Eternal Life Read Free Page B

should know, Nemec was from Vienna, whereas Brenner—Brenner was from Puntigam, you know, where the beer’s from, Puntigamer, in Steiermark, by Graz. Now, it wasn’t until a year or two later that Brenner found out that the Viennese have all got this idea—or maybe it’s just a bunch of talk—that all Czechs have aqua-blue eyes.
    But what am I doing talking about Czechs for. After all, the dead bodies were American. They owned a factory in Detroit. And their son-in-law, Vergolder Antretter, well, he owned the chairlift that they were found dead on. The police figured that out Day One, of course. Just never figured out much more than that, though. And now here comes Brenner three-quarters of a year later and figures out who did it!
    Now, you should know the kind of person you’re dealing with. How should I put it—not easy to describe. For instance, it bothered him when somebody he was on a first-name basis with called him by his last name. But that’s how it is on the force: people call each other by their last names.
    “What’re you doing looking like that with those Czech eyes of yours, Brenner!”
    Needless to say, he had to put up with that from his co-workers pretty often, because needless to say, Schmeller and Tunzinger didn’t keep it to themselves. And when six months later they shot Schmeller, well, it didn’t do him any good, because his other co-workers had caught on in the meanwhile and kept on saying it, too.
    But that wasn’t what was giving him a headache. Not the thing about the Czech eyes and not the thing with the name. Only one thing that could give Brenner a royal headache like this, and that was his own head.
    About his head, you should know, on the day he quit the force, he also, out of some kind of, I don’t know, quit smoking. And ever since that day, at least twice a month he gets a migraine that leaves him barely able to see out of those Czech eyes of his.
    Of course, he couldn’t be sure: was it from quitting smoking—basically withdrawal, because he smoked forty a day. Or did it have to do with the career change, why he was getting headaches more often than he used to get, from the worrying. Or, third possibility, it was just the weather in Zell that didn’t agree with him, especially now, this heat in September, just unnatural.
    Anyway. His head was the reason why Brenner was showing up now at the Zell pharmacy and demanding a pack of Migradon from Ewalt the pharmacist.
    “For whom are these tablets intended, Herr Brenner?”
    “For me.”
    “Have you seen a doctor about this condition?”
    Brenner now, headache already so bad that he didn’t know where to look—well, the young pharmacist struck him as being a little long-winded.
    “Yeah,” he murmured, and was already out the door before the pharmacist could make herself important.
    You should know, “Czech eyes”—not what the women were thinking, no, “child’s eyes.” And add to that, two ruts a centimeter deep in his cheeks, and in a skull with four blunt edges, no less. Needless to say, most of them liked that.
    He was in a hurry now to get to his hotel room, though. First, take the pills, then, type up the report for the week. Because every week he had to submit a report to the Meierling Detective Agency. And this week he hadn’t done it yet. And he had the feeling he wasn’t going to get rid of this headache, pills or no pills. It was three o’clock now, the post office closes at five-thirty, and Brenner wanted to get his report in today’s mail. So he had to hurry, only two hours left for the whole report.
    Needless to say, to find a familiar face waiting there in the dingy lobby of the Hirschenwirt, well, he was none too happy. Nor was he happy to hear a familiar voice addressing him at the same time. Both belonged to a young man with a tie green as poison on which the word “okay” was printed over and over in all different sizes.
    “A little respect, Herr Inspector!” the young man says and makes