Aztlan: The Courts of Heaven (13 page)

Xoconochco took chance after chance in the corridor, usually a bad idea. But without Coyotl to keep the Salamanders honest, they made their chances pay off.

It was 5-1 before the Eagles knew what had hit them, and it went downhill from there. I stopped watching with a couple of minutes to go, after Xoconochco scored its ninth goal—more than any team had notched in a match against Aztlan since before I was born.

Gloating over their victory, the Salamander fans hooted like owls as the Eagles left the ball court. I had never heard such a sound in Xoconochco when I played, not even on our worst nights in the place.

The Salamanders probably heard it every time they went on the road. That was how bad they were.

But the
Eagles
. . . ?

District Fourteen was the nicest district in Aztlan, and The Sleeping Jaguar was nestled into the nicest part. I showed up exactly at noon, as I’d been instructed.

Inside the restaurant it was cool and dark, and it smelled like lizard leather. The manager approached me as soon as I walked in.

“Table for one?” he asked.

“I’m joining someone,” I said.

He smiled. “Of course. This way.”

I followed him through the restaurant. It was empty except for a single customer in the back.

She was sitting in a shell-shaped corner booth meant for a party of eight, a single candle burning in the center of her table. Most people would have felt uncomfortable with all that wasted space. She didn’t look uncomfortable at all.

As I got closer, I got a better look at her. She was attractive, no question. Big eyes, proud cheek bones, flawless skin. But even in the candle light, I could see a hint of wrinkles under her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. She was fifty cycles if she was a day, and Coyotl had barely broken thirty.

He could have found someone younger and prettier if he had wanted.
Easily
. But the woman was a noble. To some guys that meant something. Maybe Coyotl was one of them.

Anyway, she wasn’t one of the nobles you saw on the Mirror every so often, so I didn’t recognize her. But then most members of the noble caste preferred to stay out of the public eye, especially those who were married and carrying on an affair with a ball court player. That might or might not be all right with their mates, but it made for bad publicity with the masses.

“Thank you for meeting me,” I said as I sat down.

She shrugged. “Would you care for some
octli
?”

Her voice was smooth, cultured. The voice of a woman who had worked hard on her manners and not much else.

I waved away the suggestion. “I’m on duty.”

“Of course,” she said. “Something to eat, then? The water snake is excellent.”

“Thank you,” I said, “but no.”

She called over the manager. “One cup, please.”

“Of course,” he said, and went to get it.

The woman turned to me. “I received three calls about you yesterday. One from a pet shop owner and two from a hotel. You’re a persistent man, Investigator.”

“It’s my job to be persistent.”

“Has your persistence unearthed any information about Coyotl?” Her eyes gleamed in the candle light, betraying her emotions.

I frowned. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but—”

She held up a hand before I could finish, and said in a voice thick with emotion, “Don’t.” Then she sat there for several heartbeats, her lower lip trembling as she tried to compose herself.

I was about to tell her to take her time, that there was no rush, when her
octli
arrived. She thanked the manager, took a sip of the stuff, shivered, and put it down on the table.

Then she asked me, “How did it happen?”

“We don’t know yet.”

The woman shook her head. “I wish I could tell you he didn’t deserve it.”

“What do you mean?”

I must have sounded suspicious, because she asked, “Am I a suspect now?”

“It’s not the type of remark you usually hear from an innocent party,” I had to admit.

She laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “The public may have believed Coyotl was a kind and generous soul. Let me tell you, Investigator, nothing could have been farther from the truth. Coyotl was a little boy at heart, with all the selfishness and cruelty little boys are capable of.”

No one else had given me that picture of him, I said.

“Maybe they were afraid. After all, Coyotl was a powerful man, and it didn’t take a lot to make him lash out at you. Sometimes it was just the way you looked at him.”

“How did
you
look at him?” I asked.

“I think you already know that. But I didn’t kid myself into thinking he was a nice guy. He was a son of a she-dog. So if someone killed him, it doesn’t come as a shock to me. I would say it was only a matter of time.”

“If you had to guess, who would you say it was?”

She took another sip of her
octli
as she considered the question. “Really, it could have been anybody. His coach, his teammates, players on other teams, the millions of fans who lost beans because they underestimated him one day and wagered against him . . . gods know, he was always receiving threats from people like that. So as I say,
anybody
.”

“His coach?”

“Yes. A real lizard turd, apparently. He and Coyotl didn’t get along for anything.”

Xochipilli had said otherwise. Interesting, I thought. “The night Coyotl went missing, his team had a game. But he wasn’t going to play, was he?”

She put her cup down. “Why do you say that?”

I told her about the rabbit dinner.

She looked impressed. “Most people don’t know that.”

“I was a ball court player myself once.”

“Colhua,” she said. Her eyes lit up as realization dawned. “Of course. I should have recognized the name.”

“
Was
he going to play?” I asked, dragging the conversation back on course.

Her eyes were still lit as she replied. “No. He told me so that afternoon. But he didn’t say why. And unlike some, I’m not in the habit of betting on the games, so I didn’t press him to find out.”

“Did he ever tell you someone was out to get him on the ball court?”

She shook her head. “No one in particular. But he did say you guys hold grudges.”

It was true. I hadn’t, but many others did.

“Did he borrow beans from anybody?”

“Coyotl?” She chuckled softly. “He had more beans than he knew what to do with. If anything, he
lent
them.”

“To whom?”

“He never mentioned names. But a
lot
of people. Other players sometimes. People in the Merchant City—more than a couple of them.”

It opened up possibilities. But if the woman didn’t have names, I would have to get them elsewhere.

“Was he seeing anyone else?” I asked.

She looked as if she had run into a wall. “Besides
me
?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly
not
. Of course, he was a ball player. He had his share of temptations, as you know. But he knew he had to make some sacrifices if he wanted to continue seeing me.”

“What about
before
he met you?”

“We seldom discussed his previous liaisons.”

I remembered the name Malinche had given me. “Did he ever mention someone named Tzique?”

The woman gave it some thought. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”

I asked some more questions. She answered them. But I could see that the longer we sat there, the less comfortable she was. Finally, she took out a chronometer and smiled apologetically.

“I have to go,” she said.

Back to your husband, I thought. “I understand. Thanks for your time.”

“Of course.”

“If anything occurs to you—”

“You’ll be the first one I contact. And don’t worry about the bill. I’m a good customer.”

I didn’t doubt it.

As she got up from the table, I saw why Coyotl had spent so much time with her. Noblewomen tended to be soft and round. This one wasn’t. I could see the ebb and flow of an athletic body under her garments, moving like a slow, sensuous tide.

As she went by she touched my shoulder. As if she were petting a dog, I thought.

But she didn’t take her hand away. She let it linger there for a while, longer than I would have expected. I looked up at her, wondering if she had remembered something else she wanted to tell me.

But she didn’t say anything. She just smiled. Finally her hand began to slide away, slowly, reluctantly, its contact with my shoulder ending in the faintest caress of fingertips.

I turned to watch her go. I couldn’t help it.

I guessed she had a thing for ball court players—former as well as current. It was flattering. I mean, she was a noblewoman.

She didn’t leave me her buzzer code, though. I guess she was still too broken up over Coyotl.

Sometimes I’m dumber than a stone.

I had asked the noblewoman about Tzique, Coyotl’s ill-fated young lover, but I hadn’t asked
Nagual
. He had played with Coyotl, for the gods’ sakes, maybe even while Coyotl was going out with Tzique. It was possible Coyotl had mentioned something to him.

And if Nagual hadn’t heard of Tzique, I could call Pactonal. He too might have heard of the girl.

“Maxtla?” said Nagual, answering my buzz. He sounded a little stronger. “It’s good to hear from you.”

I skipped the amenities and asked him about the name Tzique. “Sound familiar?”

“It does, yes. But I never heard about her in connection with Coyotl. I mean, if it’s the same Tzique.”

It had to be. I’d never heard of anyone else by that name.

“The one
I
heard about,” said Nagual, “was Ichtaca’s daughter.”

“Ichtaca has a daughter?”

“He did—until she killed herself.”

A tragedy, Malinche had said. “Why didn’t I know about that?”

“It wasn’t common knowledge. She was a bastard—the result of an indiscretion with some fan, I think. The only reason
I
know about her—the daughter, I mean—is I went out with one of her girlfriends. For a little while, anyway. She told me the whole story.”

“Did you ever meet her?”

“Tzique?” said Nagual. “No. Apparently, she was forbidden to associate with ball court players. I could see Ichtaca laying down that law.” So could I. But if she had gone out with Coyotl, the law had been broken.

“It couldn’t have been easy having him for a father,” said Nagual, “especially when he insisted on keeping her a secret. Must have done wonders for her self-esteem.”

Most people would have simply have taken her in as part of their family. But then, Ichtaca wasn’t most people. He had a reputation to worry about.

“Poor girl,” said Nagual.

“Thanks,” I told him. “You’ve been a big help.”

“Really?”

“Really.” That was
three
leads I owed him for.

The next thing I did was go to see Ichtaca at his office in the Arena. The walls there were covered with pictures of his past triumphs, each one framed in copper.

“Any news about Coyotl yet?” he asked.

I didn’t answer his question. Instead I told him what I had learned about his daughter.

His mouth twisted into a scowl. “Where did you hear
that
?”

“Is it true?” I asked.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Just between us, right? You’re an Investigator, for all the gods’ sakes. You have to be discreet.”

“I’m not going to plaster it all over the Mirror, if that’s what you mean.”

Ichtaca had to be content with that. Whatever he had been hiding, he couldn’t hide it any longer.

“All right,” he said. “It’s true. Her name was Tzique. Her mother was a clerk in Yautepec—a devotee of the ball court. I was playing my last cycle in the Sun League.”

It wasn’t an uncommon story. A number of players had fathered children on wide-eyed fans.

“I saw her two, maybe three times. She didn’t tell me I had gotten her pregnant until after she’d had the baby. I took care of them—both of them. Tzique’s mother told her I was a friend of the family, but by the time Tzique was fourteen cycles old she’d figured out who I really was.”

“How did she get involved with Coyotl?”

“She ran into him at a party. Like her mother she was a fan, so she was thrilled to meet the Great Coyotl. He didn’t know she was my daughter and she didn’t say anything to me, so I didn’t know they had begun seeing each other. Before long, she fell in love with him. I don’t have to tell you how big a mistake
that
was.” The memory creased his leathery old face. “She was beautiful, Colhua. I’m not just saying that because she was my blood. She was really and truly beautiful.”