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“I got both of them, Tom.”

Winters appeared at his side a moment later.

“That one’s alive,” Cronley said. “That one isn’t.”

Winters dropped to his knees and examined the man on the ground.

“You got him twice, once in the shoulder, once in—I dunno, in the side, waist level. He’s bleeding pretty badly.”

“Three times. I also shot him in the foot,” Cronley said. “Can you stop the bleeding? I want the bastard alive.”

“I can try,” Winters replied. “What do we do now?”

“Well, since I don’t think waiting on Casey’s autobahn for a friendly Constabulary patrol to come along and render assistance will do us much good, we’re going to have to go to the hotel.”

“What do we do with this guy?”

“We take him with us. We take both of them with us.”

“The dead kid, too?”

“Maybe we can find out who he is. Was. You grab this one’s shoulders, I’ll grab his legs.”

—

They carried the man, who was moaning, to the car and laid him on the backseat.

“Not only is my upholstery going to be really fucked up, but my nearly new sixty-nine ninety-five trench coat already is,” Cronley said.

“Looking on the bright side, you’re alive.”

“And look at the fucking windshield! Half a dozen fucking holes!”

“As I said, looking on the bright side . . .”

“Yeah. Let’s go get the kid.”

—

“My God, this is a woman!” Winters said.

Cronley looked and saw that when Winters had begun to pull the body out of the Audi by the feet, the hood had come off the head. Not only could Cronley now see an obviously feminine face, but blond hair braided and pinned to the skull.

The next thing he knew, Winters was helping him to his feet, and trying to put his arms around him.

“I threw up,” Cronley said.

“I can smell it.”

“I just shot a blond teenage girl with braids in the middle of the forehead.”

“You were defending yourself, Jim.”

“Against a blond teenaged girl with braids?”

“Come on, let’s go. I already have the body in the Horch.”

“How long was I down there, crying like a baby and throwing up everything I ever ate?”