Eternal Life by Wolf Haas Read Free Book Online Page A

front of Andi at the sausage stand were Brenner and the handless old Frau. And Brenner was in shock now,because from a distance, he’d guessed Andi to be forty, if not fifty, and he was just now seeing that he was at most seventeen or eighteen years old.
    Andi the Fox had on his red overalls from the gas station like he always did. On the bib Brenner recognized the outline of a Shell seashell that must’ve once been sewed on there, but now the fabric was just a shade darker in that spot, not as washed-out as it was all around it. Like an old man standing there, Brenner thought, but then it was the exact opposite once Andi started talking.
    “Hold on a sec, hold on a sec, so I should just, a second, huh, that’s what I should do, huh, hold on?” the Haggl was so giddy talking to the kiosk owner with his high-pitched croak of a voice that you’d have thought his voice hadn’t changed yet—practically a eunuch. And at the same time, he was looking at Brenner anxiously, like, Is he maybe on my side, will he laugh at my jokes? But Andi didn’t give him any time for all that, because practically in the same breath he was already saying something else again:
    “You sure got it figured out, Detective.”
    Brenner had never tried to somehow make a secret out of it or anything. It’s always been an old rift, undercover detective or more of an official—well, dis- and advantages, there’s always been people from both camps. Trade rags for cops, trade rags for detectives, whatever else there is, it’s been discussed again and again.
    It always reminded Brenner of his first two years on the force. Because he was still on the traffic patrol back then. And it was constantly getting discussed, what’s better:secret radar surveillance, or blatant warning: Caution, Radar. Taken together, what scared the speedsters off more.
    In his case, though, it’d been clear from the start, I mean, undercover or not undercover. The Zellers already knew him from the police, so, undercover, that wouldn’t have worked anyway. And oftentimes, it’s no disadvantage at all when people start making themselves important like Andi the Fox was doing right now.
    “I said, you sure got it figured out, Detective. Because everybody’s a crook. Don’t have to go looking for very long down here, crooks, all of ’em. Gschwentner. Vergolder. Millionaire, but never tips a penny. Clean the windshield, sure, tip, no. Check the coolant, yes please, tip, no thanks, have a look at the air pressure, Andi, tip, sorry no, Herr Crook. No time, Herr Millionaire. Gotta work the nightshift, lifting the Ameri-can’ts.”
    Andi sure liked that, what he’d just come up with in his rage, so much so that he turned around now and yelled over to Vergolder Antretter:
    “Lifting the American’ts, Mister Antretter. Want your
regening
?”
    But Vergolder didn’t react at all. And the others didn’t laugh, either, because they didn’t dare laugh in front of Vergolder.
    “Get it, Detective?
Regening
? In Dutch it means: Do you want your check? Holland’s the best country for tips. Vienna’s good, too. What’s with you, Detective? What, no beer? When are you finally gonna catch the crook?”
    Brenner bought a sausage on a bun and then asked Andi,after he had taken a bite, in other words, with his mouth full:
    “Who should I arrest then? Gschwentner or Vergolder?”
    “Nah, Detective, you’d better not arrest anybody, how stupid do you really think I am?”
    Brenner had this unusual habit. He was one of those people who—okay, when they’re eating a sausage on a bun, they only unwrap the paper-wrapper halfway. Because on the end where there’s still paper on it, that’s where they hold the bun. Frankly, I’ve never gotten my fingers dirty from a bun, but please!
    As he was unwrapping his sausage halfway, he noticed that Gruntner, in his early retirement, had had his name printed on the napkins. Gruntner used to work for the train, as a shunter, and it shaved his