Girl Boss Ch. 1

Ebba

"Livet är ett spel av baseball," said Druian.
"Speak English," I stopped him, then waved a cigarette in front of him. "I don't want people to know what we're saying."
"You do know that 86 percent of the Swedish population speaks English, right?" His Norwegian accent getting thicker by the end of the sentence. He shook his head, declining my offer.
"Fine, then speak Norwegian," I rolled my eyes, bringing the end of the cigarette to my mouth and sucking hard on it.
"That's even worse! And what in the name of IKEA are you doing? You don't even smoke."
"Sorry, I'm nervous," I dropped the cancer stick on the sidewalk and smashed it with the sole of my tennis shoe.

A few minutes passed and we watched the high traffic in the convenience store on opposite side of the street.

"As I was saying," Druian continued, "life is like a game of baseball and we are about to hit a home run."
"Yeah, unless the center field catches our balls."
"You know, Ebba, you are too negative for an American girl. You need to get back in your uggs and drink more lattes."
Ignoring his last statement, I elbowed him and made a small head gesture at the store.
"Let's go," I put my hands in my jean pockets and began crossing the street. "I want me some pepparkaka."
"And Swedish hot cocoa," Druian blew air on his fingers and snuggled his hands under his armpits while he followed me.

I stared at a small section filled with tubes, not knowing the difference between toothpaste and mayonnaise. It's not that I didn't speak Swedish; it just took a while for me to put the words together. My head didn't turn too many times before I spotted Druian, so he could read me the label. He was the tallest guy by the espresso machine. Not sure how he managed to have a double chin when he was the skinniest person I knew. I sniggered as he waved at me and pointed at his cup of hot cocoa like a moron.
Then, I heard the doorbell jingle as the last customer exited the premises, and I winked at my friend.

Druian put his cup down on the counter, lifted his hoodie and pulled out what I thought was his pistol out of the front of his jeans. I had already reached for my gun inside my bra.
"Öppna kassan och ge mig pengarna!" I shouted, aiming the firearm at the cashier.
The cashier raised his hands and remained frozen. I swallowed nervously then yelled at him again. He still didn't obey me, so I brought the muzzle closer to his face.
"God, stick to English. Your Swedish is not gangsta enough," said Druian while biting on a pepparkaka.
"Who cares?" I glanced at him, then frowned and looked at him again. "Wait, what the fuck is that?" I asked him.
"Sorry, I grabbed a cookie. I was hungry."
"No! Not that," my tone was a mix of annoyance and frustration. "Are you holding a knife? You were planning on robbing a store with a fucking knife?"
"Yes, guns are dangerous. Knives are safer. I saw it on the tele."
"Do you have to believe all the bullshit that's on TV?" My pitch became higher as his face wrinkled in confusion.
"Sorry, I didn't want to shoot myself in the fucking foot."
My face reddened in anger.
"Uh, guys?" the cashier spoke softly, "can I say something?"
"Sure," smiled Druian.
"I think they're here to arrest you," the cashier pointed at the door.
Ten police officers rushed toward us and we immediately dropped our weapons.
"Shit," I mumbled, feeling as my hands were forced behind my back and cold metal tightened against my wrists. My eyelids drooped and I put my head down.
Druian quickly reached into his pocket and dropped a a few coins on the counter.
"Thank you for the hot cocoa," he addressed the cashier.

——-

The Swedes had taken my passport, my watch, and my headshot. An officer opened the door to another room where we met with five other uniformed men.
"Sorry, boys, I'm not into orgies," I said, but none of them reacted at my comment.

One of them snatched my hands then rolled and pressed the tip of my fingers onto a screen.
I won't lie, I was shitting myself, but I couldn't show it, so I decided to smile instead.

"So, which one of you is Agneta?" My smart mouth continued.
"Please, step behind the line," said another officer. I did as he said and spread my arms and legs apart. A female officer entered the room and began patting my torso for unwanted objects, then my thighs, and so on.

That's when the realization that I was going to jail dropped on me like a bucket of ice cold diarrhea. I was going to say something else, something even more stupid, but my facial muscles weren't amused anymore.

My brain kept saying, "Your mama would not be proud. She would have wanted you to do better with your life." Nevertheless, I was fucked. If God had a paper trail on everyone, my file would be in a dusty file cabinet labeled 'T through Fucked.' No matter how many times mama took me to church, someone still marked my forehead with triple digits. No one could see them, but they were there.
That's how I thought at the moment, but I didn't know that what came right after would turn my life 180 degrees.

Nobody paid much attention when the door handle swiveled down, but I did when the most beautiful man I'd ever seen in my life walked through the door. My heart and my soul recorded that moment...slowmo. And that's when Celine Dion started singing in my head.
It was a common thought of mine that part of my libido died with Marlon Brando, but this man's silky black hair, piercing brown eyes, and defined jaw kicked all of the hot actors in the ass and enhanced that part of me I didn't think about much. It was like that black suit of testosterone had been crafted just for 'moi.'
I hoped for him to be my judge or, perhaps, my executioner. Prisoner toucher? If that was a thing. Gynecologist? Fingers crossed.
Of course, the moment was ruined when Brando 2.0 was followed by the ugliest man I've ever seen in my life.

"Everyone, can we have a moment with Ms. Torsson?" said Ugly.
All officers exited the room. I squinted, wondering if this was Swedish police standard procedure.
"Hello Ebba," said Brando 2.0. His smile blinded me for a second.

I was waiting for so long,
For a miracle to come...

Shh! Not right now, Celine. I need to pay attention.

"Hi," I smiled back but I didn't want to show him my teeth. I hadn't been to the dentist in 10 years.
"Ms. Torsson, I am Erik Nyman, chief of police. First, here's your passport and your watch," interrupted Ugly, handing me a plastic bag.
My eyes shifted to him in surprise, not knowing what to make of it. That meant I was free.
"Your cousin, here, has explained-" Ugly pointed at Brando 2.0.
"What was that? My what?" I thought outloud. A big red light flashed in front of Brando's groin area and I imagined myself burning in hell. My eyes were splashed with holy water.
Ugly frowned at Brando 2.0.
"Right," said Brando, "Chief Nyman, she probably doesn't recognize me." He turned to me. "I'm Benjamin Torsson, your cousin. We used to play together when we were children."

"Oh, Ben, okay," I clasped my hands then jerked my index finger at him. "What-um-what brings you by?"
"What do you mean? Our family has been looking for you for years," he said. "I'm here to bring you home."
"Home? Like, America?"
"Yes."
"You know, it's been so long, I don't think I can go back there, but thank you for helping me get out of here." I moved past them.
"You don't understand," Benjamin held my arm, "the only way you're leaving this place is through me."
"Ms. Torsson," said the chief, "you might be looking at 10 or more years in prison."
My eyes widened. It was to my understanding that Swedish law wasn't that harsh, but I guessed, attempted robbery was just one of the crimes, out of many, I committed at that convenience store. Benjamin must have had a lot of influence on the chief to get him to set me free.
"Fine," I said, "but you have to let my friend go."
Brando 2.0 stared at the chief, then back at me.
"Deal."

——-

Benjamin and I stepped on the escalator that led to the police station of the main lobby, when I saw a skinny, tall, blond man outside. He approached me as I reached the bottom.
"Don't take too long," said Benjamin, walking right past us toward a black reflective SUV.
"America, huh?" Sighed Druian.
"Yeah," I replied, "apparently, he's my cousin, Benjamin Torsson. He showed me his ID and everything."
"Torsson?" He whispered.
"I know," I replied. "It was the only way they'd let you out. Don't you worry about me, Druian. I'll manage, okay?"
"Sure," he glanced at Benjamin, who was getting in the back of the SUV.
"What are your plans, now?" I tapped his arm, gently.
"I think I'll go back to Norway," he replied. "Maybe buy some land, become a farmer and meet a nice girl. Settle down, you know. Maybe after a few years, I'll build a boat and sail to England with my sons. Raid a few villages and take their gold. Have sex with a ginger and impregnate her with my bastard son."
I nodded, actively listening.
"Except," I said, "this isn't the 12th century, so just find a job, and buy yourself a Playstation."
"Yeah, I guess I could do that," he bumped my fist. "Sorry our plan didn't work, Ebba."
"Hey, don't worry about it," I hugged him. "I have to go now."
"Ha det bra!"
"Ha det bra!" I waved him goodbye before I disappeared behind the car door.

——-

As soon as my butt hit the seat, I felt warm and cozy. The leather material and the small liquor bottles made for a fancy ride.
"Woah, I do enjoy new car smell," I looked around. "What do all these buttons do?" I pressed a blue dot on the ceiling and the rooftop opened. That made me curious about the small knob beside it, which softened the seat cushions.
My index finger was about to press the red button but a hand snatched my wrist before I got to it.
"Is that the one that launches the missiles?" My brows furrowed at my wrists. Clearly, Brando 2.0 had no sense of humor.
"Rule number 1," he said, "don't touch my shit. Rule number 2, when we get to America, you are gonna do what I tell you, including shutting your mouth whenever I tell you."
"Tha fuck?" I snatched my wrist back.

Marlon Brando 2.0 turned out to be Joseph Stalin on viagra.

"What?" He said, "You thought I came all the way to Sweden to give you a free ride?"
"Screw you," I got on his face. "I didn't ask you to come."
"Shut up and listen, ungrateful little bitch. I didn't wanna come here either, but I have a business to run and for some reason, I have some investors and about a hundred lawyers on my ass who need to talk to you before I can continue to do my job."
"What? Why would some lawyers want to talk to me?"
"Oh yeah," his face softened, "your father's dead. His lawyers don't want to read his Will without you being present."
"My-my father?" I swallowed.
"Yes, so all you have to do is show up and don't open your mouth about your low-life endeavours. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you stain the Torsson family name."
I straightened up in my seat. A thin black plate covered the view between us and the chauffeur. I didn't know where we were but I did know the car wasn't going too fast. Therefore, I pulled on the door latch and the cold breeze of Autumn invaded the SUV.
Before I could jump, Benjamin grabbed my waist, yelling at the black plate, "lock the doors!"
There was a click.
My feet began pedaling fast and my arms swung in all directions.
"Help me! He's crazy!" The chauffeur didn't even slow down at my words. "He has a gun!" Screaming that, usually, worked, but not this time, so I elbowed my cousin on the ribs and punched him in the nose.
At least that would slow him down, giving me enough time to figure out the locks. It turned out, all I got from Ben was a loud 'fuck!' and a stronger grip. Then he pushed me down on the seat, locking me underneath him.
"Stop!" He shook me.
His warm breath on my lips and my reflection in his black amber pupils slowed me down. A drop of blood fell from his nose onto my chin. His thumb rubbed against it, slowly.
"Damn," I said, "I bet your face never gets pixelated when you zoom into your own selfies."

He brought his lips down and I kissed them.
"What the hell are you doing?" He sat back up, reaching for a napkin inside the pocket of his black suit pants, covering his nose with it.
"Nothing!" I put on my seatbelt and didn't say a word until we got to the plane, where I asked for Jack Daniels.

Crap! I forgot Stalin was my cousin.