Easy Money

8

The line could be seen all the way from Sturecompagniet. JW walked up Sturegatan with the boyz. They were pumped, amped, ready to roll. JW felt the energy like currents of electricity through his body-they were riding high.

Earlier that night, they’d eaten at Nox. Ordered fine wine with dinner. It’d been two weeks since the last time they’d gone out. The boyz’ needs were making themselves known: Putte wanted to hook up, Fredrik to booze, Nippe to chase tail. JW was speeded; he wanted to test his new job, mark his territory.

Thirty grams of his own ice, on credit from the Arab, were packaged in ten mini zip baggies-Red Line brand. He had six grams in his pockets right now. The rest was stashed behind a radiator in Mrs. Reuterskiold’s foyer.

The boyz strutted down the street. JW kicked his feet widely with each step. Thought about the Men in Black sound track.

The line wasn’t a line-it was an organism made up of human bodies. People screamed, waved, jammed, pushed, hurled, cried, flirted. The bouncers tried to keep things under wraps. Drove people like cattle into a number of lines behind the roped-off area. The line for you with Kharma Cards. The line for you with VIP Kharma Cards. The line for you with VIP VIP cards. The rest needn’t bother. We’re at capacity. Only regulars tonight. Don’t you get it? We’re at capacity.

Oversized ghetto kids threatened to beat them up. Banker boys pressed crumpled bills into their hands. Girls offered blow jobs. They were denied, one bouncer at a time. The air was thick with one word that no one said but everyone who wasn’t ushered in through the velvet rope felt: humiliation.

It took five minutes just to push through the crowd and up to the bouncers. Some got the drift and let the boyz through. Others thought the world was a fair place, tried to keep them back. Sharpened their elbows and jabbed.

Nippe nodded to one of the bouncers.

The never-flagging confidence that JW was doing his utmost to copy worked its magic. They floated past the crowd. Humiliation was reserved for other people. The feeling: better than sex.

At the cash register, they were welcomed by a tall blond guy with clean features: Carl. The guy was 100 percent jet set. Hence his nickname: “Jet Set Carl.” He and a partner owned the place. Kharma: premier hub of the riches-royales. Brat central. Backslick bay.

Nippe threw open his arms. “What’s up, Calle? Things going well, as usual, I see. Incredible amount of people out tonight. Awesome.”

“Yes, we’re pleased. Af Drangler is running the club tonight, really sweet crowd. You guys have a table?”

“Of course, always.”

“Great. We’ll have to chat more later. Have a good night, boys.” Jet Set Carl turned and walked in toward the venue.

For a brief moment, Nippe looked like he was fumbling. Cut off with his mouth full of brownnosing shit. JW thought, It worked, so who cares?

The girl at the register recognized Nippe. She waved them past without asking them to pay.

Inside, the place was half-empty.

Nippe and JW looked at each other. Laughed. They could hear the bouncers yelling outside: “We’re at capacity. Only regulars with cards tonight.”

An hour later, Nippe was on his knees in the bathroom, bent over the toilet seat, with paper napkins spread out on the floor.

Putte took the opportunity to sneak a Marlboro Light. Hummed along to the Eurotechno streaming in from the dance floor. “Why is this kind of music so popular at Kharma? Why not music with some more song to it, like R ’n’ B or hip-hop. Or why not some honest-to-goodness pop, like Melody Club. But no, they basically just play really fucking boring, watered-down, mainstream, party Eurotechno. A load of crap.”

JW sometimes tired of Putte’s know-it-all attitude when it came to music. The guy had over eight thousand MP3s at home in his hard drive and was always complaining about other people’s taste.

JW said, “Come on, do you have to whine? This place has amazing fuckin’ pull tonight.”

Nippe put a mirror down on the closed toilet seat lid. The place wasn’t exactly spick-and-span. There were brown burn marks on the lid and the top of the toilet from people sneaking cigarettes and putting them down while doing other stuff. Such as cutting lines, the way the guys were doing now, talking on cell phones, pissing, being sucked off. If JW squinted, it looked as though there were raisins spread out on the lid.

JW pulled out a baggie and carefully poured out about one-third of the contents in three piles on the mirror.

Nippe looked surprised. “You bought again this week?”

“Sure. But from another guy.”

“Okay. Better price than the towelhead?”

JW lied. “Not much, but nicer guy. I didn’t like that blatte. Thought he was trouble. I brought a lot tonight. If you know anyone who wants any, let me know.” He grinned, “Preferably ladies, of course.”

Nippe shaped the powder into three lines. “This is so ill. I’m getting horny just looking at these lines. I’m gonna fucking beat my own record tonight. At least three girls.”

JW looked at him. “Dude, no way. You’re insane. I thought it was pretty good when you got blown by two girls in the same night.”

“Sure, but tonight I’m on it. I can feel it in my cock. After this little dose of mirror magic, I’ll be scoring a hat trick. At least three girls are gonna taste the pinecone.”

“You’re ridiculous, man. Where do you go? In here?” Putte stubbed his cigarette against the toilet. Another raisin.

“Yes, my love. Here, or the ladies’ room. And now that it’s almost summertime, Humlegarden Park is prime real estate.”

JW wanted to be like him, Nippe, Stureplan’s uncrowned prince of BJs. With a profound self-assurance that always showed-no matter the situation, he radiated confidence. But sometimes JW wondered how deep it really ran. Like, did Nippe really think he was God’s gift to women, or was he just such a damn good actor that he even convinced himself? Whichever it was, it made him someone with edge, the guy everyone talked about. Someone JW wanted to be. And still, he didn’t want to be him-the guy could be such a tool.

Nippe pulled a bill out of his back pocket. Rolled it Hollywood-style, leaned over, and vacuumed the mirror.

JW and Putte followed suit.

The powder hit right away. White dynamite.

Life glowed.

He lost the boyz out on the dance floor. The music pounded. Bob Sinclair in autotune: “Love Generation.” A smoke machine hummed in the corner. Strobe lights flashed. The world in movie snippets. Scene one: the chicks, top of the line. Cut: A chick swings her arm over her head. Cut: The same chick’s cleavage is pressed up against JW’s face.

Kharma was a class-A meat market-for the creme de la creme.

He got lit, hot. Felt like he was running on 98-octane gas. JW wanted to dance, touch, grope, hump. Most of all, he wanted to explode. He got an erection so rock-hard, a cat could’ve sharpened its claws on him.

He kicked ten times more than usual with his legs. Strutted.

The feeling was so crisp: He was the best, horniest, smartest. Coolest. They’d see.

Another girl came toward him. Kissed him on the cheek. Yelled in his ear, “Hey, JW! What’s up? Did you guys have a good time the other weekend?”

JW pulled his head back. Clicked into focus. “Sophie. You look so pretty tonight. Are you here with the rest of the girls?”

“Yes, everyone except Louise. She’s in Denmark. Come to our table and say hi.”

They held hands. He was pulled along.

His gaze swept over the people at the table. Four insanely hot girls were seated in a row, dressed in tops that revealed more than they covered. The dominating colors: pink, purple, turquoise. All with push-up bras or boob jobs, tight blue jeans or short skirts.

Straighten up now, JW-fucking focus.

Nippe was already sitting at the table, had his arm around one of the girls. Buttering her up, joking, gazing deep into her eyes. JW thought, Which number was she in line? Damn it, could he have scored one already?

JW sat down. On the table was a “banker tray”: an ice bucket with a handle of vodka and smaller bottles of Schweppes tonic, ginger ale, soda water. JW got one of the basic rules confirmed: You drink hard stuff or bubbles. No beer.

It was hard to talk over the music. Sophie poured him a vodka tonic. JW sipped, stirred, picked up an ice cube with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. Sucked on it, hard. Sophie looked at him and sipped her drink.

He went over Abdulkarim’s advice silently to himself. Start by handing out freebies. Make friends by being generous, friends who like coke. Friends with cash or other friends with cash. Try to make sure people take as little as possible at the club-it’s an unsafe environment. Go to after parties instead. Organize after parties. Deliver to B-list celebs at after parties. Use at home. Don’t sell too-large quantities in the beginning-you don’t want to create a secondhand market.

Nippe leaned over and started talking to Sophie. JW couldn’t hear what they were saying. He dug the rush instead, unbuttoned another button on his shirt and gulped his drink. Felt how sharp his thoughts were-like a Mach3 razor blade.

JW had his own ideas. He wouldn’t carry too much at a time. If he was picked up, he wanted to be able to claim it was for his own use. He hid the rest in smart places. When he sold out: home for more. No problem, Stureplan was close enough to Tessin Park. Even more important: keep his buds well heeled so they didn’t question too much why he’d always be the one delivering from now on.

Sophie leaned over and brushed JW’s ear with her lips. He shuddered.

She said straight out, “Nippe says you’ve got Charlie. Can I taste some?”

Silently, JW thanked Nippe. This was an opening. Play your cards right now. Don’t make a big deal about it.

“Sure,” he said. “I have some left over. Bring your friend Anna and we’ll go to Humlegarden.”

They held hands again, pushed through the crowd. Past the golden boys, the silicone babes, the Yugo Mafia dudes, and the corporate schmucks.

The Eurodisco beats kept pumping.

They walked toward the exit. It was packed by the cash registers. Jet Set Carl was there, keeping watch over the cash flow. But his real, more important job was to hug, smile, introduce, make small talk, laugh, flirt. Jet Set Carl had control. Jet Set Carl had style. The money poured in. JW took note: He’s a good contact for the future.

He walked up. Positioned himself with Sophie and her friend Anna on either side and extended his hand. Jet Set Carl raised his eyebrows. “And you are…” JW was prepared. Replied, “Nippe Creutz’s friend, you know.”

JW saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. But maybe it wasn’t genuine recognition. One of Jet Set Carl’s most valuable skills was making people feel welcome and well treated, even though he didn’t remember them or have any idea who they were. Some called it two-faced. JW called it business-minded.

JW pulled some quick, prepared one-liners. Followed by mutual laughter. Carl checked out JW’s entourage: two hot chicks-he’d made the right move. He explained that they were only getting some air but would be coming back in. Carl nodded. JW fired off a couple more jokes. They connected. Good vibes. Jet Set Carl looked happy.

JW to himself: Nice work, JW.

They stepped out. It was 2:00 a.m. The line was gigantic, hysteric, chaotic. He made a deal with a bouncer that they’d be back soon. Humlegarden Park stretched out in front of them, still dark green even though the sky was beginning to brighten. The sounds from the line could be heard en baisse. The girls were ready to go. They sat down on a park bench. Made some lame jokes. The air was cool; the sweat dried on their bodies. JW jabbered on, showered them with compliments, put in the highest charm gear possible. He played confidant, on their side. “Damn, you two look good tonight. Have you seen any sweet guys? Nippe’s pretty hot, isn’t he? I can set you up, Sophie.” And so on, and so on. Sophie was brutally beautiful. He wanted her.

He knew them, but still not really. The girls belonged to the clique from Lundsberg, an elite boarding school. A school with the motto Knowledge, Tradition, Community. They all had the same first names as their parents and their parents before them. JW was used to most things from hanging with the boyz. Knew the jargon and the etiquette. He ought to have a chance.

Anna giggled. “Didn’t you have something for us to taste?”

JW said, “Absolutely. I almost forgot.” He hadn’t wanted to be too pushy. Waited for them to ask.

He brought out an etui with a mirror, the flip kind. The baggie was ready in his jacket pocket. He poured out a pile and cut it with a razor blade-three thin lines. Presented the girls with a polished-steel snort straw. He glanced around, then handed over the straw.

“Help yourselves.”

Fifteen minutes later, the girls went inside. The bouncer remembered them. Girls like Sophie and Anna would’ve gotten in no matter what-they glided through the line like Moses through the Red Sea.

JW stayed in the park, wanted more nose candy by himself.

Everything was going so damn well. The girls seemed pleased. High, bouncy, and filled with spontaneity. It was a good start. JW’s first step into the C world. C as in cash.

It could only get better.

The sky was pale gray.

The glass-covered ramp connecting two sections of the Royal Library in the park seemed to glisten. JW usually studied there when he wasn’t studying at home. He’d seen Sophie there many times. Had learned to recognize the click of her heels on the floor when she walked between different reading rooms, had checked out her girlfriends, seen which guys she said hi to. And after a time, it turned out that he actually already knew some of the people in her group. The circles were smaller than he’d thought.

He brought out the etui and held the straw in his hand.

That’s when he saw it.

The motor sounded like a nuclear power plant as it blew past down Sturegatan, a tear through the Stockholm night.

A yellow Ferrari.

His first thought: The model looks the same as the one in Camilla’s pictures.

His second thought: There can hardly be more than one car like that in all of Stockholm.

The memory of his sister washed over him.

He had to know.

Who owned that car?

DISTRICT COURT OF STOCKHOLM

SENTENCE

PARTIES

PROSECUTION

District Attorney Markus Sjoberg

Stockholm District Attorney’s Office

PLAINTIFFS

1.

Joakim Berggren, 740816-0939

Vapengatan 5

126 52 HAGERSTEN

2.

Daniel Lappalainen, 801205-2175

Lundagatan 55

117 27 STOCKHOLM

DEFENDANTS

1.

Patrik Sjoquist, 760417-0351

Rosenlundsgatan 28

118 53 STOCKHOLM

2.

Mrado Slovovic, 670203-9115

Katarina Bangata 37

116 39 STOCKHOLM

PUBLIC DEFENDER

Martin Thomasson, Esq.

Box 5467

112 31 STOCKHOLM

CRIMES COMMITTED

Aggravated Assault

PARAGRAPH

Subsection 3, Paragraph 6

SENTENCE

Prison, 3 years.

CHARGE ON APPEAL

Count 2 (Mrado Slovovic, regarding assault)

GROUNDS FOR THE DECISION

COUNT 1 (PATRIK SJOQUIST, THIRD-DEGREE ASSAULT)

Evidence

The prosecutor has as written evidence, referred to a medical report regarding injuries incurred by Joakim Berggren. The report is in reference to, among other things, a fracture in the nasal bone, a crushing of the jawbone in two places, a fracture in the right cheekbone, torn skin in five places, bruises and swelling on cheeks and forehead, bruising around the right eye, swelling and tearing of the lips, four severed teeth in the upper front row, as well as bleeding in the brain, severe swelling of the brain, and brain contusion.

As verbal evidence, the prosecutor has referred to the statement of the witness Joakim Berggren, the statement of the witness Peter Hallen, security guard at restaurant Kvarnen, as well as the statement of the witness Christer Thraff, guest at the previously named restaurant at the time of the incident.

The plaintiff Joakim Berggren has, among other things, said the following: The three men, Patrik Sjoquist, Mrado Slovovic, and Ratko Markewitsch, came to restaurant Kvarnen at around 0120 on August 23 of this year. The security guard who was working the line at the door, Jimmy Andersson, informed Berggren through the internal communication system that the three men had acted in a hostile manner and had demanded to speak with the person in charge of the coat check. Jimmy Andersson chose to let them in. Berggren understood that the three men belonged to the so-called Coat Check Mob, a segment of Stockholm’s organized-crime world that seeks to make money on different restaurants’ and bars’ coat-check business. He therefore informed them that Kvarnen was not interested. Despite this, he welcomed them into the restaurant. The three men acted aggressively. Among other things, Patrik Sjoquist said that they refused to leave the venue if they were not permitted to speak to the person in charge of the coat check. After approximately two minutes, the men entered the venue without having spoken to anyone regarding the coat check. Berggren continued to work the coat check and the door. At around 0300, he went to the rest room to urinate. Patrik Sjoquist entered the rest room. Shortly thereafter, the other two men also came in. Berggren was standing at one of the urinals. Patrik Sjoquist went up to him and headbutted him across the nasal bone. He believes the nose was broken. After that, Patrik Sjoquist grabbed hold of Berggren’s hair and hit his head against the side of the urinal. Thereafter, Patrik Sjoquist pounded Berggren’s head against the edge of the urinal at least three times. He remembers that Patrik Sjoquist yelled, “You fucking fag” and “This is what happens to people like you.” Shortly thereafter, Berggren lost consciousness.

In response to the charges, the defendant Patrik Sjoquist has made the following claims. He was threatened by Joakim Berggren, who said that “he would grind him to a pulp if he ever set foot in Kvarnen again.” The reason for this was that Patrik Sjoquist had refused to check his coat. He believes that is the reason that Joakim Berggren believes that he belongs to some so-called Coat Check Mob. Later, he went to the bathroom to urinate. Inside the bathroom, he was shoved in the chest by Joakim Berggren. He tried to defend himself and there was a scuffle. He is not able to remember exactly what happened, but he knows that he received several punches and, in turn, hit Joakim Berggren. He is claiming self-defense against Joakim Berggren’s assault. However, he admits that he hit Joakim Berggren in the face with at most three blows. The reason for this is that he was protecting himself and acted in self-defense. He does not believe that he pounded Joakim Berggren’s head on the urinal. He would not do something like that. After that, the two other persons ran into the bathroom. Sjoquist did not know that they were security guards. One of them began to fight with Mrado Slovovic. Sjoquist does not know why. He was inebriated at the time.

DISTRICT COURT’S JUDGMENT

The security guard Peter Hallen has recounted, among other things, that he saw Patrik Sjoquist holding Joakim Berggren by the neck when he entered the bathroom. He also saw how Mrado Slovovic “wrestled” one of the other security guards, Daniel Lappalainen, to the floor and put his leg in a lock. The restaurant guest Christer Thraff has recounted how he heard Patrik Sjoquist yell to Joakim Berggren that he would “teach him a lesson,” as well as that he saw how Patrik Sjoquist head-butted Joakim Berggren. The witnesses’ testimonies appear to be reliable. The District Court further believes that Joakim Berggren’s testimony is reliable. For example, he has described details regarding what Patrik Sjoquist yelled. His testimony is supported by the medical reports and by the testimonies of witnesses Peter Hallen and Christer Thraff.

Patrik Sjoquist sustained no reported injuries and also did not consult a doctor after the incident in question. The witness Christer Thraff has recounted that it was Patrik Sjoquist who, unprovoked, head-butted Joakim Berggren. This leads the District Court to believe that Patrik Sjoquist’s testimony is unreliable.

In summation, the District Court finds Patrik Sjoquist guilty of assaulting Joakim Berggren, consistent with the prosecution’s allegations. Patrik Sjoquist did not act in self-defense. The assault was of an unusually ruthless nature and shall be judged as aggravated assault, since it included repeated blows to the head, with severe injuries as a result. The charges are supported and will therefore be accepted. The crime shall be labeled aggravated assault.

Patrik Sjoquist has seven previous convictions on his criminal record. Most recently, he was convicted for assault by Nacka District Court and sentenced to four months in prison. His record also includes a previous conviction for assault as well as unlawful threats, hate crime, illegal possession of arms, illegal doping, and various traffic infractions. Based on medical records by court-appointed doctors, it is clear that Patrik Sjoquist lives in an orderly way. He is employed as a construction worker and spends a great deal of his free time on so-called body-building. He has a yearly income of around 200,000 kronor. There is no present need for surveillance. Patrik Sjoquist has agreed to community service.

Considering the severity of the crime and the aggravating factors discussed supra, no alternative sentence to imprisonment is available. The sentence shall therefore be set at three years in prison.

COUNT 2 (MRADO SLOVOVIC; ASSAULT)

Evidence

The prosecutor has, as verbal evidence, referred to the statements/questioning of the plaintiff, security guard Daniel Lappalainen, as well as to the questioning of the witness, security guard Peter Hallen.

Daniel Lappalainen has, among other things, recounted the following. He does not know if he was wearing his security guard’s badge at the time of the incident. He understood that there was something “going on” in the men’s bathroom. When he entered it, he saw Joakim Berggren lying on the floor. There was blood on the wall and on Joakim Berggren’s face. There were a number of people in the bathroom. He yelled at everyone to stay in the bathroom. One man ran past him out the door. Another man, Mrado Slovovic, grabbed hold of his leg, so that he lost his balance. Mrado Slovovic then put his foot in a lock. It hurt a great deal. He thought that Mrado Slovovic would break off his foot. Then Mrado Slovovic told him that “Kvarnen would be visited again” and that “Joakim Berggren had messed with the wrong guys.” After that, Mrado Slovovic and Patrick Sjoquist left the venue.

The security guard Peter Hallen’s version of events is the same as under Count 1.

In response to the charges, the defendant, Mrado Slovovic, has made the following statement. The security guard Joakim Berggren had been very unpleasant to his friend Patrik Sjoquist earlier during the night. When Mrado Slovovic came into the men’s bathroom, he saw that the situation was generally tumultuous and that a fight was going on between Joakim Berggren and Patrik Sjoquist. He was on his way to break up the scuffle when two men entered the bathroom. Mrado Slovovic did not realize that they were security guards. One of the men, Daniel Lappalainen, must have thought that Mrado Slovovic was involved in the fight, because he tried to “wrestle” him to the floor. At that point, Mrado Slovovic became very frightened. Mrado Slovovic succeeded in freeing himself from Daniel Lappalainen’s grasp. He may have grabbed Daniel Lappalainen’s foot in order to tear himself away, but it was not hard. Daniel Lappalainen was not wearing a security guard’s badge and Mrado did not realize that he was a security guard.

DISTRICT COURT’S JUDGMENT

Daniel Lappalainen and Mrado Slovovic’s versions of events differ when it comes to who attacked whom and whether or not Mrado Slovovic injured Daniel Lappalainen’s foot in self-defense. Both have given believable accounts. Daniel Lappalainen’s version is supported by the security guard Peter Hallen’s testimony regarding the fact that it was Mrado Slovovic who “wrestled” Daniel Lappalainen to the ground. Mrado Slovovic’s version is supported by Patrik Sjoquist’s account that it was the security guard who began to fight with Mrado Slovovic.

According to Swedish law, the defendant’s claims shall form the basis of the Court’s judgment unless they are refuted by the prosecutor. In instant case, this is a situation of one man’s word against another’s, and both versions have certain support in the observations of others. It should also be noted that there is no medical record that supports the claim that Daniel Lappalainen’s leg was injured. However, it shall be regarded as irrefutable that the general conditions in the bathroom at Kvarnen were tumultuous. A scuffle had arisen in this situation, and it is possible that it was unclear who attacked whom. It will be considered confirmed that Mrado Slovovic entered the bathroom at a later point than Patrik Sjoquist and therefore may have interpreted the situation differently. Even if Mrado Slovovic did, in fact, injure Daniel Lappalainen’s leg in the alleged way, this may have been defensible if Mrado Slovovic did indeed perceive that he was attacked and therefore acted in so-called putative self-defense; in other words, he believed he was in danger of becoming the victim of a criminal act. It is also not clear whether or not Daniel Lappalainen was wearing his security guard’s badge. Mrado Slovovic’s claim that he did not realize that Daniel Lappalainen was a security guard should therefore be given due consideration. In conclusion, the District Court finds that the prosecution was unable to prove the alleged act. The charges will therefore be dropped.

TO APPEAL, see attached information (DV 400). An appeal should be made to Svea Court of Appeals and be submitted to the District Court no later than three weeks from today.

On behalf of the District Court

Tor Hjalmarsson