Free Life Deluxe by Jens Lapidus

Mahmud’d hung up some green thing with a Muslim text on it in the rearview mirror. He pointed. “It means luck.”
    Jorge grinned. “You people believe so much weird shit,
amigo
.”
    “What’s weird about it?”
    Jorge slapped his finger on the little piece of plastic with the text onit. It swung back and forth. “What’s this thing supposed to do for our luck? Can you even read it?”
    “Quit it. You don’t know shit. That’s the creed. The most important thing we got in our religion. Honest man, it’s the most important thing in the world for everyone.
Walla
.”
    “Okay yeah … sure …” Jorge rocked an ironic style. Mahmud talked a bunch of smack: the dude wasn’t more pious than a Sven.
    Mahmud kept his eyes on the road.
    “Answer me. Can you read it?”
    Outside: heavy rain. The windshield wipers were moving steadily back and forth. The Arab didn’t say anything.
    “So, can you or can’t you?”
    Continued silence.
    Finally, Mahmud: “None of your business.”
    The parking lot above the beach was completely empty. Farther off: a shuttered snack stand. A deserted jungle gym. Behind the snack stand: a parked Ford Focus. Was it the Finn’s? What a lame car.
    Mahmud parked next to the Ford even though there were tons of empty spots all around.
    He switched off the engine. They didn’t say anything. A microsecond: the feeling of a little, little bit of stress. A little, little stomachache. Sort of like something was moving in there.
    Jorge opened the passenger door. Winked at Mahmud. “Come on,
amigo
, let’s go for a swim.”
    They walked down to the lake. Spring this year was ice cold. Jorge was too lightly dressed. Track pants and a hoodie. On top of that, a thin red jacket with Formula 1 logos on the back and arms. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and tightened it. Then he flipped the collar on the jacket up all the way so it formed a kind of tube around his neck. Only his eyes and nose were visible.
    The sand was crusted over but still wet. It made squelching sounds.
    Mahmud’d wrapped a scarf high up around his neck. Looked like he belonged in Tahrir Square. He pointed out over the lake. “Can you believe there are Svens who go swimming this time of year?”
    Jorge shook his head. “Learn one thing, comrade, you’re never gonna understand
los Suecos
. They’re not from this planet.”
    They glimpsed someone, three hundred feet in the distance.
    Jorge understood: the meeting spot was perfect. Completely shielded from view. No one could see them from the lake because of the trees. And the dunes were high enough on the other side so that no one could see them from the road either.
    The Finn came closer.
    Today he was wearing sunglasses despite the weather. A hat and a scarf.
    “Where did you park your car?” he asked.
    “Next to a Ford Focus,” Jorge said. “Yours?”
    The Finn didn’t respond, just said, “Did anyone else drive into the parking lot?”
    “No. It was completely empty, except for the Ford.”
    “Good. You have to understand that this is like a house of cards. You have to build it the right way, plan the job from the ground up, begin at the beginning. Every single piece has to be perfect. All it takes is one crooked card in the bottom row for the whole shit to come falling down. Do you understand what I’m saying? All it takes is that you stop paying attention for just one second.”
    Jorge and Mahmud mmm’ed. Kept their cool.
    “Over the past few years,” the Finn went on, “all the hits’ve gotten more complex. You know that. Ten years ago, it was like stepping into a day-care center and juxing the kiddies for their shovels and buckets. You only needed to follow the CIT companies’ routines for a week, and then one more week. After that you knew exactly how they drove, where they drove, and the security they kept around the transports. It doesn’t work that way anymore. The helicopter robbery was incredibly well planned. And it still