A BANK ROBBERY IS LIKE BEING HIGH ON COCAINE, MARTHA thought—but with only a very vague grasp of what being high on cocaine really involved. She was sticky with sweat, must have tossed and turned in her bed at least a hundred times, and the sheets were twisted like the stripes on a piece of sticky rock candy. Her brain was spinning at top speed and time after time she went over the bank robbery hunting for any mistakes they might have made. She didn’t think they had left any tracks, or had they? And then there was that incident with the garbage truck. She had let Brains park it so that he would feel like a real man, and then it had all gone wrong—if you were a bank robber, you shouldn’t get soft and sentimental and think of others, no, a robbery was a robber’s job, and as such a job that had to be done in a professional manner; it was as simple as that! Mind you, it had all turned out OK in the end. If the police made a connection between the garbage truck and the bank robbery, it wouldn’t help them very much. They could check however many truck depots they wanted and not find anything. But a garbage truck in a swimming pool! She couldn’t have thought up anything better herself . . .
Martha and her friends hadn’t had the energy to go through all the booty right away, but had first taken a power nap. A little snooze simply helped clear your brain before you started counting money. And then they had to celebrate. No robbery without champagne—or, at the very least, some exciting liqueur. Martha yawned, got up and pulled out a pen and paper. As soon as they had sorted and hidden the loot, they would have to decide how they were going to give away their Robin Hood money. Martha drew up a things-to-do list and then slowly got dressed. Then she took the pen and notepad and went down the stairs and into the kitchen. It was high time for a meeting.
Before long, Martha and her friends were sitting, each with a cup of coffee, around the big oak table in the cellar. The little gable window was covered with black cloth and the lights were turned on. A heavy stench of rotten herring seemed to have settled in the room and now and then deep yawns could be heard. They were all tired and would have liked to have snoozed a bit longer, but the stolen millions had to be dealt with as soon as possible. Besides which they must solve the problem of the truck in the swimming pool. To their great fortune, not only was their grumpy neighbor not in residence, but all the other neighbors were away too. And nobody seemed to have noticed what had happened. The lilac bushes and the rest of the overgrown garden hid most of the tracks, and when the League of Pensioners had tidied up a bit, it didn’t really look much different to any other neglected garden. But still. It only needed one person to become curious and want to peek under the pool cover. And besides, there was a stench of rotten herring in the whole house. As Brains put it: the smell of fermented herring is like bills. Not something you can get rid of just like that.
“Five gold bars, tons of bundles of banknotes, three collections of coins and a collection of stamps. Not bad, not bad at all.” Anna-Greta’s slightly bureaucratic tone of voice echoed around the downstairs hideaway. She sounded unusually bright and joyful.
“But those banknotes. The authorities will have the numbers, won’t they? They are so incredibly strict at the currency exchanges nowadays,” said Christina rather timidly. Her religious upbringing in Jönköping, the heart of the Swedish bible belt, still made itself felt and she found it hard to get used to bank robberies. And when they had to deal with the booty, well, that caused her even more angst. She felt ashamed, like a crook, and she was always worried that they would get caught.
“We can buy RVs, luxury vehicles and other stuff on the Internet,” Rake proposed and put a calming arm around her shoulder.
“But what if they’re stolen, then it would be a criminal offence: receiving stolen goods.” Christina shook her head.
“No, of course, we should steer clear of anything illegal like that,” Martha announced and gave the others a strict look.
“Then I guess you’re in the wrong line of business,” said Rake.
“But the whole point of our crimes is to spread joy,” she insisted.
“Not so sure that everyone would agree.”
The League of Pensioners clinked their coffee cups together, helped themselves to the wafers and contemplated the heap of valuables on the floor. Now and then, they shifted the bundles of banknotes as if weighing up what they could be used for. Anna-Greta thumbed through the banknotes and looked thoughtful. Then she suddenly stopped and a broad smile stretched across her face.
“You know what? I’ve had a brilliant idea,” she exclaimed, and you could hear a merry clucking gradually transforming into a jolly horselike neigh before she managed to stop herself at the last moment. “We start a company, buy an old people’s home or a school with the money from the bank robbery, then quickly sell the company and transfer the profit to the West Indies.”
“Not like those greedy venture capitalists, surely!” Christina shouted.
“Stop and explain yourself! We are not going to make a profit on the elderly and schools. We’re going to give away the money, don’t forget that,” Martha protested.
“Yes, but that’s precisely what we would be doing. Giving it away!” Anna-Greta insisted, as she nonchalantly pushed her long gray hair behind her ears and sat up straight. Smiling, she looked at her friends. “Profit-making companies within schools, health care and other social fields transfer enormous amounts of money out of Sweden without paying tax, and the government has no control of this at all!” Her cheeks glowed red with excitement. “And we don’t even have to plunder a company first, we already have the money! We just send it to the Caribbean, start a company there and then transfer the money back home again without paying tax. That way the money will grow!”
“But who the hell pays tax on money they have robbed?” asked Rake, perplexed.
This was followed by silence for a remarkably long period and they all looked at each other, a little embarrassed—until Anna-Greta sat up straight, looked around at them and cracked her neck.
“Don’t you get it? We launder the money over there in the Caribbean and then we can hand out even more money to the poor.”
This was a bit difficult for the members of the League of Pensioners to follow, and Anna-Greta had to go on to explain how they, with the help of a lawyer, could arrange the whole thing.
“And the more companies we start, the harder it will be for the authorities to work out what we’re up to,” she said.
“I think it ought to suffice with one company; wouldn’t that be enough?” said Brains, who didn’t want to complicate life unnecessarily. He wanted to work on his lathe, do his carpentry and busy himself with his inventions. Not play fancy tricks with money.
“We must have two companies, one in the West Indies and one in Sweden. Then we get a Visa card for the Swedish company and we can get at the money right away.” Anna-Greta’s eyes glimmered with delight.
“In one of those hole-in-the-wall machines, you mean?” asked Rake, wide-eyed.
“Yes, yes, that’s right. Then the company in the West Indies can lend money to our company in Sweden, and charge an extortionate interest rate so that we have an enormous loss. There wouldn’t be any tax at all to pay, and we would get even richer. Just like the multimillionaires.”
“But Lord above, why should we bother with all that? Can’t we just do some good instead?” Brains broke in.
“Absolutely. That financial circus is not for us. We shall pay tax in Sweden, otherwise we aren’t the slightest bit better than the usual crooked businessmen,” said Martha.
“That’s quite right. Tax is necessary for society to function,” Christina added, pulling out her nail file and starting to carefully file her nails. She hadn’t polished them for two days and it was high time to take care of them. “And if you are rich, that is—you’ll have to excuse me if I haven’t really understood this, but if you have lots of money, then you can afford to pay tax, can’t you? So why don’t people do so?” she asked.
Sucks and ums and ers could be heard from all while they reflected on the powerful world of finance. Evidently loads of billions were swirling around in cyberspace and they never seemed to reach the people who really needed them, while at the same time the banks lent fictive money they didn’t have. No wonder it was hard to understand. In the end, Martha held up her hands in a decisive gesture.
“Anna-Greta, instead of dribbling hither and thither with our capital, I want to know how we can share our bank robbery money as quickly as possible.”
“As soon as I can get hold of a good lawyer, I’ll ask him to make monthly payments to the City Mission for their charity work. We can do that, because in the Caribbean our account will be kept secret and nobody will know where the money comes from.”
They all thought that was a good idea and nodded in agreement, but sighed at the same time over the fact that they had so little money to give away. Nowadays so many people needed help to get by. The low-paid working in health care, people with only the lowest state pension, schools, old people’s homes, cultural organizations . . . the League of Pensioners would really have to get to work to manage all this. Besides, there was something else to think of. Martha pulled out her knitting. It was all very well giving money to those in need, but an unfortunate characteristic of money was that it disappeared, she thought. While the members of the League of Pensioners were still able and active, they ought to create something that would last. Something that would bring joy even after they themselves were dead: the Pleasure Village, the dream of a place for the elderly.
She shut her eyes and saw a gang of happy seniors in front of a swimming pool. Some others sat in the bar cosseted in comfortable armchairs with umbrella drinks in their hands, while others again were busying themselves with gardening in one of the senior center’s many greenhouses. A theater group performed Arsenic and Old Lace up on the stage and from the boules pitch you could hear chatter and joyful laughter. What a marvellous vision . . .
“Your knitting!” Brains exclaimed, saving it just as the whole thing was about to fall to the floor.
“Thank you,” mumbled Martha fumbling with the stitches. The problem was that the Pleasure Village or the Panther Nest would certainly cost lots and lots, much more than one of those huge sports arenas that the politicians built to keep on good terms with the building industry. But of course they wouldn’t have to build the whole village all at once; rather, they could start with a spa or a restaurant. A few hundred million kronor, that was all. Martha fingered the half-finished scarf, raised her eyebrows and tried to focus her thoughts. If lots of puppylike twenty-five-year-olds from the Business School could get rich, then surely five adventurous seniors could also succeed?
“You know what? We have lots to do. If we are going to give away eighteen million, or however much we managed to haul in, then we must get to work.”
“Pah, that’s easy. Give them to the state and then they’ll disappear without a trace before you know it!” said Rake.
“Regardless, we’re going to need to hide everything we’ve stolen,” Brains commented, and the others agreed with him. They quickly made a joint effort to stuff the booty into dirty pillowcases and duvet covers which they then pushed into three laundry baskets together with the rest of the dirty laundry. On top they put Rake’s and Brains’s unwashed underpants, after which they threw the Pavarotti, Thatcher and Elton John masks into the oil-fired burner. When they were done, Rake fetched the champagne and five glasses.
“And now we shall celebrate too, right?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Martha and she nodded to Rake. He handed out the champagne glasses and with a slight bow filled them. “Cheers and thanks to everyone!” said Martha, raising her glass.
“Cheers!” responded her friends. They clinked the champagne glasses against each other and drank in a solemn mood.
“To think that we’ve been successful again,” said Anna-Greta, throwing up her hands in a gesture of happiness.
“Anna-Greta, robbing a bank is the simple part,” said Christina. “Laundering the money and giving it to those who are in need—that seems to be ten times harder!”
All the members of the League of Pensioners realized that they had a lot of work before them and they knew that they needed their midday siesta. The meeting was adjourned and they went up to their respective rooms. Martha was halfway up the stairs when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Martha, I want to talk to you!” Brains’s voice sounded serious and his hand felt warm and pleasant. Nevertheless, she felt a little worried. He had sounded so decisive.
“Now?”
“Yes, this minute. Let’s go into the library.”
Sleepy and with a feeling that he had something important to say, she obeyed. If there was a problem, then it was best to solve it directly. He waited until she had come into the room, then he looked around and closed the door. He straightened his jacket, followed by the old 1950s trousers, after which he slowly and cautiously went down on his knees. She looked at him in astonishment. Heavens, he looked so embarrassed and lost!
“Martha, I want to marry you.”
“But my dear, you don’t have to go down onto your knees to propose, you only have to say so,” said Martha, horrified as she saw Brains end up in a heap on the floor.
“I am fed up of being secretly engaged. I want us to get married now,” he mumbled and got back up onto his knees somewhat breathlessly. He took hold of the doorframe and stood up in as dignified a manner as he was capable of. Then he fished out a gold ring from his pocket and held it up to Martha.
“Thank you my friend,” she mumbled, blushing as she received it. “So kind of you,” she went on, but, in her eagerness, she bumped into him so that the ring rolled off across the floor. Brains went down onto the floor tiles again.
“Now you understand why I want you all to do gymnastics every day, right?” said Martha far too quickly, before she realized that it wasn’t perhaps the most tactful comment at that very moment.
“Hmmf!” came the response from Brains.
“Sorry, but it is a good idea to keep fit and healthy,” she went on and again, almost as she said the words, she realized that this, too, was not exactly what she should be saying. Brains managed to get up on his feet again, this time without needing to support himself against the wall. And now he was looking decidedly rebellious.
“Gymnastics? Yes, sure, my dear, but I get my litheness from yoga. The yoga sessions with Christina have taught me a lot,” he said, and his voice sounded unusually defiant.
Martha stared at him. He had contradicted her! Ever since the day they had got engaged, he had started getting brazen. Now, he could be really stubborn and regularly tried to defy her. A woman should never get married, it was better that the menfolk had to make a bit of an effort and not take you for granted, Martha thought. And to be proposing now! They had hardly recovered from the bank robbery! Or was he afraid that she would propose a new crime straight away? She snuck a look at the ring that Brains held firmly between his thumb and first finger.
“You’ll get the other one when we get married. Then we’ll have a party!” said Brains and he slipped the glimmering gold onto her finger. She stroked the ring with her index finger and looked at him. She did want to live with him, but . . .
“Get married? Yes, my friend. That sounds nice, but as I said, we must hand out the money from the bank robbery now, yes, you know—”
Brains pushed her aside.
“So the money from the bank robbery is more important?”
“Oh no. Not at all. Only just now. We can’t disappoint the elderly and the poor. The money must be distributed now.”
“Giving money away is more important, then?” Brains’s voice sounded shrill.
“No, no, my dear, you know perfectly well that you and me, we belong together!” said Martha, and she leaned forward and hugged him tightly until she felt that he had calmed down. “We’ll just postpone the wedding a while.”
“A while? OK, then we’ll get married fairly soon, you mean?” mumbled Brains, relieved. He could feel himself blushing as he was sucked into her field of force again. He had hoped that they would get married right after the big bank robbery. But, of course, the money must be handed out too. So he couldn’t risk everything with his romantic marriage plans. The wedding would have to be later. Martha was right. As always. He just had to accept that.
“OK. We distribute the money first, but then get ma—”
“Wonderful, Brains, you are so flexible,” Martha cut him off and again wrapped her arms around him. “There is no one like you! Oh, how I love you!”
And then Brains blushed again and was completely lost for words. Hand-in-hand they went upstairs and now everything felt so good between them. It was OK that Martha got to decide now, but later, when they were married, then he would show her who was boss, he would indeed—that was, if they didn’t end up in prison.
BY NOW IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON AND THEY WERE ALL STILL A little tipsy from the champagne—except Martha who, though lively and happy, remained sober. After all, it was not every day that somebody proposed to her. But neither she nor Brains had been able to relax, so they had followed all the news bulletins. The robbery had been the top item on the TV and radio news and the police were out in force. Everything the League of Pensioners did over the next few hours could be decisive for whether they would get caught or not. They must lie low, act wisely and not—under any circumstances—make any mistakes.
The police were hunting the perpetrators of the great Nordea robbery and Martha asked herself how the constables reasoned. One of them might start thinking about the League of Pensioners since the robbers had not used a machine gun, had not thrown caltrops onto the street, had not burned cars or taken hostages. That meant there weren’t so many robber gangs to choose from. On the other hand, they had used explosives, and that had a definite criminal ring to it. Rake had actually suggested that they shoot a volley (at the ceiling, of course) with a machine gun to appear professional, but Martha had firmly opposed that idea. To start with, they never used weapons as a matter of principle, and second, just because others behaved badly it was no reason for them to do the same. Besides, the League of Pensioners had “disappeared” some time ago and nobody could know that they were back in the field again.
MARTHA PUSHED THE DINING CART UP IN THE TOWER AND started to lay the table with herbal tea, wholemeal cookies and other organic foods (Christina was in a health phase). To get everyone into a good mood, she had also put out some really yummy chocolate wafers and their old favorite, cloudberry liqueur. It was important that everybody enjoyed themselves and felt good.
When she had laid the table, she rang the little bell to call the others. The veranda at the top of the tower was a delight, and the rattling indoor elevator took them up there without difficulty. It was a cozy place to sit. Here, too, they could look out across the road and the next-door plot and keep track of what happened should any undesired person turn up. Meanwhile, they could hold their meeting.
“Welcome, and help yourself to coffee,” said Martha when they had all gathered there. “I mean healthy herbal tea.”
Anna-Greta stepped in and settled in her favorite armchair, Christina turned back in the doorway to fetch her handbag with her cosmetics, and Brains and Rake wandered in, both very sleepy. A midday siesta was all very well, but they could have slept a lot longer.
When Christina came back and all had been served, the atmosphere became calm. There was a clinking of cups and the occasional discreet cough. They were not entirely sober, but Martha considered that they didn’t have time to relax properly. She looked around her, smothered the impulse to ring the bell yet again, and cleared her throat discreetly.
“We have talked about how we can best use the capital in the robbery fund. This time I vote for putting it into health care and schools. And, of course, care for the elderly and culture,” Martha started. “Then we can create a project of our own, a Vintage—”
“Don’t forget our seamen. They ought to get some money too,” Rake said. “Slowing down and all that.”
“And inventors,” Brains added. “In Sweden there are innumerable brilliant inventors, but they don’t get any support from the state. Fantastic ideas are bought up by foreign companies or are simply stolen. We ought to support them.”
“Of course, seamen and inventors should be on the list,” Martha agreed and made a note on her pad. “But at the same time we ought to think in the long term and invest in something that will last. I’ve an idea for a lovely place for the elderly, a Vintage—”
“What about librarians?” Christina chipped in. “They support our entire culture. And remember all the nurses, teachers and—”
“Now listen, we’re not sitting on Sweden’s national budget here, we have only carried out a small bank robbery,” Martha reminded them.
“Small? Did you say small? There was a great big bang when the floor gave way,” Rake said, grinning.
“Order in the ranks!” Martha commanded in a loud voice and put her hands together in front of her so that she almost looked like a priest. “I vote that we first of all give money to those who work in home care and home health care, as well as in health care in general. Then we move on and there I’d like to suggest a new fancy project, a Vintage Village, a real Panther Nest, yes, a village for the elderly.”
“A Jurassic Park for seniors, you mean?” Rake grinned.
“You what? A vintage village? That sounds like old clothes, no, I think that all the money should go to those who are underpaid. They ought to get a bonus just like the directors,” Brains contributed.
“A bonus to the underpaid? What a great idea!” Rake added.
“Yes, indeed, but then I’ve got a plan,” said Martha.
“We don’t doubt that for one second,” said Brains, and took her hand. “But one thing at a time. We can’t do everything at once.”
One thing at a time? Martha leaned back in the chair. They were right, she ought to calm down. There was no point robbing banks if you didn’t hand out the money to the people who needed it before you started with the next project. But after that . . . well! Brains could say what he liked, but she wasn’t going to drop the idea of that Vintage Village, or whatever it was to be called.