"Fred," said the man as they reached the bottom of the stairs, "I'm doing you a favor. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but either you come voluntarily or you'll come anyway. Why not get paid for it?"
"Not interested. And if anyone wants me, they can come and get me. I don't care. I just don't care."
He slouched off into the rain toward the supermarket.
As Dr. Howard Sprinnell watched him go he took a small silver case from his top-coat pocket. He raised the case to his lips and said quietly: "Sprinnell here. No. A clear case, but no. Pick him up."
The squad car arrived silently on its jets as Fred Williams reached the door of the apartment house. He was carrying a pack of beer in each hand and was glad to see the man had gone. That's all you had to do—just keep saying "not interested" until they went away.
"O.K., bud."
The troopers took him on both sides, grasped his arms, and levered him round.
"Hey!" Fred protested. "The beer's for my wife. She's waiting for it. Please, fellers, I'll never hear the end of it if she doesn't get her beer."
"Joe," said the trooper on Fred's right, jerking his head in the direction of the door behind them.