Puzzled, the worker bent to the one that had fallen, picked it up, turned it over in his hand, studying it curiously.
"I don't see ...," he said suspiciously.
"That's our product," Parr lied. "We include some in every hundred or so bundles. The literature explains their function."
The worker shook his head slowly.
"As you can see," Parr persisted gently, "they're perfectly harmless." He tensed, waiting.
"... Yeah, uh ... I think I get it. Something like them hollow cement bricks they use to cure people of rheumatism with, huh?"
Parr swallowed and relaxed. "That's the general idea. You'll see.... Well, if you want to, go ahead and open the parcel."
"Naaah," the man said foolishly. "... There wouldn't be no sense in doin' that."
Beneath the desk top again, his hands coiled and flexed in anger and hatred. "I want your name," Parr said, a very slight note of harshness in his voice.