On the Run (Dedalus Euro Shorts) - Softcover

Martin Prinz was born in Austria in 1973 and now teaches at the Institute for Theatre, Film and Media Studies in Vienna, Austria. He is also a keen marathon runner. This first novel was enthusiastically received in Austria and Germany.

In November 1987 Rettenberger held up the Raiffeisen Bank in GrossSierning, east of Melk. This time he stayed in the car just for a moment, to gather himself. The mask was in his armysurplus anorak, the gun and the sports bag for the money were ready. He must not hesitate, must dash into the bank with the gun, shout, 'Give us the money' and drive off as quickly as possible. Rettenberger knew the town. He had grown up only fifteen kilometres away. He took one more deep breath, observing himself as he slipped effortlessly into the movements of the great bank robber. With that breath he was the robber and the others were afraid of him. He picked up the gun and the bag as if they were the most normal tools in the world, put on the RonaldReagan mask and went into the bank. The first thing the customers at the counter noticed was the shotgun. They hardly registered the mask, only the sawnoff shotgun. At once it's quiet and Rettenberger goes to the counter, growls, 'This is a holdup! Give us the money,' in as indefinable a Viennese accent as possible, indicating his sports bag with the gun. He is in control. The cashier shoves money across to him, Rettenberger sweeps it into the bag, keeping his gun on the people round him. It's all calm. At last it started to get dark. Rettenberger searched the house for more clothes. He had to get himself kitted out for going on foot. Presumably there would have been reports about him on the radio and television, and anyone seen on the roads or going across the fields in light city clothes would immediately attract attention. He did not switch on the news, even though that would have told him more about his pursuers. He was sure the reports would just describe him as a murderer. He did not want to hear that, not even, when it came down to it, where the police were looking for him. It would be better for him to concentrate on his escape, he would show them what stamina he had. For going on foot he needed warmer clothes, and after only a brief search he was cursing the owner of the house for being so much shorter and fatter than he was. Finally in the cellar he found an old, reddishbrown leather jacket with a thick astrakhan collar and a black woollen cardigan which more or less fitted. He couldn't find any stronger shoes anywhere, but he was happy enough for the moment, at least he could hide his face in the collar, which would surely not strike anyone as strange in this weather.