The Father: Made in Sweden Part I (52 page)

John suddenly wanted to touch those arms, lay his hand on them, but it had been many years since he and his brother had had any physical contact.

‘I didn’t come here to talk about him.’

‘No, you came here because you want me to be your snitch.’

He remembered the last time when he’d put a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder, and he had pulled away as if John had struck him.

‘I heard you sat with him.’

‘And you’re sitting here, Sam.’

‘You held his hand.’

‘You have to know who’s doing these things.’

‘Mum told me that. You sat next to the hospital trolley holding his hand. That devil’s hand which … beat you.’

‘Sam, you
must
have heard something. A name. A weapons cache. Somebody always talks. You’re my brother, it’ll stay in here, you surely know that?’

‘You held his hand. But you come here,
brother
, and think I’ll run around in here asking questions on
your
behalf?’

Sam pushed the button on the wall, calling for the guards.

‘The visit’s over.’

‘Already?’

‘Already.’

Just like last time. Sixty minutes, after several months, was too long. And silence fell. They avoided looking at each other until John couldn’t stand it any more.

‘They’re brothers. At least two of them.’

Two guards arrived to escort Sam from the visiting room, one walking in front of him and one behind. They were halfway to the staircase to the lower floor when Sam turned round.

‘John? I never want to see you again.’

LEO GENTLY TOOK
five dripping 500-kronor notes out of a bowl filled with liquid and hung them on a clothes line he’d stretched between the walls of the garage. The wet paper was heavy, and they’d dry into rigid U-shapes that would need to be ironed straight one at a time.

The clothes line crisscrossed the whole of the large garage, a roof beneath the roof made of dangling kronor in various denominations – no longer worthless.

The plastic bag he’d carried fifteen hours earlier had weighed nothing, filled as it was with pieces of paper that had lost their value. That’s how he’d treated its contents when he closed the door to the garage.

Their value couldn’t be lost a second time.

If he’d considered it for what it really was – over two million kronors’ worth of red-stained money, real money that couldn’t be used – he would never have found a solution. His anger, his fury at the cashier who’d ruined their haul by sneaking in a dye pack disguised as a roll of money would have hindered his creativity, and the stained banknotes would have ended up being no more than just bits of meaningless paper.

He’d started with a 500, stretched between his fingers, red dye splashed across a dead king’s face. When he’d rubbed his thumb on it, the dye had stayed on the paper, just as permanent. He’d been sure he’d have to burn the whole bag.

Then he’d seen his thumb. It didn’t look the same any more. There was a coating over the skin, a faint red film.

One-part dye.

As anyone with any construction knowledge knows, anything that is one-part hasn’t reacted to another component and is therefore not permanent.

He still hadn’t dared to think
two million
, not yet, but he’d opened
the metal cabinet holding inflammable liquids, taken out the plastic bottle of benzene, and squirted a few drops on the 500-kronor note. The red had dissolved immediately. After only a few seconds, the original print had dissolved as well. But it
was
possible. The red dye did go away. Now, it was just about finding the right kind of solvent.

Renol. Methanol. Methylated spirits. He’d even experimented with acetic acid before realising that the most accessible solvent – chemically pure acetone – worked best. Just like benzene, it dissolved the original ink and the ultraviolet security printing. But not so fast, not so annihilatingly. Time. It had been about finding the precise number of seconds. And he’d tested it on low denominations, 20-kronor notes and sometimes 50s.

The right amount of time. And the right balance between acetone and water in bowls of liquid.

Acetone, which could be bought in any local shop! He’d instructed Anneli to take the car and buy fifty litres, spreading her purchases – half a litre here, half a litre there – while he continued mixing, measuring, weighing.

And at last he succeeded.

After 114,400 obliterated kronor, the very first banknote came out perfect. Given acetone, water and time, two million in stained notes would be washed clean.

He was hanging up the latest round of 500-kronor notes when there was a knock on the door.

‘It smells like a paint factory in here,’ said Vincent.

‘You need some ventilation, Leo, this isn’t healthy,’ agreed Felix, just behind him.

Leo was wearing sticky plastic gloves and his sleeves and chest were wet, so the hug he usually gave them would have to wait.

‘I’ve solved it. Can you believe it? Solved it!’

On the workbench lay a huge pile of red banknotes. In front of them, lined up, stood three large metal bowls half full of clear liquid.

‘First you bathe them – pure acetone.’

Yellow gloves grabbed a stack of notes.

‘500-kronor notes. Twenty at a time.’

The red trickled out while Leo watched the clock. Five seconds. Then he quickly moved the money to the next bowl.

‘Half acetone and half water. They stay here for ten seconds.’

The liquid turned a light pink as the last of the red dissolved, and the wet paper was moved to a third and final dish.

‘Clean water stabilises the bills. Three minutes.’

They waited, mutely, studying the underwater text that read
SWEDISH NATIONAL BANK
. Everything seemed to be preserved. Leo fished out one of the notes and let the wet paper lie in the gloved palm of his hand.

‘You see?’

He hung up every banknote after its swim in the last bowl.

‘Is Jasper here?’ asked Vincent, and Leo could hear worry in his voice for some reason.

‘No.’

‘Is he coming here?’

‘Why would he be?’

Leo searched his little brother’s face.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’

Nothing?

This was more than
nothing
. He’d ask him later.

One step back. The room full of money was a beautiful picture: he’d succeeded. Because nobody but him said when it was over. It may have taken 114,400 kronor to solve the problem, but the pinkish notes that lay in a bucket could still be used.

‘These got fucked up when I was experimenting, but they work at unmanned petrol stations. I’ve already tested it. We just have to be careful to spread out where we get petrol.’

Felix stirred his hand around in the bucket full of discoloured paper.

‘It’s idiotic to put these back in circulation – they’ll end up with the cops.’

‘On the contrary, they’ll see that no matter how hard they try to stop us, they won’t succeed. Not even with dye packs.’

He giggled, the acetone vapours wrapping his brain in drowsiness.

‘That fucker Jasper isn’t even coming here?’ asked Felix, glancing at Vincent.

Leo pulled off his plastic gloves.

‘Why do you keep asking about him? What’s this about? He’s not here. He’s not coming here. Satisfied?’

‘No, I’m not satisfied. And Vincent isn’t satisfied either. But sure. Why
would that idiot come here? I bet he’s fucking hungover today, he drank enough on the train journey home.’

‘Drank?’

‘Yes.’

Leo turned to Vincent.

‘Vincent, was he drinking?’

‘Yes.’

‘Around other passengers?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fucking hell … we drink here! Afterwards. Not around other people. We don’t want to be noticed.’

‘He was noticed. Right, Vincent?’

It was clear. There was a pressure behind Felix’s words trying to break free.

‘Right, Vincent?’

Vincent didn’t look at Leo, or Felix. He just looked straight ahead.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Knock it off.’

Leo waited, but Felix didn’t say anything more. But he would later, Leo was sure.

He poured the contents of the three metal bowls into the sink, flushed it clean, and filled them again, in the same way.

‘I’ve been thinking about the next robbery,’ said Leo.

‘The next robbery? We were going to stop after this. A triple robbery. Then we were done,’ said Felix.

The yellow gloves were on again. And a new handful of red banknotes taken from the pile.

‘We were. But our yield wasn’t as much as we expected. What we need to wash in here, and what we have in the weapons room, will support us for a couple of years max with all the expenses.’

‘Then we’ll get a job, like everyone else.’

Felix had a way of being sarcastic that pierced his defences.

‘We don’t need to. Because we’re going to redo it.’

‘Redo … what?’

‘Ullared. We’ll take the same banks, all three, again. A repeat. We’ve already made all the mistakes. We won’t make them again. Between ten and fifteen million!’

The first dip. The pile contained ten 500-kronor notes and ten 100s.

‘I’m serious. Everything’s already planned. In a couple of months.
Not a single cop in Sweden will be expecting it. The same fucking banks!’

Five seconds. The notes needed to go to the next bowl.

‘We were stopped at a roadblock,’ argued Felix.

‘Which you took care of nicely!’

‘And what if they’d taken out the insulation bales and realised it was a fucking fake wall?’

‘They didn’t.’

‘But if they had?’

‘I would have put a bullet in their legs.’

‘If you missed, if they—’

‘Felix, damn it, we rob banks, we’re armed, we have live ammunition. If they take out their guns, someone could die, and I’m gonna make damn sure it isn’t us.’

‘What if something happens to us, Leo, if something happens to you or me or Vincent?’

‘Then we’ll take over a hospital. Take control of a ward. Or we’ll take a doctor with us.’

The third dish. He had plenty of time again.

‘Leo, damn it, are you high on acetone?’

‘Before every robbery I always check for the addresses of any surgeons living nearby, and I’ll continue to do so.’

‘Surgeons?’

‘If one of us gets shot, we can’t go to A&E, can we? So we’ll bring someone to us. We’ll go there, throw the doctor in the boot, take whatever medical supplies he has at home. We’ve always had needle and thread with us in the car, and disinfectant for cleaning entry wounds.’

The paper had stabilised. Perfect. Again. He held out the bowl to Felix, who stood closest.

‘I’m not here to hang up money. Neither is Vincent. Because we’re not doing this any more.’

Leo handed the bowl to Vincent instead, who shook his head like Felix.

‘What do you mean … not doing this?’

‘We’re not doing this. As in
not
a part of it,’ said Felix.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I was lying on a hill when we did that first robbery. I’d hardly ever held a gun before. I lay there and took aim when you went by in the security van, squeezed the trigger at the car behind you. I’d almost
decided to shoot two people who just happened to be driving in the wrong direction.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘And now … this last time, sticking out of a roof with a fucking machine gun in my hands! In the middle of the day! Everyone could see me. I was ready to shoot whoever the fuck got in my way.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘And Vincent? Our little brother. Who almost shot an old lady who just needed help! Our little brother!’

‘He didn’t.’

‘I’m there. Vincent’s there. Right on the line. And when you’re right on the line, the next step you take … you step over it. If the cops had decided to take a long hard look behind those bales and found you there … do you understand?’

‘Felix? Look at me. Repeat after me. They didn’t.’

‘Our luck’s run out. Next time, hell, the bullet’s been on its way for so long. It’ll hit something, Leo. Them. Or us.’

Leo still had four soaking wet notes in his hand, but Vincent stood in his way.

‘Leo, we – Felix and I, that is – we’re moving to Gothenburg.’

It was so seldom Vincent looked at him that way.

‘We’ve rented a flat.’

He waited for him to continue, but it was Felix who spoke.

‘You took the car to Stockholm. Vincent was on the train with that idiot, who I am going to have words with you about later, no matter what you say, Vincent. And I flew from Landvetter Airport. I did it then. I changed my ticket. There were several flats in the
Gothenburg Post
. Expensive as hell, and they wanted three months in advance, but they’re in the city. A two-bedroom flat. One room each.’

A puddle was forming on Leo’s shoes, trickling onto the floor. He hung up the last four notes from the batch.

‘I don’t give a shit how many bedrooms there are.’

And as he hung them up, he was able to turn away from them.

‘So what the hell are you going to do in Gothenburg?’

‘Study. I’m going to take a few courses at Chalmers. And Vincent, he’s going to take some school courses.’

‘You can’t be serious?’

‘This weekend. We’re moving.’

‘Are you? Both of you? Seriously? Are you kidding me?’

‘We’re serious. So now you can do what you said you were going to do.’

‘Do what?’

‘Sell back the weapons. You said you’d do that when this was all over. So you can get rid of that shit and get your cash and you’ll be fine.’

‘But we were going to do that together! That was our finish!’

‘Now that’s not going to happen.’

‘You go … behind my back? Is that what we do? We’re supposed to trust each other. Always, always tell each other everything? You go behind my back and don’t say shit and arrange everything. And
then
you tell me! When I can’t … when I don’t even have a chance.’

Vincent looked down at the floor.

‘You would have … got in the way. Convinced us.’