When my family name comes up in conversation with people from Motovun or the countryside around it, they occasionally ask me whether I am related to a certain Viliam orf Vili Bon, known to all as Fritz, or Fric in local spelling. He is from Pazin, where my mother was born. Having committed many a daring robbery with a few chosen confederates, he is a local celebrity of sorts. The Motovun post-office robbery was among his early feats. It took years for the police to nail him down. He got a hefty sentence, too. His last bout in jail was in Italy, where he was smuggling arms during the war in Croatia. He was surrounded but would not surrender to the police for days. About my age, he is back in Pazin now. Those who know him better mimic his defiant stride about town. The funny thing about all the stories I have heard about Fritz is that no-one speaks badly of him. In fact, there is something akin to pride when people talk about the most dashing robber of these parts. “Our robber,” one can almost hear them.