Spotted Magnus Linden right away. The dude exuded cruelty.
The pub was almost empty. A middle-aged woman behind the bar was stacking glasses. Lunch had been over for two hours. The place was dimly lit. In the background: Led Zeppelin, “Stairway to Heaven.” A classic.
Linden rose, arms hanging by his sides. Not so much as a hint of a greeting. Was rocking some serious attitude.
Mrado in his new role as mediator: ignored that Linden ignored. Extended his hand. Met Linden’s gaze.
He remained standing like that for three seconds too long.
Linden backed down. Extended his hand. Shook Mrado’s.
“Welcome. Want something to eat?”
The ice was broken.
They ordered beer. Made small talk.
Mrado knew the game by now. Discussed engines, cars, bikes.
Linden imparted his words of wisdom, sounded a lot like HA philosophy to Mrado’s ears: “If you drive Japanese, you’re a faggot.”
Mrado agreed. Honestly. He’d owned a lot of cars in his life, but never an Asian, and he planned to keep it that way.
The conversation was easy.
Linden’s approach was different from that of a lot of others. The dude was a roaring racist. Kept sliding into talk about nigger decay/commie Jews and the Swedish Resistance Movement, some sort of organization made up of old skinheads. Mrado was uninterested. Where was the money in this bullshit?
Linden shook his head. “Why’d I think a person of the Slavic race would understand?”
Mrado got fed up. “Listen, li’l Hitler. I don’t give a fuck about your race theories. You know what I want. It’s about all of us. Cut the bullshit and answer the questions already. Will you agree to the market division or not?”
Risky to push Linden. He’d made a bloody mush of people for less. But Mrado wasn’t “people.”
Linden nodded. Had made up his mind.
It was decided.
Mrado on a happiness high on his way home.
Called Ratko with the news.
Called Nenad.
“Sealed the deal with the Brotherhood, too. Like I told you, we’re sitting pretty. Our markets are protected.”
“Damn, you’ve done a fucking fantastic job, Mrado. Pray to God they keep their promises. The blow biz in the boroughs is soaring at record speed. The sky’s the limit. We’re gonna do some serious revving up now.”
“Real good odds.”
Mrado’d been thinking about where Nenad stood for a long time. Was he with or against the boss? Mrado’d heard the talk, knew that Nenad’d had conflicts with Radovan, too. There was a possibility that Nenad was as ticked off as he was. A possibility he had to test.
Mrado went for it. “No matter what Radovan does, we’re safe.”
“Yes, no matter what Radovan does.”
Nenad paused. They were silent.
Then he went on. “Mrado, we’re on the same team, right?”
Nenad tested Mrado the way Mrado’d planned on testing him.
Nenad in the game. Mrado and Nenad on the same side against Radovan.
Stockholm City, daily
March
Project Nova-the police’s new weapon against organized crime in the region. The gangs have long criminal records, are becoming increasingly organized and violent, and are training their successors to rob and sell drugs.
Aggravated robberies, severe drug crimes, aggravated assault, procuring and pandering sex, and severe illegal weapons possession constitute their everyday lives.
Despite special police efforts, gang crime in Stockholm has become increasingly sophisticated, violent, and organized. Hardly a day passes without newspaper reports about new CIT robberies, procuring and pandering sex, or cases of assault taking place in the Stockholm area.
Organization
Many of the persons in question are experienced criminals with substantial criminal records who previously worked largely alone or in smaller groups. The new development points to improved organization and unity.
Cracking down on gang crime is a central issue for the regional head of police, Kerstin Gotberg, and the Stockholm police’s Project Nova began last year after a period of critical escalation of violent crime in the region.
150 persons have been given a so-called Nova mark. This means that all police officers know that an arrest of such a person has top priority, no matter the crime in question.
“We can’t wait around for trophies. Sure, locking them up for seven, eight years would be good if it was possible, but it might not always work. We are going to maintain constant pressure on them. If you combine all the units in the region, you can, as a rule, find a way to convict them of something,” said Leif Brunell, head of the region’s Drug and Surveillance Unit and operative head of Project Nova.
Status Among the Criminals
When the Nova marks were instituted, having one in the police’s registry was almost considered a status symbol among criminals.
“It becomes some sort of status, but in the long term it gets pretty annoying for them, since they become more visible, and that isn’t something they want,” said Lena Olofsson, criminal investigator working with Project Nova.
The heavy criminals are organized in unified networks and they specialize in different types of crimes. Conflicts can arise when different gangs compete for the same market. “There is a code of honor that has led to confrontations between different gangs, for example the Hells Angels and the Bandidos MC. Even the so-called Yugoslavian networks have had internal conflicts. Right now, the problems are especially big in southern Stockholm.”
Young People Seek Out the Gangs
Recruitment to the criminal gangs is large. It is common that the more experienced criminals plan, while the younger ones, the so-called chips, actually carry out the crimes. Sometimes the older and more experienced members participate as “mentors.”
37
They met up in the Sollentuna Mall. Jorge felt at home there. Indoor streets, the usual stores: H amp;M, the Systembolaget liquor store, B amp;R Toys, Intersport, Duka, Lindex, Teknikmagasinet. And the ICA supermarket. Jorge remembered how the food he’d bought there’d fallen to the ground when he was jumped by the Yugos. Then he remembered all the times he’d shoplifted there as a kid.
Jorge’s fear of being recognized returned. It’d happened once three weeks ago, right here in Sollentuna. The danger zone for Jorge, highest density of people who recognized him. That time, he’d been there to meet a guy who dealt for him. In the stairwell of the apartment building on Malmvagen, a woman’d walked past who knew Jorge’s mom. She’d tried to joke, yelled at him in Chilean slang: “Jorgelito. You been tanning in Africa?” He’d ignored her. Kept walking out of the building, with his panicked heart beating faster than a drum ’n’ bass rhythm.
Told himself, It’s cool. I’m way down on the 5–0’s lists by now. I’ve changed my appearance. I’m a different guy. She was the first one in months who’d actually recognized him.
