“That Korschak,” said Gebhart, straining to look back at a bread van unloading.

“What about him?”

“I used to think he was one of those. You know? Don’t tell him.”

“Playing for the other team?”

“Yeah. Your bunch knows all about that, of course. Who am I to talk?”

“Do you mean people who live in Graz? People my age, or other gay men like me?”

“Very funny, Professor. I meant your generation. As if I cared whether a man is gay or not. Macht nichst.”

“It makes no odds to you at all?”

“You seem surprised. My generation is not allowed to be tolerant?”

The sky behind the hills was still glowing now, but a tiny sliver of moon remained over the last of the lights on the houses. It might be shirtsleeves by midday today yet.

“Morning drivers are quite polite when you nail them,” said Gebhart then. “Did you know that?”

“I’ve only done one trap. It was in the afternoon.”

“You’re going to track a couple of real fliers at least, though.”

Now wasn’t the time to tell the same Gebhart that last October he’d gotten to Vienna in 90 minutes on the autobahn. There was a separate corps in the Gendarmerie for the autobahn patrols and traffic. Quite a serious bunch too. They could take your car for that kind of a stunt.

“The real damage gets done on the local roads, doesn’t it,” he said to Gebhart.

“Stimmt. Those are stats you can’t argue with. They’re speeding just to get to the autobahn, just to save what, two minutes? What does that say about human nature?”

“That people are predictable, maybe?”

“Did you make that up just now? Or is it some fancy logic thing, some philosophy thing?”

“Who says people aren’t cranky this time of day?”

Gebhart gave him a considered look. Felix had learned to grade them. This one was minor not quite glare, more curiosity and skepticism together.