That was odd. When I’d waved goodbye to her, Teresa had been making her way through the crowd, her small travel bag balanced on one shoulder to keep it out of the way. Now the bag—with its distinctive pink-and-white stripes—lay unattended on the base of one of the statues that dotted the plaza. I couldn’t imagine that she had just left it there—in Aztlan, despite the heavy policía presence, it was prudent to keep one hand on your credstick at all times. I scanned the crowd but couldn’t see Teresa anywhere.