"I wish I could be that certain," said Kintyre. "The whole thing makes so little sense that—Though Judas, I feel I could almost grasp the answer, but no."
Yamamura asked Guido: "Where is this dope you brought?"
"It's not dope," said the figure on the cot: a tired, automatic protest. "It's only pod."
"Never mind that. If you don't like the law, write your Congressman. Where's the dope?"
"They'll kill me if—"
"What use is your life to you right now?" asked Yamamura scornfully.
It had not seemed possible Guido could shrink further into himself. "That dressing table over there," he whimpered.
Yamamura opened the drawer, flipped out a small parcel, and tore a corner. "Uh-huh," he said.
"Well?" said Kintyre.
"Well, by rights we should turn this and the kid in. It could mean a stretch in a Federal prison, since he crossed a border. It could even mean a loss of citizenship, he being naturalized. Dope is a hysterical issue."