The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly

by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg

  “I do actually know one person who could help us with this,” she finally let on, coughing drily into her palm and not daring to look her friends in the eye.

  “But who, my dear?” wondered Brains.

  “Blomberg. He has been an IT consultant and knows lots of stuff.”

  “But that man is a police officer, for heaven’s sake!” said Martha strictly. “Have you gone crazy?”

  “But he has retired now. Yes, I checked up on him with the Pension Authority. And don’t forget that it was Blomberg and I who got that speed dating sorted out.”

  “It’s dangerous, Anna-Greta. He is bound to still have his old contacts,” Christina pointed out anxiously.

  “But I think he has fallen for me. Every week while we were away he sent records to the restaurant barge with sweet little messages and he has also asked about me there. So even if he were to suspect something, he wouldn’t tell on us.”

  “What are you saying? Is he trying to court you? You haven’t let on about that before,” exclaimed Rake, horrified.

  “No, I didn’t dare. But, God help me, I have really missed him!” Her voice was unsteady and she pulled out a handkerchief to carefully dry her eyes. Then she started to sniffle. Nobody said a word.

  “All you others have somebody to be with, but not me,” she went on in a pathetic voice. “I would so much like to see him again. You can’t imagine how I’ve longed to do so. And then he could give us some valuable tips. And I don’t have to tell him what it is about.”

  “But can he really help us with this, without getting suspicious?” wondered Brains.

  “He—” Anna-Greta sniffled and then blew her nose loudly. “Yes, I think so. There is a lot at stake. It will take some time before we get the insurance money, so Oleg’s money would be a great help in the meantime. If he gets about three hundred million dollars in income from his various business activities, and we arrange a discreet transfer from his account to ours in the Cayman Islands, well, then we could get at least a million dollars a month directly into our robbery fund. Then we can give half to the home carers and invest the other half in our Vintage Village. That would be yummy, wouldn’t it? It must of course all be done so that nobody can trace us. But just think, what if we can pull it off! My, oh my, what a lot of money!”

  “There are a lot of ifs there too,” said Rake. “The whole thing definitely sounds a bit iffy!”

  “And what if we end up in prison?” Martha remarked.

  “No, help!” exclaimed Christina. “Putting yourself entirely in a man’s hands is always a problem. And a policeman besides! Um, I don’t know if—”

  Then Anna-Greta got up and left the room, sobbing loudly. The others remained sitting there, looking at the door after her. They all wished her well, but this felt very uncertain.

  ANNA-GRETA STAYED WITHIN BOUNDS FOR A FEW DAYS, BUT when she still failed to make any progress with the Russian accounts, she phoned for a taxi and asked to be taken to the Silver Punk restaurant in Huvudsta. She stepped out of the taxi and threw a glance at the illuminated barge. Anders and Emma had been very successful with the restaurant and the speed dating was so popular that it was full every day and they had to hand out numbers on weekends. Anna-Greta smiled when she saw the barge moored there. It looked so cozy and she had so many nice memories. She had, actually, meant to come here earlier, but there had been so much going on with the lawyer and their financial transactions. And she had been a little afraid and uncertain too. But now! What if she should find Blomberg here? Nobody need know about it. Then they could meet again and click their way through various programs and Internet sites on the computer like they had done before. And that had been so nice. There was nothing dangerous about that, was there?

  That evening she sat for a long time in the bar and even took part in the speed dating, but no new beau turned up and no Blomberg either. And as the evening grew later, she became all the more despondent and finally decided to go home. She had got as far as the coatroom and had just put her coat on when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Anna-Greta? Oh, at last!” Blomberg smiled with his whole face and gave her a hug. She couldn’t say a word, and she hardly dared look at him.

  “Oh my goodness, is it you?” she finally managed to reply with the quietest voice she had ever used.

  “How nice to see you,” he said and he looked really pleased. Without even asking, he took off her coat and hung it up again. “Well, did you like the records?”

  “Oh yes, indeed. Bill Haley and Sammy Davis, what a delight! So kind of you to send them. But I have been really angry with you. What happened to you that evening? You just disappeared. I thought you had regretted everything and didn’t want to meet me any more.”

  “Come along, we can’t stand here!” he said, taking her hand and pulling her along to the bar. “Of course I wanted to meet you. But it was an emergency. Those guys, the Weasel and Kenta, were on the wanted list, you see. I came to see you to explain, but you had gone and you didn’t leave any message.”

  “Just a little vacation,” mumbled Anna-Greta.

  “In the middle of everything? Gosh, but let’s have some beer now. Two Carlsbergs,” Blomberg ordered and then turned to her again. And while they drank their beer he described how he had caught the criminals, got them convicted and that it had been quite a feather in the cap for him and his detective agency.

  “So you are a detective, then? Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

  “Well, one has to be discreet, it goes with the job.”

  “Er, yes, I suppose so,” said Anna-Greta and she felt less confident. “But it was a pity your job was so much more important than us, I mean—”

  “You are right. It shouldn’t be like that. But now I have come to realize that life is so much more than just work. One must live too. I have been on courses. Do you want to see?” He pulled a book out of his briefcase that Anna-Greta thought looked very exciting.

  “We can go and sit in our record booth, so you can show me,” she suggested, and remembered several things one could do there—especially when the lights went out.

  Blomberg beamed, ordered another two beers, and took them with him as they went to sit in the stall. He proudly handed over the book with circles and leaves on the cover. When she started to look through it, she saw that it contained line drawings that he had colored himself. There was a lovely big peacock and some drawings with flowers too. They had all been filled with happy, intensive colors.

  “Mindfulness, one feels at peace,” he explained and pointed at one of the drawings, the one with the peacock which he was most proud of.

  “You take things easy, then?” wondered Anna-Greta slowly turning some more pages.

  “Exactly. That business with my detective agency, you know. Not a quiet moment. Morning and evening, there was always work. It wasn’t me, it was the scoundrels who decided my working hours. I have scrapped that now.”

  “Scrapped? But in that case, if a scoundrel you were hunting should walk past here now, would you stay sitting here with me?” wondered Anna-Greta.

  “Absolutely.”

  “You wouldn’t even pick up your cell and phone the police?”

  “If one has stopped working, then that’s it. Retirees who try to cling on to their old working identity are pathetic. No, I have started a new life. I have bought lots of records and have started a shop on the Internet selling old jazz and genuine 1950s music. Not bad, eh? It’s fun, I can tell you.”

  Anna-Greta sat quietly and looked at him, not knowing whether she should dare trust what he had said. She ought to test him. But how?

  “Yes, fun indeed,” she mumbled, her thoughts elsewhere.

  “You don’t seem to be on the ball,” said Blomberg. “Are you worried about something?” He took her hand and stroked it gently.

  “I have had some bad business deals. Me and my friends, we sold a boat in France. But we didn’t get paid,” she lied.

  “Was it a lot of mon
ey?” He rather clumsily stroked the palm of her hand and her long, thin fingers.

  “An awful lot. Now I wonder if one can hack into the buyer’s bank account. What do you think?”

  “Oh God yes. I was an IT expert with the police after all. I am really good at that sort of thing.” He lifted her hand, kissed it quickly and she started to tremble.

  “Do you mean it?” said Anna-Greta, now enthralled, and she realized how hopeful she sounded. If he went along with this, then perhaps they could trust him. People didn’t just hack into other people’s accounts any old time. It was risky business. And illegal too. Was he prepared to take such a risk for her sake? Then that would mean he really liked her.

  “Come to my place and I can show you,” he suggested.

  Anna-Greta felt warm all over and at that particular moment she wanted nothing more. But she controlled herself. “Or what about meeting here at the same time tomorrow?”

  Blomberg nodded. “I’ll bring my computer with me. And Anna-Greta—” he leaned forward and stroked her gently on her cheek—“forgive me. I promise. No more criminals. Don’t forget that I have started a new life.”

  That remains to be seen, Anna-Greta thought, but she didn’t say it out loud. Instead she smiled and said: “Yes, right, that would be wonderful.”

  AT BREAKFAST THE NEXT DAY, SHE HARDLY SAID A WORD AND the others wondered whether she was ill. But she just shook her head and went on staring straight ahead. It didn’t even help that Martha poured a little whiskey into her coffee on the sly. Anna-Greta was alarmingly silent.

  “We are losing several million a month just because I can’t hack into that account,” she finally said, sighing.

  “Well, consult a computer expert, then, because you are keeping clear of Blomberg, aren’t you?” said Martha, a severe look in her eyes. “Better to wait, or even do without the money altogether.”

  “Um, yes, of course. But several million a month? I wonder . . .” said Anna-Greta, and she got up, faked a yawn and left the room. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

  Anna-Greta kept to herself all day, but when evening arrived she again took a taxi to the barge. She had her iPad with her and Oleg Pankin’s account number—and a terribly bad conscience for not having dared say anything to the others.

  “I must be by myself a while,” she had explained by way of excuse. “And I might be rather late coming home. And, yes, perhaps I’ll drop in at the barge too, because they have some problems with the iPads there.”

  Then Martha raised her eyebrows and looked at her friend suspiciously. That Blomberg man didn’t still go there, did he?

  “You are careful, I hope, Anna-Greta?”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t get pregnant,” she answered, and she tossed her head and went on her way.

  WHEN, HALF AN HOUR LATER, ANNA-GRETA WENT ON BOARD the barge, Anders and Emma greeted her heartily and gave her a knowing look when she ordered a large strong beer.

  “Going to your record stall as usual?” Emma wondered. And then Anna-Greta blushed.

  “Yes, indeed. Love sitting there. It is rather special,” she answered and sincerely hoped that they wouldn’t gossip to Christina.

  Blomberg had already arrived and he sat waiting for her. Anna-Greta immediately felt very weak in her knees. He was dressed sharply and had had his hair cut and had taken his computer with him. He held up a computer game and before he closed the lid she could see that he had reached 251.

  “Oh gosh, you are clever!”

  “Just luck, but good for your brain,” he answered and got up. Just like the previous day, he gave her a hug before they sat down together. The record player was broken and had been taken away to be repaired, so it felt a bit different in the stall and they were both a little shy. In the end Blomberg said: “Well, then, you were having problems hacking into an account, you said?”

  Anna-Greta nodded, turned her iPad on and clicked her way onto the net. “Somewhere in Russia there is this account I have to hack so that I can get my money,” she told him.

  She handed him the slip of paper where she had written Oleg’s name, the bank and the account number.

  “Hmm, that bank is familiar,” he said and smiled at her. “That’s where billionaires usually have their accounts, like those Russian oligarchs, you know. So this Oleg must have lots of money.” He hummed, impressed, and unconsciously licked his lips. He worked with great concentration and soon managed to access the bank. He whistled. “Do you know this man? Wow, who’d have thought it?”

  “So you can see directly from the account number that he has lots of money?”

  “I’ve more than thirty years’ experience with scoundrels,” Blomberg answered proudly, and he leaned forward and almost disappeared into the computer. Soon his eyes looked almost feverish and his fingers moved so quickly across the keyboard that they almost hovered. He didn’t drink his beer, he didn’t even look at her; he was totally sucked into what it said on the screen. And he clicked and hummed while innumerable digits and account numbers came and went. In the end, Anna-Greta thought there were more digits on the screen than there were midges by a stagnant pool on a summer’s night up in the north.

  “Ernst! Can you show me what you are doing?” Anna-Greta wondered and she tried to disguise her impatience.

  “Not now. Wow, that is really something!”

  “What did you see?”

  “Anna-Greta, this man has about four hundred million dollars coming in every month.”

  “Goodness gracious!” mumbled Anna-Greta and she too tried to access the account.

  “Can’t you show me how you got in?” she asked and stroked him gently on his neck. And then he turned around, leaned over her iPad and instructed her slowly, step by step. Finally, he told her how to get past the firewall.

  “Oh, so exciting,” exclaimed Anna-Greta and she clapped her hands. “That scoundrel didn’t pay a krona for the yacht. He owes me—” she breathed in and thought about what would be a suitable amount, “yes, twenty-nine million dollars is what he should pay me. He ignores all my reminders and has threatened revenge if I go to a lawyer. But if I could take a little directly from his account? Yes, fix a transfer that would pass by unnoticed.”

  “So much money, Anna-Greta! Tell me, what secrets are you keeping from me?”

  “Well, it was a charitable foundation that owned the yacht and I looked after their financial affairs. It’s so embarrassing, you understand.”

  “Yes, of course,” mumbled Blomberg and he seemed to swallow the lie and didn’t even notice that Anna-Greta had proposed something illegal. He had become so zealous and his eyes shone. “So shameless, so shameless, no, I don’t like big scoundrels!” Now he was full of indignation and so quick that Anna-Greta couldn’t keep up. “So you want twenty-nine million from the bastard?”

  “Yes, but an automatic transfer so that it won’t be noticed. And a smaller monthly amount over several years. Otherwise he might discover it.”

  “No problem,” said Blomberg, now with considerable authority in his voice. And then he showed her how he did it and she got really warm with joy. So many men keep their knowledge to themselves, but he was generous and shared things, no doubt about that. And then he arranged the transfer to the account number she had given him, while she watched as he did it, made notes and memorized what he had just taught her.

  “There you are, it isn’t harder than that. We, in the police, have checked the accounts of these wealthy types before. Your scoundrel in Russia will hardly notice that we’ve been inside his account and snatched a little. And if he should notice anything, he can’t trace your company anyway. You’re a rascal, Anna-Greta, I can see that you have an account in the Cayman Islands.” Blomberg laughed heartily and looked at her with amusement as well as admiration in his eyes.

  “What! Can you really discover that?” exclaimed Anna-Greta, horrified as well as impressed.

  “On the net you can see everything, darling,” he answered, and he held h
er under her chin and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “That was that! Back in a jiffy,” he said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to the men’s room, and hurrying out.

  “Ah yes, yes,” mumbled Anna-Greta, dazed. What had he actually done, and how had he gone about it? she pondered, leaning over her iPad. She had also become curious about those account numbers he had hacked, but when she tried to click her way in, it didn’t work. Just as she was about to try again, she heard a familiar voice.

  “I thought as much. Emma said you were in here,” said Martha, sitting down in the booth. “You’re waiting for him, aren’t you?”

  Anna-Greta blushed a brighter red than she had ever blushed in all her life. She felt that she had been caught in the act and couldn’t utter a word. She ought to have known better; of course Martha would have seen through her.

  “My dear friend, I came here to warn you before you do anything stupid. Once a policeman, always a policeman. Please, don’t meet him.”

  “Once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel,” Anna-Greta answered defiantly and looked furtively toward the men’s room behind Martha’s back.

  “Don’t you realize that we could all end up in prison for several years? Just because you’ve fallen in love,” said her friend in a low voice. “I beg you, please: forget him!”

  “Easy for you to say; you have Brains. You don’t know what it is like to be on your own. Everyone is more important than yourself. The person you are married to, children or grandchildren. All the others always come first. You don’t have a chance.” Anna-Greta fumbled for her handkerchief.

  “But you have us, your friends!”

  Anna-Greta didn’t answer, and the next moment Martha saw how she froze. Martha followed her eyes. Oh my God! It was that officer she herself had met when she had been at the police station once. And the policeman seemed to recognize her too. Was this the Blomberg that Anna-Greta had talked about? Martha got up quickly to leave, but then stopped herself. She couldn’t dash off now, it would look so strange, indeed even suspicious. So she stayed where she was. Blomberg was first to collect his wits.