arms and in certain other places.
'If you say so,' he said.
'Anyway there's nothing special about Negresses,' Mohrén said. 'If you happened to get that impression it was just because you were suffering from sex-starvation.'
'The devil I was!' Malmström disagreed. 'By the way, did yours have a lot of hair on her cunt?'
'Yes,' said Mohrén. 'As a matter of fact she did, now that I think of it. An amazing abundance. And it was very stiff. Bushy and nasty'
'And her tits?'
'Black,' said Mohrén. 'And lightly hung.'
'I thought mine said she was a maitresse, or else a mattress. Could that be right?'
'She said she was a waitress. I reckon your English was a bit rusty. Anyway, she thought you were a train engineer.'
'Yes, well, anyway she was a tart. What was yours?'
'Keypunch operator.'
'Hmm.'
Malmström picked up some sealed polythene bags containing underwear and socks, tore them open, and began to get dressed.
'You're going to waste your whole fortune on briefs,' said Mohrén. 'A most remarkable passion, I must say.''
'Yes, it's shocking how expensive they've become.'
'Inflation,' said Mohrén. 'And we're partly to blame.'
'How the hell can that be?' asked Malmström. 'We've been inside for years.'
'We spend a lot of money unnecessarily. Thieves are always spendthrifts.' 'Not you.'
'No, but I'm a shining exception. Though I do spend a fair-amount on food.'
'You didn't even want to fork out for those birds down there in Africa. That's why things turned out as they did. It was your fault we had to scrounge around for three days until we found a couple who'd do it free.'
'That wasn't only for economic reasons,' Mohrén said. 'And certainly it wasn't to dampen inflation in Kenya. But as I see the matter, it's public thievishness that's undermining the value of money. If anyone should be put into Kumla it's the government.'
'Hmm.'
'And the tycoons. I've been reading about an interesting example of the way inflation begins.' 'Oh?'
'When the British seized Damascus in October 1918, the troops broke into the state bank and stole all the cash. Those soldiers hadn't any idea what it was worth. Among other things, an Australian cavalryman gave half a million to a kid who held his horse for him when he took a piss.'
'Does a horse have to be held while it pisses?'
'Prices shot up a hundredfold, and only a few hours later a toilet roll was costing two hundred bucks.'
'Did they really have toilet paper out there in Australia? In those days?'
Mohrén sighed. Sometimes he felt his intellect was becoming numb from never talking to anyone except Malmström. 'Damascus,' he said ponderously, 'is in Arabia. Syria, to be more exact'
'No kidding.' By now Malmström was dressed and was studying the results in a mirror. Muttering to himself, he fluffed up his beard and flicked some specks of dust, invisible to any normal person, off his blazer. Spreading out the towels side by side on the floor, he went over to the closet and got their weapons. Laying them out in a row, he got some cheesecloth and a can of cleaning fluid.
Mohrén cast a distraught glance at the arsenal. 'How many times have you done that? It's all new from the factory, or almost, anyway.'
'Have to keep our things in order,' Malmström said. 'Firearms need looking after.'
They had enough there to start a minor war or, at the very least, a revolution. Two automatics, one revolver, two sub¬machine guns, and three sawn-off shotguns. The sub-machine guns were standard Swedish Army equipment. All the others were foreign.
Both the automatics were of large calibre, a nine-millimetre Spanish Firebird and a Llama DC The revolver, too, was Spanish, an Astra Cadix forty-five, and so was one of the shotguns, a Maritza. Both the others came from elsewhere on the Continent, a Belgian Continental Supra de Luxe and an Austrian Ferlach with the romantic name 'Forever Yours'.
Having cleaned the pistols, Malmström picked up the Belgian rifle. 'The person who sawed off this
'If you say so,' he said.
'Anyway there's nothing special about Negresses,' Mohrén said. 'If you happened to get that impression it was just because you were suffering from sex-starvation.'
'The devil I was!' Malmström disagreed. 'By the way, did yours have a lot of hair on her cunt?'
'Yes,' said Mohrén. 'As a matter of fact she did, now that I think of it. An amazing abundance. And it was very stiff. Bushy and nasty'
'And her tits?'
'Black,' said Mohrén. 'And lightly hung.'
'I thought mine said she was a maitresse, or else a mattress. Could that be right?'
'She said she was a waitress. I reckon your English was a bit rusty. Anyway, she thought you were a train engineer.'
'Yes, well, anyway she was a tart. What was yours?'
'Keypunch operator.'
'Hmm.'
Malmström picked up some sealed polythene bags containing underwear and socks, tore them open, and began to get dressed.
'You're going to waste your whole fortune on briefs,' said Mohrén. 'A most remarkable passion, I must say.''
'Yes, it's shocking how expensive they've become.'
'Inflation,' said Mohrén. 'And we're partly to blame.'
'How the hell can that be?' asked Malmström. 'We've been inside for years.'
'We spend a lot of money unnecessarily. Thieves are always spendthrifts.' 'Not you.'
'No, but I'm a shining exception. Though I do spend a fair-amount on food.'
'You didn't even want to fork out for those birds down there in Africa. That's why things turned out as they did. It was your fault we had to scrounge around for three days until we found a couple who'd do it free.'
'That wasn't only for economic reasons,' Mohrén said. 'And certainly it wasn't to dampen inflation in Kenya. But as I see the matter, it's public thievishness that's undermining the value of money. If anyone should be put into Kumla it's the government.'
'Hmm.'
'And the tycoons. I've been reading about an interesting example of the way inflation begins.' 'Oh?'
'When the British seized Damascus in October 1918, the troops broke into the state bank and stole all the cash. Those soldiers hadn't any idea what it was worth. Among other things, an Australian cavalryman gave half a million to a kid who held his horse for him when he took a piss.'
'Does a horse have to be held while it pisses?'
'Prices shot up a hundredfold, and only a few hours later a toilet roll was costing two hundred bucks.'
'Did they really have toilet paper out there in Australia? In those days?'
Mohrén sighed. Sometimes he felt his intellect was becoming numb from never talking to anyone except Malmström. 'Damascus,' he said ponderously, 'is in Arabia. Syria, to be more exact'
'No kidding.' By now Malmström was dressed and was studying the results in a mirror. Muttering to himself, he fluffed up his beard and flicked some specks of dust, invisible to any normal person, off his blazer. Spreading out the towels side by side on the floor, he went over to the closet and got their weapons. Laying them out in a row, he got some cheesecloth and a can of cleaning fluid.
Mohrén cast a distraught glance at the arsenal. 'How many times have you done that? It's all new from the factory, or almost, anyway.'
'Have to keep our things in order,' Malmström said. 'Firearms need looking after.'
They had enough there to start a minor war or, at the very least, a revolution. Two automatics, one revolver, two sub¬machine guns, and three sawn-off shotguns. The sub-machine guns were standard Swedish Army equipment. All the others were foreign.
Both the automatics were of large calibre, a nine-millimetre Spanish Firebird and a Llama DC The revolver, too, was Spanish, an Astra Cadix forty-five, and so was one of the shotguns, a Maritza. Both the others came from elsewhere on the Continent, a Belgian Continental Supra de Luxe and an Austrian Ferlach with the romantic name 'Forever Yours'.
Having cleaned the pistols, Malmström picked up the Belgian rifle. 'The person who sawed off this
Similar Books
