side-whiskers.
The suntan did not derive from any ordinary tourist trap like Majorca or the Canary Islands but from a three-week so-called photo safari in East Africa. This had been pure recreation. Later they'd made a couple of business trips, one to Italy to complete their equipment and the other to Frankfurt to hire a couple of efficient aides.
Back in Sweden they had carried out a few modest bank robberies as well as knocking off two cheque-cashing establish¬ments, which, for fiscal reasons of a technical nature, had not dared to contact the police.
The gross income from this activity was considerable, but they had incurred major expenses and were looking forward to consid¬erably more expenses in the near future.
A large investment, however, yields large dividends. So much they had learned from Sweden's half-socialist, half-capitalist economy, and the least one can say about Malmström's and Mohrén's goals was that they were extremely ambitious.
Malmström and Mohrén were working on an idea - an idea that was by no means new, but that did not diminish its appeal in any way. They were going to do one more job and then retire. At long last they were going to stage their really big coup.
By and large their preparations were complete. All problems of finance had been solved, and the plan was as good as set As yet they didn't know when or where; but they did know the most important thing: how. Their goal was in sight.
Though far from being criminals of the first order, Malmström and Mohrén were, as has been said, rather good at their job. The big-time criminal doesn't get caught. The big-time criminal doesn't rob banks. He sits in an office and presses buttons. He takes no risks. He doesn't disturb society's sacred cows. Instead he devotes himself to some kind of legalized extortion, preying on private individuals.
Big-time .criminals profit from everything - from poisoning nature and whole populations and then pretending to repair their ravages by inappropriate medicines; from purposely turning whole districts of cities into slums in order to pull them down and then rebuild others in their place. The new slums, of course, turn out to be far more deleterious to people's health than the old ones had been. But above all they don't get caught.
Malmström and Mohrén, on the other hand, had an almost pathetic knack for getting caught. But they now believed that they knew the reason for this: they had operated on too small a scale.
'Do you know what I was thinking about when I was taking a shower?' Malmström said. Emerging from the bathroom, he care¬fully spread a towel on the floor in front of him; he was wearing two others - one wound around his hips and the other draped over his shoulders. Malmström had a mania for cleanliness. This was already the fourth shower he'd taken today.
'Sure,' said Mohrén. 'Chicks.'
'How could you guess?'
Mohrén was sitting by the window, looking intently out over Stockholm. He was dressed in shorts and a thin white shirt and was holding up a pair of naval binoculars to his eyes.
The apartment where they were living was in one of the large mansion blocks on Danvik Cliffs, and the view was by no means bad.
'Work and chicks don't mix,' Mohrén said. 'You've seen how that turns out, haven't you?'
'I don't mix things, ever,' Malmström said, offended. 'Aren't I even allowed to think nowadays, huh?'
'Sure,' said Mohrén magnanimously. 'Just carry right on thinking; if you're up to it.' He let his binoculars follow a white steamboat which was coming in towards the Stream.
‘Yes, it's the Norrskär ' he said. 'Amazing that she's still on the job.'
'Who's still on what job?'
'No one you're interested in. Which ones were you thinking about?'
'Those birds in Nairobi. Some sexpots, eh? I've always said there's something special about Negroes.'
'Negroes?' Mohrén corrected him. 'Negresses, in this case. Absolutely not Negroes.'
Malmström sprayed himself scrupulously under his
The suntan did not derive from any ordinary tourist trap like Majorca or the Canary Islands but from a three-week so-called photo safari in East Africa. This had been pure recreation. Later they'd made a couple of business trips, one to Italy to complete their equipment and the other to Frankfurt to hire a couple of efficient aides.
Back in Sweden they had carried out a few modest bank robberies as well as knocking off two cheque-cashing establish¬ments, which, for fiscal reasons of a technical nature, had not dared to contact the police.
The gross income from this activity was considerable, but they had incurred major expenses and were looking forward to consid¬erably more expenses in the near future.
A large investment, however, yields large dividends. So much they had learned from Sweden's half-socialist, half-capitalist economy, and the least one can say about Malmström's and Mohrén's goals was that they were extremely ambitious.
Malmström and Mohrén were working on an idea - an idea that was by no means new, but that did not diminish its appeal in any way. They were going to do one more job and then retire. At long last they were going to stage their really big coup.
By and large their preparations were complete. All problems of finance had been solved, and the plan was as good as set As yet they didn't know when or where; but they did know the most important thing: how. Their goal was in sight.
Though far from being criminals of the first order, Malmström and Mohrén were, as has been said, rather good at their job. The big-time criminal doesn't get caught. The big-time criminal doesn't rob banks. He sits in an office and presses buttons. He takes no risks. He doesn't disturb society's sacred cows. Instead he devotes himself to some kind of legalized extortion, preying on private individuals.
Big-time .criminals profit from everything - from poisoning nature and whole populations and then pretending to repair their ravages by inappropriate medicines; from purposely turning whole districts of cities into slums in order to pull them down and then rebuild others in their place. The new slums, of course, turn out to be far more deleterious to people's health than the old ones had been. But above all they don't get caught.
Malmström and Mohrén, on the other hand, had an almost pathetic knack for getting caught. But they now believed that they knew the reason for this: they had operated on too small a scale.
'Do you know what I was thinking about when I was taking a shower?' Malmström said. Emerging from the bathroom, he care¬fully spread a towel on the floor in front of him; he was wearing two others - one wound around his hips and the other draped over his shoulders. Malmström had a mania for cleanliness. This was already the fourth shower he'd taken today.
'Sure,' said Mohrén. 'Chicks.'
'How could you guess?'
Mohrén was sitting by the window, looking intently out over Stockholm. He was dressed in shorts and a thin white shirt and was holding up a pair of naval binoculars to his eyes.
The apartment where they were living was in one of the large mansion blocks on Danvik Cliffs, and the view was by no means bad.
'Work and chicks don't mix,' Mohrén said. 'You've seen how that turns out, haven't you?'
'I don't mix things, ever,' Malmström said, offended. 'Aren't I even allowed to think nowadays, huh?'
'Sure,' said Mohrén magnanimously. 'Just carry right on thinking; if you're up to it.' He let his binoculars follow a white steamboat which was coming in towards the Stream.
‘Yes, it's the Norrskär ' he said. 'Amazing that she's still on the job.'
'Who's still on what job?'
'No one you're interested in. Which ones were you thinking about?'
'Those birds in Nairobi. Some sexpots, eh? I've always said there's something special about Negroes.'
'Negroes?' Mohrén corrected him. 'Negresses, in this case. Absolutely not Negroes.'
Malmström sprayed himself scrupulously under his
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