in the dark on the barge?”
“And a fucking pig, too. I think he recognized me. The Silver Punk restaurant! Ugh! What a fucking disaster. Life was easier inside!”
“We’d better lie low a while. Otherwise we’ll end up there sooner than we think.” Kenta increased their speed. A gust of wind blew over the water and the surface rippled. Soon the motorboat was just a little shadow far out on the lake.
45
ANNA-GRETA STOOD ALONE ON THE QUAY IN WET, STICKY clothes and felt betrayed. The foam had dirtied her fine dress and her hair was a mess. Admittedly, the fire department had managed to put the fire out, and she ought to be pleased about that, but then everything had gone wrong. When the police and the fire department had left the quay, Blomberg had said that he must regrettably go home immediately—without giving her any further explanation. Then he had kissed her quickly on the cheek and had just rushed off. Since the power had come on again, presumably he meant that she could now manage without him. But the two of them had had such a wonderful evening together and she couldn’t understand why he was suddenly in such a hurry. Oh heavens above, it had turned into such a dismal failure and standing there abandoned in her loneliness she felt totally worthless as a woman. That damned man, one ought to keep one’s distance from men. They always made you unhappy, she thought.
Sad and angry at the same time, she pulled the police tape to one side and went down below deck to fetch her coat. Then she discovered that Blomberg had forgotten his overcoat when he’d left in such a big hurry. Oh well, in that case he ought to come back. She could, of course, simply wait for him, but perhaps it was smarter to take the coat back to him herself. If she went to his home now, he might let her in. Yes, why not, and then they could continue as if nothing had happened. He had mentioned where he lived; wasn’t it somewhere near Kungsholmen?
Cheered up by the thought, she put on her coat and took his coat under her arm. She could phone him first, of course. That same moment she felt his wallet in the coat pocket and couldn’t resist the temptation. There must be an address in there. She eagerly opened his old black leather wallet and started to search. There were some banknotes, a Stockholm travel card for the underground and a Visa card. But she couldn’t find his address. Strange. She was just about to hang the coat up again when a little card fell out of the other pocket. She quickly bent down and picked it up. Yes, it was his picture on a plastic identity card. She put on her glasses and read it. Her eyes widened in horror, and she read it again. It couldn’t be true. A policemen’s association card! His policemen’s association card! Her heart started thumping, and she had to look several times before she could take it in. So that scoundrel had been spying on them! She had nourished a serpent in her bosom (even though it had been really lovely just an hour or so ago).
Feeling exhausted, she put the card back in his pocket and hung the coat on a hanger. Then came the tears, and now she did nothing to stop the flow. Sniffling, she turned off the lights, locked everything, went up on deck and then down onto the quay sobbing all the way. And she stood there outside the police tape for a long time without even buttoning her coat or putting on her shawl, and without the energy to pick up her cell and phone for a taxi. A long time passed before she had at last pulled herself together, dialed the number and ordered a taxi. When the taxi arrived she didn’t even bother to hide the fact that she had been crying. It was getting quite light out now and the morning breeze was coming in, but she didn’t notice and didn’t think about it either. If she had been her usual old self and not completely exhausted, she would certainly have noticed that the mooring ropes had been damaged by the fire. But all the way to Djursholm she sat in the backseat and sniffled and didn’t notice that the wind was picking up.
When the police arrived later in the day to examine the crime scene, they could see the tape from far away. But the barge? No, that had gone.
46
WE MUST CALL TIMEOUT. I THINK THE VINTAGE VILLAGE WILL have to wait,” said Martha, patting Anna-Greta on her cheek. Her friend’s eyes were red from crying, she looked tired and her posture was dejected. She had slept most of the morning and had looked quite a wreck when she woke up. Without saying a word, she had eaten breakfast, refused to answer questions and not until she had drunk her coffee and finished eating had she managed to pull herself together to such a degree that she had asked the others to come into the library.
“I’m afraid I have bad news. Very bad news,” she said straight away with a thick voice. Her friends waited nervously. To be on the safe side, Martha had brought along some cloudberry liqueur and a bottle of whiskey, should it be needed, but nobody looked at those treats. Anna-Greta searched for the right words and mumbled something about fire and treachery before she finally came out with what was tormenting her.
“We have been fooled, totally fooled!” she sighed ominously and then started to tell them everything. For obvious reasons she bypassed what she and Blomberg had been doing there in the dark and went directly to the power cut and the generator that had stopped. She went into some detail about the collapsed dating system too, before she turned silent and sort of took some deep breaths.
“Yes, Anna-Greta we know all that. Get to the point,” exclaimed Rake. Then she took yet another deep breath before she started a matter-of-fact description of the fire and how the fire department had managed to put the fire out and that nothing more than the fenders, a bit of the gunwale and some loose items up on deck had been damaged by the flames. But then it got harder.
“Come on now, out with it!” Rake snorted. “I can see that there’s something that’s difficult for you to spit out.”
Then Anna-Greta started sniveling again, loudly and out of control so that her whole body shook.
“But goodness me, whatever is the matter, my dear?” wondered Martha. She picked up the whiskey bottle. But Anna-Greta simply pushed it away and folded her hanky. Then she put her hands on her lap, interlaced her fingers this way and that way before she exclaimed:
“Blomberg is a scoundrel!”
“Not that guy who is so nice, surely?” Christina broke in. Anna-Greta sniffled a bit more and then dried her eyes.
“Yes, that’s him! And we listened to records and then he helped me with the iPad. But—”
“But what?” wondered Brains impatiently.
“He’s a policeman!”
“A policeman?!” A buzz of dismay went through the room.
“An officer! That’s impossible!” exclaimed Christina, dropping both her nail file and her compact on the floor.
“Do you think he knows anything?” Brains wondered. “Perhaps he visited the restaurant for private reasons. I mean the speed dating and all that.”
“I’ve no idea. He said that he was a retiree and some sort of consultant, but it seems he was lying. Because when he caught sight of the Weasel he immediately reacted: “So it’s you, you scum!” he shouted and then set off after him. Then I found the policemen’s association card in his overcoat.”
“But Anna-Greta, in that case it isn’t us he’s chasing,” Martha reassured her.
“But the Weasel was evidently a criminal and Blomberg knew that. Then he must know everything about the Nordea robbery and the other stuff we have been involved in,” Christina said.
Now there was silence while they all reflected upon what Anna-Greta had told them.
“You know what, there is only one thing to do. I suggest we take some time off and flee the area a while,” said Martha.
“If politicians take time out when they’ve done something stupid, then can’t we do the same? Even if we haven’t done anything as crazy as they usually do,” Christina put in.
“Oh yes, and we’ve done a few sneaky things ourselves,” said Rake.
Martha looked from one to the other. The rest that she had enjoyed over the last few days had meant that she felt better and could think clearly.
“Now listen. I vote that we hand over the responsibility for the restaurant to Anders and Emma for a while. Christina, your children will quite simply have to run everything until further notice and then we can come back when things have calmed down. And meanwhile, my dear friends, I have a plan.”
“Oh that’s unusual,” said Rake.
“I am not a banker, of course, but this much I do understand: our bank robbery money and the profit from the restaurant are a drop in the ocean. Soon we won’t have anything left to give away in our goody bags. We need large sums of money to be able to continue with our bonus payments to those with very low wages.”
“And we must never forget culture,” Anna-Greta added automatically in a voice that had become a little brighter. “But listen. We have our Visa card and there is more money we can take from the Cayman Islands.”
“That isn’t enough. We must get at really large amounts!”
“Oh sure, the big money. Easy as pie,” said Rake.
“Don’t say we are going to be criminals again,” sighed Brains.
“That depends on how you look at it,” said Martha, and she took a wafer and served some more coffee. “Now, we have handed out several million. Then we’ve got the drainpipe money and some of the Las Vegas diamonds in the aquarium, but then, well . . .”
“What! Have you got diamonds among the frog spawn?” Christina wondered, amazed. “I had no idea.”
Martha looked down and her cheeks turned completely red. Because she had actually completely forgotten about the diamonds herself, and had only now remembered after she had been able to have a good rest. They had an aquarium down in the cellar, and inspired by earlier experiences she had realized that an aquarium was just perfect as a secret bank vault. So then she had quite simply tipped their Las Vegas diamonds into the tank and had intended discussing it with the others. But that same day, the friends had bought expensive exotic fish and aquarium plants an
d there had been such a fuss about it all that Martha had decided to wait until later to tell them what she had done. And, well, she had forgotten all about it. They had all had so much to do in connection with the restaurant that they had even forgotten to feed the fish. By mistake, Rake had also bought a piranha, which had quickly eaten up the other fish and when that, in turn, didn’t get enough food, it had also given up the ghost. And the aquarium, with the water getting all the cloudier, had been left standing in the cellar.
“The diamonds from the robbery in Las Vegas, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I found them in a box and thought that they ought to be kept somewhere safer. And an aquarium is a really excellent hiding place.”
“Next time you’ll probably hide the diamonds in cat litter and then empty it all into the trash can,” groaned Rake.
“If only we had a cat,” Anna-Greta cut in. “It’s about time we got one. Blomberg and me, we like cats and . . .” After mentioning his name she soon ran out of words, lowered her head and pulled out her hanky again. Martha noticed, gave her a quick pat on the cheek and returned to her idea.
“Well, anyway, what I’ve thought up is this: when Anders and Emma have taken over the running of the restaurant, we can continue giving away money to health-care staff as long as we still have some left. Our goody bags have worked well too, so they can carry on with that,” said Martha eagerly. “But as for us—we are aiming a little higher. Nothing less than five hundred million.”
The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly Page 26