Yaktastic

The second guard crumpled his coffee cup and got out of his chair, leaving Manny alone in the small room at the side of the security area.  Over the intercom, a party of seven was paged to the boarding gate before they missed their flight.

He drummed his fingers on the table, then reached over to take his passport.  He paused, set it back down, and then checked the door.  No one around.  He picked it up, flipped through the pages, looking for something that might—

“Mr Desoto, yes?” said a man in a blue suit, state security tag hanging from his lapel.  “I’ve got the right room?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Manny, shaking the man’s hand nervously.  He didn’t get up.  They’d told him not to.

“I’m Inspector Costa.  I’d give you my card, but I ran out this morning.”

“That’s okay,” said Manny, shifting in his seat as Costa sat down.  “Can I ask what the problem is?”

Costa flipped through some pages on a clipboard, chewing on his lower lip.  He had a depression along the right side where a cigarette used to sit, and he kept pulling at it with a long, crooked tooth.

“Your accent,” said Costa without looking up, “it’s hard to place.  You’re not from here?”

“Liverpool,” said Manny.  “But my parents were both from Brazil, so I learned the language at home.”

“Some of it, anyway,” smiled Costa.  “Let’s talk about your cargo, please.”

“Yes,” said Manny, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers in his best “getting down to business” pose.  “I was trying to find out if he’s alright.”

“He,” muttered Costa, checking the papers again.  “You mean the yak.”

“Yes, yes, Marco.”

“Marco the yak.”

“So you know him,” sighed Manny, relieved.

Costa looked at him, eyelids half-closed.  “I’m afraid I don’t,” he said.

Manny nodded, reached into his jacket pocket, but Costa shot him a warning look, and he paused.

“I wouldn’t,” said Costa, perfectly calm.

“It’s a brochure,” said Manny.

“Slowly, then.”

Manny pulled a worn piece of paper out of his pocket, handed it over.  Costa unfolded it, frowned at the writing, the pictures, passed it back.

“Marco is a national treasure in Italy,” said Manny.  “His show is broadcast in, I don’t know, fifty countries around the world.  National treasure.  National treasure.”

Costa shrugged, leaned back in his chair.  The expression on his face said he found it hard to believe anyone could label a yak a national treasure, at the same time he wasn’t surprised.  It was Italy, after all.

“So why is Marco in Brazil?” asked Costa. “Getting away from it all?”

“It’s a special,” said Manny, putting the paper back in his pocket.  “We’re shooting some segments with Marco at Carnaval.  We do a lot of these international segments, to show kids other parts of the world.”

“So you fly around with your yak a lot, then?”

“I don’t, not usually.  I was the only production assistant that spoke Portuguese.”

“Allegedly,” smiled Costa.  Manny rolled his eyes.  He pressed his hands together as if pleading, while Costa loosened his tie and scratched his neck.

“Listen,” said Manny.  “Our lawyers were supposed to clear this with your government before we left.  I’m sure if you do some checking, you’ll see we have all the required permits to—”

“Excuse me,” said a younger security guard, peeking in the door.  He slid next to Costa, handing him a bundle of papers, and whispered in his ear.  Costa looked through the papers, then up at Manny, face white.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Desoto,” he said, getting to his feet.  Manny took the hint, got up too.  “I just got the paperwork from… and… I’m deeply, deeply sorry that we didn’t know about this before now.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Manny, scooping up his passport.  “An hour or two here and there won’t kill us.  We don’t film the segment with the President until this evening.”

Costa winced, ran a hand through his thinning hair.

“That’s the other thing,” he said.  “We… uh… we have a procedure for dealing with animals we believe may be used as drug mules.”

Manny laughed at the thought.

“Marco?  A drug mule?”

Costa laughed too, but it was a nervous laugh.

“We’ve seen stranger things,” he said, and the laughing stopped.

“So what are you saying?” asked Manny.  “You… you what, you x-rayed him?  What?”

“To start, yes,” said Costa, voice low.  “Then we give him a sedative so he was nice and calm—”

“Oh my god, he can’t be sleepy!  He’s seeing the President tonight!”

“I think you should look at this as a blessing, Mr Desoto,” said Costa, patting him on the back.  “Because after what we did to Marco today, I don’t think he’ll have control of his bowels for any state dinners this week.”

This topic tag was done for Nancy based on the suggestion: “Marco the yak goes to Carnaval.” You people.  Sheesh.