Politics is an endless series of negotiations and compromises, and even if the processes are often complicated, the foundations are always simple: everyone wants to be paid, one way or another, so most parts of all bureaucratic systems work the same way: give me something, and I’ll give you something. That’s how we build civilizations.
Richard Theo is very fond of his car; he drives many thousands of miles each year. Technology may be good for a lot of things, but it leaves evidence. Emails, text messages, phone messages, they’re all a politician’s worst enemies. So he drives a long way to talk quietly about things no one will ever be able to prove.
Peter Andersson is right. Theo called Elisabeth Zackell because he recognized her PR value. A female coach in a club known for violent masculinity. Theo also understands the value of winning, so when Zackell had gone through the list of Beartown Hockey’s A-team players, Theo asked what she needed. She replied, “First and foremost? A goalie. There was a junior here a couple of years ago with good stats, Vidar Rinnius. He seems to have vanished. What happened to him?” Theo knows nothing about hockey, but he understands people.
It was simple to find out which treatment center Vidar was in: over the years Theo has been a good friend to people working in various authorities and public bodies. So he called Zackell and asked her, “How much do you really want Vidar?” Zackell replied, “If you can promise me him and I can find three more good players in Beartown, I can win.”
Richard Theo had to cash in a few personal favors. It cost him some more promises and plenty more driving in the car. But Vidar Rinnius will soon be released, considerably earlier than expected. No laws have been broken, no rules have even been bent. The only thing that has happened is that Richard Theo has become friends with the chair of the right committee, and that the case happened to be given to a new adviser, who considered that Vidar’s “treatment requirements needed to be reevaluated.”
Vidar was only seventeen when he was arrested for assault and possession of narcotics, so he was sentenced to treatment in a secure clinic. Bureaucracies can be complicated things, mistakes can be made, and, hand on heart: Shouldn’t treatment requirements be reevaluated from time to time? Considering the acute shortage of places in treatment centers, wouldn’t it actually be politically irresponsible to leave a youngster in there any longer than necessary?
In his statement, the new adviser declared that Vidar Rinnius had been a promising hockey player before he was sent to the clinic and that his rehabilitation to a “prosocial life” would be improved if “the youth in question was given the opportunity to resume meaningful occupation in a more open setting.” Normally his release would have been handled more gradually, via other facilities and homes, but such things can be reconsidered if he has access to a “secure, stable home.” So an apartment in the Hollow, owned by Beartown’s communal housing association, was found to be vacant. Naturally, Richard Theo had nothing to do with that, because that would have been corruption. And obviously the adviser on Vidar Rinnius’s case wasn’t from Beartown, because that would have looked suspicious. But the adviser’s mother-in-law, who passed away recently, was from there. The adviser’s wife has inherited a small lakeside property, and in a few months’ time an application may well, entirely coincidentally, be submitted to the council, requesting permission to build a number of small holiday cabins on the plot. Ordinarily applications of that sort are rejected out of hand, because construction so close to the water isn’t permitted, but on this occasion the adviser will be fortunate enough to have his application granted.
* * *
One signature on a sheet of paper in return for a signature on another one. Bureaucracy in action. Elisabeth Zackell gets her goalie, Teemu Rinnius gets his little brother back, and Peter Andersson will get dangerous enemies. And, last of all, Richard Theo will get everything he wants. Everyone wants to get paid; the only difference is the preferred currency.
* * *
When Peter leaves the row house, Sune and Zackell walk the little girl, Alicia, home.
“Can I come back again tomorrow and do some more?” the four-and-a-half-year-old asks.
Sune promises that she can. Zackell’s face is expressionless. Sune had to tell her not to smoke her cigar in front of the child. Zackell seemed to have difficulty understanding if that was because it was a bad thing in and of itself or if the child was trying to give up smoking and didn’t want to be tempted.
Once Alicia runs into her house, Sune turns to Zackell with a frown. “Are you serious about bringing Vidar onto the team?”
“He’s a good goalie, isn’t he? I saw the numbers from his last season. Were they wrong?”
“Vidar may be the best goalie this town has ever had. But he’s also had . . . problems.”
“Is he available to play or not?”
“Availability isn’t the same thing as suitability,” Sune notes.
Zackell’s lack of understanding is almost touching. “Hockey’s hockey. If he’s any good, then he’s suitable. Why is Peter so angry with him?”
Sune does his best not to laugh. “Peter isn’t . . . angry.”
“He seems angry.”
“Vidar has problems with his . . . impulse control. He has difficulty restraining himself. And Peter doesn’t like . . . mess.”
“Mess?”
“Vidar . . . well, where do I start? His brother is . . .”
“A hooligan. The leader of ‘the Pack.’ I’ve heard about that,” Zackell interrupts.
Sune clears his throat. “Yes . . . well . . . there isn’t necessarily any ‘Pack’ here . . . it all got a bit exaggerated by the media. But . . . yes, well, once a fight did break out outside the rink between the fans after an A-team game. Teemu was involved. The juniors were going to play a game straight afterward, but when it was supposed to start Beartown didn’t have a goalie, because Vidar was sitting in a police car. He’d run outside and thrown himself into the fight, still wearing his skates. On another occasion he broke into the rink and drove his moped around the stands. He was . . . well, a bit drunk. Another time he heard that Peter Andersson had spoken out against ‘hooligans’ during a board meeting, so he spent all night going around collecting all the pucks. And I mean all the pucks. From the rink, from the pro shop, from people’s garages . . . we had to ask the spectators at a boys’ cup game the next day to go home to see if they had any pucks hidden away somewhere so we could play the game. And another time Vidar hit a referee in . . . a sensitive part of his body. In the middle of a game. Peter banned him from the club, so Vidar broke into the rink and took a shit on Peter’s desk.”
Zackell nods, unconcerned. “And Peter doesn’t like mess?”
Sune chuckles. “Peter has a breakdown if anyone spills coffee on his desk. He’s just having trouble forgiving the business with the shit. He won’t let you put Vidar on the team.”
Zackell gives the distinct impression that she doesn’t understand how any of this hangs together. “Have you got a better goalie in Beartown than Vidar?”
“No.”
“I coach hockey teams. The only thing I know how to do is to treat everyone fairly, not treat them all the same. A good player is a good player.”
Sune nods. “Bloody hell. Peter’s going to kick up one hell of a fuss.”
“Is that bad?”
Sune smiles. “No. A vibrant club needs to be full of people burning with passion, and you only get fire from friction.”
“And forest fires,” Zackell points out.
Sune sighs. “You’re spoiling my metaphor.”
“Was that a metaphor? Sorry. I’m not good at—”
“People? Feelings?” Sune guesses.
“Pussyfooting around. I need players who . . . go for it.”
“That’s why you need Peter. He motivates them, you coach them.”
“Yes.”
“He won’t even talk to Vidar. But I can talk to Vidar’s brother.”