Free The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg Page A

we’d say hello to our new neighbours, but perhaps
they’ve gone away for the weekend?’
    ‘No, we’re sitting here,’ snorted Anna-Greta. ‘We are the people who bought the house; this is our new retirement home.’
    ‘Retirement home!’ Beefy and the Hulk glared at them. The bikers put their elbows down with a bang and exposed their thick lower arms. On the skin you could see fire-breathing
dragons next to skulls and wings.
    ‘You’ve got some fancy tattoos there, boys,’ said Martha, leaning forward. She prodded Hulk on his elbow. ‘But doesn’t it hurt when they stick a needle in you to do
that?’
    The giant knocked back the cloudberry liqueur in one go, and coughed.
    ‘It just pricks your skin a little. I’m not an old lady. But that gym equipment out in the garden, we thought—’
    ‘It’s important to keep fit,’ said Martha. ‘Even if you’re old, you have to exercise regularly. Don’t you do that too?’
    Beefy and the Hulk exchanged embarrassed looks and each took another wafer.
    ‘Don’t have time. Business, motorcycles and such.’
    Brains lit up.
    ‘Could that be Harley-Davidson?’
    ‘Of course!’
    Brains’s eyes glistened and a dreamy expression appeared on his face.
    ‘It would be fun to—’
    ‘Some more ginger biscuits?’ Anna-Greta cut him off.
    ‘No, we’re off now,’ replied Tompa, the one with the tattoos on his neck. He coughed and in a sheepish voice mumbled, ‘Well, thanks for the juice.’
    ‘Booze,’ Beefy corrected him.
    The two bikers got up, took their jackets and made their way towards the door. Martha grabbed a paper bag and filled it with ginger biscuits. When she handed it over, she saw that the one called
Tompa had ‘Helena’ tattooed on his wrist. There wasn’t an arrow, nor was there a little heart, but nevertheless. She smiled to herself.
    ‘Here’s something to nibble on,’ she said.
    The men exchanged glances, raised their hands as a farewell and went out. Not until they heard the creak from the gate, did any of the five in the kitchen dare open their mouths.
    ‘Help! The estate agent didn’t say anything about that motorbike gang,’ said Christina.
    ‘Now I understand why it was so easy to bargain the price,’ Anna-Greta commented.
    ‘So what do we do now?’ Rake wondered out loud.
    ‘Keep on good terms with them,’ Martha answered.
    ‘But don’t you get it? They’re members of a motorbike gang,’ Anna-Greta protested.
    ‘Yes, that’s why I invited them in. They are our neighbours, so we must be nice to them. You should always keep on good terms with your neighbours.’
    ‘You must be crazy,’ muttered Rake. ‘What if they wring our necks?’
    ‘Who knows, one day we might have some use of them,’ said Martha and the smell of adventure spread through the room. ‘I’ve learned at least one thing about life. You
never know what awaits you.’
    Up in the neighbours’ house the lights were on long into the night, and there too they had a meeting. The members of the Bandangels MC club had lots of projects going on,
shady projects that they didn’t want anybody to know about.
    ‘But what shall we do about the old people, then? Just think what would happen if they discover what we’re doing,’ said Jörgen Smäck, scratching himself on his
balloon of a stomach.
    ‘We needn’t worry about those slugs. They’ve got their hands full with baking cakes and playing cards. They won’t be causing us any bother. But I do have another idea.
Why don’t we use them as front men? They can be our tools. A drunkard can squeal, but nobody would suspect those oldies of anything, would they? We can fill with them with all sorts of tall
stories.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Don’t you get it? We’ll shovel a bit of snow for them and help with some heavy lifts. Then when we’ve gained their confidence we’ll have them sign some papers for
us . . .’
    ‘That’s a good idea, Jörgen, you’re not stupid, you.’
    The bikers