"Seventeen IDs were lost," the attendant explained. "Those people in there can't get them back. They're going to have to go to Caracas or Milan to apply for new cards."
"Don't be silly!" Julie scoffed. "You don't have to go to another city to apply for a new card! All you have to do is file a claim and pay the fine."
"These are special cases," the attendant said uneasily. He seemed reluctant to talk about it.
Julie frowned. "What's special about them? Their ID cards were lost, weren't they?"
"Look, miss, all I know is every time an ID is lost in there," he nodded toward the courtroom, "they've gotta go out of the country to apply for a new one. That's all I can tell you."
"But why out of the...?"
"The reassignment orders are being drawn up right now," the attendant said. He led Julie to the street exit. "So you'd better go home and forget that fellow."
Confusion and a vicarious fear made Julie shiver. "Will he ... will they get new cards?"
The attendant shrugged. "They might—some day." He touched her arm. His voice was low, barely audible. "Was this your first time at the Show?"
Julie nodded.