Jens Lapidus - Never Fuck Up

He leaned over toward the bartender who’d served him. The guy was in his mid-twenties, Asian appearance.

“You know who Wisam is? Wisam Jibril, chill guy from Botkyrka. Lots of dough. Used to come here. Remember him?”

The bartender shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. Does he come here often?”

“Don’t know. But he used to hang here all the time a few years back. Did you work here then?”

The bartender dude wiped a glass. Looked like he was considering. “No, but check with Anton. He’s been here every damn weekend for the past five years. Totally crazy.” He pointed at another guy in the bar.

Mahmud tried to get the Anton boy’s attention for, like, five minutes. No success. Plenty of time to really check him out. Tight T-shirt that showed off the black tribal tattoos on his biceps, fake-messy hairstyle, broad leather bands on both wrists, metal rings on his fingers. The guy wasn’t built but in okay shape.

Finally: Mahmud tried another trick. Waved the five-hundred-kronor bill again. Anton reacted. A classic.

He tried to speak over the music. Pointed over toward the first bartender. “He said you’ve worked here awhile. Remember Wisam Jibril? He used to hang here all the time.”

Anton smiled. “Course I remember Wisam. A legend in his day.”

Mahmud placed the bill on the bar.

“This isn’t a good place to talk. Wanna go somewhere quieter for a few? My treat.”

Anton didn’t seem to get it. Continued pouring a drink for a chick who looked totally stoned. Didn’t he understand the most common memory aid of them all?

But after a few seconds, Anton stepped out from behind the bar. Ushered Mahmud in front of him. Toward the men’s bathroom.

The dude positioned himself by a urinal. Pulled out his dick.

Mahmud next to him: did the same thing. Bad move—he got stage fright, couldn’t squeeze a drop. That’d never happened before. He was usually the fucking pissing king. But he knew why—the memory of the piss stain from the forest returned.

He looked down: the drain was chock full of tobacco and gum.

“Tell me. You seen him here lately?”

Anton zipped his fly.

“Yessiree. Wisam used to hang here all the time. Slayed ladies like a b-ball pro, Dennis Rodman–style. You know, he’s had sex with over two and a half thousand chicks. Can you believe that? Two and a half thousand, damn.”

“Who? Dennis Rodman or Wisam?”

“Rodman, of course. But Wisam was awesome. He’s got that little extra something. When he goes in for the kill, no lady can resist.”

Mahmud thought, Yessiree—the dude was an even bigger Sven clown than he looked.

“Okay. But have you seen him lately?”

“Actually, yes. For the first time in three years, I think. There were so many rumors, you know. That he’d made millions on the stock market. That he sold stuff. That he had a manual for how to blow CITs. You know, all kinds of stuff. But people talk so much.”

Bingo—Anton’d heard stuff about Jibril.

“All I know is he spent dough with class. I mean, I’ve seen some stuff.”

Ka-ching , right there.

Mahmud had to tread carefully now, wanted to avoid having the bartender think his interest in Wisam Jibril was a little too big.

Mahmud looked around. “Damn,” was all he could muster.

Anton looked questioningly at him. What else did he want? Mahmud gripped his arm.

The bartender looked up. Mahmud stared back. Held the guy’s forearm hard. Felt the guy’s muscles tighten in his grip. Sent a signal, clear as day: If you leave now, there’ll be problems.

Mahmud didn’t wait. Pulled Anton into a toilet stall.

“Tell me more. What do you know?”

The bartender fidgeted. Eyes wide open. Still, he didn’t resist. Mahmud fingered the roll of bills in his pocket. Pulled out a grand.

Anton didn’t move a muscle. Looked like he was thinking. Then he spilled.

“He was here for, like, two hours. Picked up two chicks. That was a few weekends ago. I’m pretty sure it was May Day. I don’t know that much else. Honestly, I have no idea.”

Mahmud picked up on the second to last sentence: “That much else.” What did the guy mean? He obviously knew more.

“Anton, out with it. You know something.” He flexed the muscles in his forearms. Black letters against olive skin. Alby Forever . Had the desired effect.

“Okay, okay. The chicks were here last weekend. They chatted with me for a few minutes and were totally blown away. Wisam’d apparently rained money on them like he was an oil sheik. He took the girls back to his apartment, I don’t know where it is. And the girls probably don’t know either, ’cause they told me they were shitfaced. He drove them around in his new car. A Bentley.”

Mahmud didn’t understand.

Anton spelled it out: “B-E-N-T-L-E-Y. Totally insane. That’s all I know. I swear.”

Someone pounded on the door. “Boys, this isn’t a fairy bar. Come outta there.”

Mahmud’d gotten enough info for tonight. He had some leads to follow up.

Opened the door. Stepped out of the stall, shoving the jerk who’d bullshitted outside.

Left Anton with the laughs.

Settergren’s Law Offices

To the Sollentuna District Court

PLAINTIFF Barclays Bank Plc., 34 George St., London, England

ATTORNEY FOR PLAINTIFF Roger Holmgren, Esq., and Nathalie Rosenskiöld, Esq., Settergren’s Law Offices AB, 12 Strandvägen, Stockholm

DEFENDANT Airline Cargo Logistics AB

CASE Breach of Contract

APPLICABLE LAW Chapter 9, § 28, The Aviation Act (1957:297)

Barclays Bank Plc (“Barclays”) hereby pursues a lawsuit against Airline Cargo Logistics AB (“Cargo Logistics”) as follows:

Barclays claims that Cargo Logistics owes Barclays Capital 5,569,588 U.S. Dollars plus interest according to § 6 of the Interest Law for breach of contract, due within 30 days of the issuance of the District Court’s Decision.

Barclays claims the right to compensation for all attorneys’ fees incurred, in an amount that will be given at a later time.

Barclays and Cargo Logistics have entered into an agreement for air transport of a number of courier bags containing different currencies with a total value of 5,569,588 U.S. Dollars. These courier bags have, while they were in the care of Cargo Logistics at Arlanda Aiport, been the subject of armed robbery. Courier bags containing currency equaling the above-mentioned sum have thereby been lost.

According to chapter 9, § 18 of the Aviation Act, the freight carrier is responsible for damages incurred when the checked cargo, in this case the courier bags, is lost, reduced, or damaged while the cargo is in the freight carrier’s care at an airport.

Barclays alleges that Cargo Logistics, through severe breach of the requisite care and consideration demanded, is responsible for the incurred damage in full.

Barclays’s contract with the Swedish banks and Cargo Logistics

Barclays regularly buys shipments of different currencies from three Swedish banks: SEB, Svenska Handelsbanken, and FöreningsSparbanken (Swedbank).

According to a contract from 2001, Cargo Logistics had, by request of Barclays Bank, on a regular basis agreed to provide pickup and transport of courier bags containing currency from banks in Stockholm and arrange for air transport to London.

The transport relevant to this case followed the procedure that is routinely applied to Cargo Logistics. Barclays sent a telefax message to Cargo Logistics with the request that Cargo Logistics pick up a number of courier bags containing currency from the three Swedish banks, arrange for air transport from Stockholm to London, as well as fax a copy of the Air Waybill as soon as possible (Attachments 1–5). According to the instructions, the items would be prepared for air transport and the average value of each courier bag would not exceed 500,000 U.S. Dollars. At the time, the dollar was at 7.32 SEK.