"The price you named for helping us was pretty steep," I told him. "How well do you know the layout of the tla . . ." I’d been about to ask him how well he knew the stadium, but his gesture silenced me. He touched a finger to his eye tooth and glanced behind him. The knowsoft I’d slotted on Aztlaner Spanish included a pictionary of gestures, and the one Fede was using referred to the presence of a third party. I couldn’t see any surveillance cameras, but it was a logical conclusion that the ORO Corporation would be watching over its money-changers to keep them honest. Since Fede scalped tickets from the booth, I’d assumed that he could talk freely. But I supposed that he sold the tickets with the tacit approval of ORO—and probably gave them a healthy mordida, in return.