Easy Money

53

Summer break’d begun one week ago. His daughter was finally in a safe place-Lovisa and Annika were in Spain for three weeks. Mrado covered costs. A vacation cottage in Bergshamra was also rented, fifteen minutes south of Norrtalje. Genuine feel to the place, red-painted timber walls with white borders. Big lawn for Lovisa to practice her cartwheels on. And cunt Annika and her friends could enjoy themselves any way they liked-play croquet, kubb, badminton. Practically paradise.

Mrado hoped they’d keep clear of Grondal as much as possible.

It oughta work. The cottage was well equipped. There was a washing machine, a dishwasher, a TV, and a DVD player. Lovisa and Annika would have a relaxing summer far from the city. It was a temporary solution, but perfect for the present.

As for himself, Mrado felt pretty safe. It’d been more than two months since he’d gotten a new apartment. Installed an alarm system. Bought a new car. Got a PO box address, stopped working out at Fitness Club, switched cell phones.

Contracted Ratko as a bodyguard: His old squire was hired to stay close to Mrado at sensitive times. Discover any eventual R. honchos before they had time to act. Screen swarms of lead with his bulletproof vest. Ratko charged a killing, but it was worth it. The important thing was to create the impression for Radovan that Mrado was well protected and that he played in the same league as Mr. R.

Mrado’d looked into whom he could trust. They were informed: Ratko, Bobban, a few guys from the gym. Within a few days, Mrado and Nenad were gonna go live. Show Radovan their version of the term Serbian solidarity.

Risk of confrontation. Risk of brutal clash. Risk of injuries.

But Mrado was confident: When the big C load’d been lifted, he and Nenad were gonna be the new rulers.

The market division pretty much worked perfectly. The HA and the Bandidos MC’d buried the hatchet. That alone was a feat from Mrado’s end. The Bandidos’d let go of parts of their cocaine market in the inner city and all of their coat-check blackmailing business. Instead, they’d increased the protection racket in the southern boroughs. The HA jacked up booze smuggling in all of middle Sweden but reduced their protection racket in Stockholm. The Original Gangsters kept at the CIT heists. Cut down on blow biz in the projects. Sold heavy in the northern boroughs. The only ones who didn’t give a fuck were Naser’s gang-difficult to influence.

On the whole, though, the groups were able to concentrate. Focus. Develop new areas. Increase the margins. Increase the profits. Above all, they could keep clear of the Nova Project’s infiltrators.

After Mrado’s demotion and the problem with the video rental stores, his insomnia took on absurd proportions. He popped pills like a kid ate penny candy. It wasn’t okay. He hoped it’d get better once they took on Radovan.

Three fat losses on his tax return. Over 200,000 kronor total.

The solution: He’d sacrifice the companies. The fall guy, Christer Lindberg, the super-Sven, would take the hit. That’s what he was paid to do.

And nothing could be traced back to Mrado.

The problem that couldn’t be solved was that Mrado needed more clean cash to finance Lovisa’s protection in the future. The possibility of buying a new apartment for her and Annika topped the list.

He considered Nenad’s idea: Use the laundry genius, their guy JW. Apparently, the brat wannabe’d built beautiful solutions for big-load laundry. That’d be necessary after they’d flipped the massive steal, in any case.

Mrado and Nenad were in intense-planning mode. Two days left until they were gonna present their defection to the Yugo boss.

Why do it before the arrival of the C shipment? Wasn’t that unnecessary? Mrado’d discussed the matter with Nenad-there was no other way. It was the Serbian way: Let your enemy know he’s your enemy. Mrado and Nenad were gonna play this straight.

Besides, Abdulkarim’d been told ages ago that Rado’d cut Nenad off from the C biz. The Arab’d also been informed about who his real boss was. He’d probably suspected it for a while. The Arab fucker apparently sided with R. Refused even to talk to Nenad, which sent an obvious signal: You’re a loser. I’m on my way up. In other words, it didn’t matter if Radovan knew that Nenad was going his own way. Nenad’d officially not been given any information for the past three months. Rado and Abdulkarim thought he was out of the running. Their mistake: They had no clue about the leak in their pipes-the JW guy.

The shipment was due at the Arlanda Airport on June 23, in six days.

Mrado and Nenad’s plan was simple. JW managed everything. Two trucks from Schenker Vegetables were set to pick up the containers. JW’d talked to the teamsters who were driving. They knew the final destination for the containers-not a grocery-store warehouse, but the Vastberga Cold Storage Center. JW and a couple of Abdulkarim’s other guys were gonna guard the load all the way from Arlanda. The truckers would drop the gear off at the cold-storage facility. Abdulkarim plus honchos would pick up the coke cabbage. And that’s where Mrado and Nenad came in. JW’d described everything he knew. The guy was gonna wait in the cold storage facility. Make sure Mrado and Nenad made it inside. After that, it was their job to overpower everyone-probably Abdulkarim and his constant companion, Fahdi, plus the guys who’d helped guard the truck transport. When it came to the JW guy, they’d have to pull a feint. Probably just take him down and tape him up, something like that. If they needed to use heat, no problem.

Mrado looked forward to the attack.

It was showtime-to present Radovan with the fact that he was enemy number one. Mrado and Nenad met up outside Ringen’s mall as usual. It was midnight. They took Mrado’s new car, a Porsche Carrera. Looked funny-Mrado had to fold himself in half to slide in behind the wheel. Nenad climbed into the passenger seat.

He drove toward Nasbypark, Radovan’s home. They were arriving unannounced.

Mrado felt naked without Ratko.

Nenad and he were constantly discussing what was on their minds.

Nenad’d just talked to JW: “We’re all set to go, but there’s a risk that Rado’ll get cold feet after what we’re about to tell him. Choose to reroute the shipment somewhat. Not much we can do about that except be flexible.”

Mrado was massaging the knuckles on one hand, driving in silence.

Nenad said, “Why’re you so quiet? We’re not going some fucking funeral. This is a big day. New Year’s Eve.”

“Nenad, you’re my friend. You know me. I’ve worked for Radovan for over ten years. Before that, it was him and me under Jokso. I fought in the same platoon as Radovan. Lived in the same bunker outside Srebrenica for five weeks under massive fire. Today I’m gonna present him with my betrayal. You think I’m happy?”

“I understand. But you didn’t start this. Radovan humiliated you first. Without reason. That’s not how you treat a brother in arms. After all we’ve done for him. All those years, sacrifices, risks.”

“He hasn’t treated me like a brother in arms.”

“Exactly. He hasn’t treated you with the dignity you deserve. My grandfather told me a story from the war, the Second World War, I mean. Did I tell you the one about the fast?”

Mrado shook his head.

“Granddad fought with the partisans. In the winter of 1942, he was taken prisoner by Ustasa. Sent to a German POW camp outside Kragujevac. Conditions were miserable. They didn’t get any food, were beaten every day, didn’t see their families. They suffered from diseases-pneumonia, typhus, and tuberculosis. Dropped like flies. But Granddad was tough. Refused to give up. Spring came and Easter was approaching. Granddad and a couple of other prisoners decided to celebrate Easter the proper way. You know, Serbian Orthodox, with a fast. They worked in some kind of tire factory. From seven in the morning until midnight, with a little meal in the middle of the day, usually. A German prison guard found out they were fasting and weren’t eating meat, eggs, or milk that day in order to remember the suffering of Jesus. He sought out the camp warden and got permission to order extra food. On the floor, inside the factory where Granddad was working as a slave, the guard set out a feast-ham, sausages, pork chops, liver, fish, cheese, eggs. Granddad was skeletal and starved even before the fast. He was, like, suffering from scurvy, was losing teeth like a six-year-old. The guard yelled at them, ‘Whoever eats doesn’t have to work all week.’ Imagine the temptation, to get to eat themselves full for once. Get to rest. But they’d promised to uphold the Orthodox fast. The guard tried to drag them to the table and force them to eat. One man was too weak to fight. The guard wrestled him to the ground. Pinned his hands back somehow and forced his mouth open. That’s when Granddad intervened. He hit the German over the head with an iron rod.”

Mrado interrupted Nenad’s tale. “Well done.”

“Yes, the guard collapsed. As a kid, I always asked Granddad how he’d dared. Know what he said?”

“No. I haven’t heard this story before.”

“This is what he said: ‘I’m not a believer, and I’m not religious. But dignity, Nenad, Serbian dignity. The guard was stepping on that man’s honor and therefore also on mine. I didn’t do it for Jesus; I did it for honor.’ He had to pay, Granddad, for what he’d done. I remember how his arms were crooked when I was little. But nothing could bother him. He knew he had his dignity intact.”

Mrado understood. Knew Nenad was right. Dignity trumped everything. Radovan’d stepped on Mrado.

Mrado had to retaliate.

There was no way back.

They were heading into war.

Only one of them could emerge victorious.

Mrado checked a final time. The gun was in his inner pocket.

They passed Djursholm. Almost there.

Nasbypark was as peaceful as ever.

He parked the Porsche far from Radovan’s house.

They tightened the Velcro straps on their bulletproof vests. Double-checked the ammo in their weapons.

Walked solemnly up to the house.

It was as dark as it could get outside in June-not very.

Radovan ought to be home. They knew their former boss. Every other Thursday night, the old guy played poker with his gambler gang: Goran, Berra K., and a couple of other silver-haired spenders. Mrado thought, I’ve never been invited.

The game was usually over by half past twelve. Rado always went home after.

He should be inside the house now.

Mrado and Nenad walked up the gravel path toward the front door. A spotlight came on automatically.

Before they had time to ring the bell, the door slid open.

Stefanovic stood in the opening, with one hand inside his jacket.

He spoke slowly, clear emphasis in the Serbian, “What are you doing here at this time of night?”

Mrado replied, “We’re here to see Rado. He’s usually home about now. It’s important.”

Stefanovic, electrified. In front of him: the two men Rado’d decided to demote. Lethal. One: assassin, debt collector, human murder machine. The other: cocaine magnate, smuggler, pimp king with a penchant for violence.

The air was thick with explosive energy. One spark and everything could go off.

“I think Radovan’s gone to bed. I’m sorry. How about you call tomorrow?”

“No. He will see us now.”

Stefanovic closed the door. Mrado and Nenad remained outside. Looked for movements in the windows.

Three minutes passed.

They understood that Rado understood. He would never dare let them into his house. How could he know that they hadn’t come to pop him?

Stefanovic came back out.

“He has agreed to meet with you. Please follow me.”

Stefanovic guided them in front of him toward the garage-smart. He saw them, but they had to twist their necks to see him. He opened the garage door. Mrado looked in. It was dark in there. Mrado glimpsed a Saab and Rado’s Lexus, as well as a Jaguar, a motorcycle, and the Range Rover that’d picked Mrado up for the meeting in the ski-jump tower three months ago.

Stefanovic asked them to wait. Possibly, he’d have time to shoot one of them, but not both.

“Stay here. I’ll get Radovan.”

They remained standing in the garage. The door was still open. Mrado heard a sound and knew what it was-Nenad’d pulled his gun out of his inner pocket.

Mrado followed suit.

He heard the door to the house open and slam shut.

They couldn’t see anyone, only heard Stefanovic’s voice. “Okay, we want you to put your weapons away. Cross your arms in front of your chests. We’ll come out soon. Thought it’d be best you have your little chat with Radovan in the garage. You know, his daughter is sleeping in the house and we don’t want to disturb her.”

Mrado kept his grip on his gun. “Forget about it. Nothing’s gonna go down unconditionally anymore. Radovan needs to have his arms visible at his sides when he comes out of the shadows. It’s simple. The mug on the one whose arms aren’t by his side is gonna look like it’s been in a colander.”

Mrado heard Radovan laugh from the shadows. At least the old guy had his humor intact.

He emerged. Arms hanging. Brave.

Radovan face-to-face with his rebellious ex-minions.

Mrado followed suit.

Stefanovic appeared. Arms straight down.

Nenad did the same.

Four men in a luxury garage. Staring at one another.

Radovan said, “Okay, so, what do you two want at this ungodly hour?”

“Haven’t you understood by now? We just wanted to do it eye-to-eye.”

Radovan smiled. “I had a feeling it would come. Mrado, you’ve never been good at dealing when things don’t go your way. Which is just one more reason why you can’t stay at the top. And Nenad, you’ve got to learn humility. You two can’t just desert me as soon as your duties change. Right?”

Mrado chose not to respond to Rado’s provocation. “It’s over now. We got ten years together. For Jokso, under Arkan, for Serbia. But it’s over now. You don’t know what gratitude is, Radovan. You don’t know what honor is, or what justice is. That makes you weak. And it makes you a loser.”

He caught his breath. Continued, “Things could’ve been different. You could’ve built this on the same foundation as Jokso. On respect for your men, and on humility. But you chose to demote us. Did you think we would take your shit? Who the fuck do you think I am? Some Sven who’ll bow and grovel and take it up the dirty? Rado, your time is over.”

Mrado and Nenad walked out of the garage. If Radovan answered, they didn’t stick around to hear it.