Going straight meant crooked planning. He'd never make it unless he somehow managed to
 

 PICK A CRIME
 
 
 By RICHARD R. SMITH
 
 Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
 
 [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction May 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
 
 
 
 The girl was tall, wide-eyed and brunette. She had the right curves in the right places and would have been beautiful if her nose had been smaller, if her mouth had been larger and if her hair had been wavy instead of straight.
 
 "Hank said you wanted to see me," she said when she stopped beside Joe's table.
 
 "Yeah." Joe nodded at the other chair. "Have a seat." He reached into a pocket, withdrew five ten-dollar bills and handed them to her. "I want you to do a job for me. It'll only take a few minutes."
 
 The girl counted the money, then placed it in her purse. Joe noticed a small counterfeit-detector inside the purse before she closed it.
"What's the job?"
 
 "Tell you later." He gulped the remainder of his drink, almost pouring it down his throat.
 
 "Hey. You trying to make yourself sick?"
 
 "Not sick. Drunk. Been trying to get drunk all afternoon." As the liquor settled in his stomach, he waited for the warm glow. But the glow didn't come ... the bartender had watered his drink again.
 
 "Trying to get drunk?" the girl inquired. "Are you crazy?"
 
 "No. It's simple. If I get drunk, I can join the AAA and get free room and board for a month while they give me a treatment."
 
 It was easy enough to understand, he reflected, but a lot harder to do. The CPA robot bartenders saw to it that anyone got high if they wanted, but comparatively few got drunk. Each bartender could not only mix drinks but could also judge by a man's actions and speech when he was on the verge of drunkenness. At the proper time—since drunkenness was illegal—a bartender always watered the drinks.
 
 Joe had tried dozens of times in dozens of bars to outsmart them, but had always failed. And in all of New York's millions, there had been only a hundred cases of intoxication during the previous year.
 
 The girl laughed. "If you're that hard up, I don't know if I should take this fifty or not. Why don't you go out and get a job like everyone else?"
 
 As an answer, Joe handed her his CPA ID card. She grunted when she saw the large letters that indicated the owner had Dangerous Criminal Tendencies.
 
 

 
 When she handed the card back, Joe fought an impulse to tear it to pieces. He'd done that once and gone through a mountain of red tape to get another—everyone was required by law to carry a CPA ID card and show it upon request.
 
 "I'm sorry," the girl said. "I didn't know you were a DCT."
 
 "And who'll hire a guy with criminal tendencies? You know the score. When you try to get a job, they ask to see your ID before they even tell you if there's an opening or not. If your CPA ID says you're a DCT, you're SOL and they tell you there's no openings. Oh, I've had several jobs ... jobs like all DCTs get. I've been a garbage man, street-cleaner, ditch-digger—"
 
 On the other side of the room, the jukebox came to life with a roar and a group of teen-agers scrambled to the dance floor.
 
 Feeling safe from hidden microphones because of the uproar, he leaned across the table and whispered in the girl's ear, "That's what I want to hire you for. I want you to help me commit a crime. If I get convicted of a crime, I'll be able to get a good job!"
 
 The girl's lips formed a bright red circle. "Say! You really got big plans, don't you?"
 
 He smiled at her admiration. It was something big to plan a crime. A civilization weary of murder, robbery, kidnapping, counterfeiting, blackmail, rape, arson, and drunkenness had originated the CPA—Crime Prevention Association. There were no longer any prisons—CPA officials had declared loudly and emphatically that their job was to prevent crime, not punish it. And prevent it they did, with thousands of ingenious crime-prevention devices and methods. They had made crime almost impossible, and during the previous year, only a few hundred men in the whole country had been convicted of criminal acts.
 
 No crime was ever punished. If a man was smart enough to kill someone, for instance, he wasn't sent to prison to be punished; he wasn't punished at all. Instead, he was sent to a hospital where all criminal tendencies were removed from his mind by psychologists, shock treatments, encephalographic devices, a form of prefrontal lobotomy and a dozen other methods. An expensive operation, but since there were few criminals—only ten in New York during the past year—any city could afford the CPA hospitals.
 
 The CPA system was, actually, cheaper than previous methods because it did away with the damage caused by countless crimes; did away with prisons and their guards, large police forces, squad cars and weapons.
 
 And, ironically, a man who did commit a crime was a sort of hero. He was a hero to the millions of men and women who had suppressed impulses to kill someone, beat their mates, get drunk, or kick a dog. Not only a hero, but because of the CPA Treatment, he was—when he left one of the CPA hospitals—a thoroughly honest and hard-working individual ... a man who could be trusted with any responsibility, any amount of money. And therefore, an EX (a convicted criminal who received the treatment was commonly called an Ex because he was in the strictest sense of the word an Ex-criminal) ... an Ex was always offered the best jobs.
 
 "Well," the girl said. "I'm honored. Really. But I got a date at ten. Let's get it over with. You said it'd only take a few minutes."
 
 "Okay. Let's go."
 
 

 
 The girl followed him across the room, around tables, through a door, down a hall, through a back door and into the alley.
 
 She followed him up the dark alley until he turned suddenly and ripped her blouse and skirt.
 
 He surprised her completely, but when she recovered, she backed away, her body poised like a wrestler's. "What's the big idea?"
 
 "Scream," Joe said. "Scream as loud as you can, and when the cops get here, tell 'em I tried to rape you."
 
 The plan was perfect, he told himself. Attempted rape was one of the few things that was a crime merely because a man attempted it. A crime because it theoretically inflicted psychological injury upon the intended victim—and because millions of women voters had voted it a crime. On the other hand, attempted murder, robbery, kidnapping, etc., were not crimes. They weren't crimes because the DCT didn't complete the act, and if he didn't complete the act, that meant simply that the CPA had once again functioned properly.
 
 The girl shook her head vigorously. "Sorry, buddy. Can't help you that way. Why didn't you tell me what you wanted?"
 
 "What's the matter?" Joe complained. "I'm not asking you to do anything wrong."
 
 "You stupid jerk. What do you think this is—the Middle Ages? Don't you know almost every woman knows how to defend herself? I'm a sergeant in the WSDA!"
 
 Joe groaned. The WSDA—Women's Self-Defense Association—a branch of the CPA. The WSDA gave free instruction in judo and jujitsu, even developed new techniques of wrestling and instructed only women in those new techniques.
 
 The girl was still shaking her head. "Can't do it, buddy. I'd lose my rank if you were convicted of—"
 
 "Do I have to make you scream?" Joe inquired tiredly and advanced toward the girl.
 
 "—and that rank carries a lot of weight. Hey! Stop it! "
 
 Joe discovered to his dismay that the girl was telling the truth when she said she was a sergeant in the WSDA. He felt her hands on his body, and in the time it takes to blink twice, he was flying through the air.
 
 

 
 The alley's concrete floor was hard—it had always been hard, but he became acutely aware of its lack of resiliency when his head struck it. There was a wonderful moment while the world was filled with beautiful stars and streaks of lightning through which he heard distant police sirens. But the wonderful moment didn't last long and darkness closed in on him.
 
 

 
 When he awoke, a rough voice was saying, "Okay. Snap out of it."
 
 He opened his eyes and recognized the police commissioner's office. It would be hard not to recognize: the room was large, devoid of furniture except for a desk and chairs, but the walls were lined with the controls of television screens, electronic calculators and a hundred other machines that formed New York's mechanical police force.
 
 Commissioner Hendricks was a remarkable character. There was something wrong with his glands, and he was a huge, greasy bulk of a man with bushy eyebrows and a double chin. His steel-gray eyes showed something of his intelligence and he would have gone far in politics if fate hadn't made him so ugly, for more than half the voters who elected men to high political positions were women.
 
 Anyone who knew Hendricks well liked him, for he was a friendly, likable person. But the millions of women voters who saw his face on posters and on their TV screens saw only the ugly face and heard only the harsh voice. The President of the United States was a capable man, but also a very handsome one, and the fact that a man who looked something like a bulldog had been elected as New York's police commissioner was a credit to Hendricks and millions of women voters.
 
 "Where's the girl?" Joe asked.
 
 "I processed her while you were out cold. She left. Joe, you—"
 
 "Okay," Joe said. "I'll save you the trouble. I admit it. Attempted rape. I confess."
 
 Hendricks smiled. "Sorry, Joe. You missed the boat again." He reached out and turned a dial on his desk top. "We had a microphone hidden in that alley. We have a lot of microphones hidden in a lot of alleys. You'd be surprised at the number of conspiracies that take place in alleys!"
 
 Joe listened numbly to his voice as it came from one of the hundreds of machines on the walls, " Scream. Scream as loud as you can, and when the cops get here, tell 'em I tried to rape you. " And then the girl's voice, " Sorry, buddy. Can't help— "
 
 He waved his hand. "Okay. Shut it off. I confess to conspiracy."
 
 

 
 Hendricks rose from behind the desk, walked leisurely to where Joe was slouched in a chair. "Give me your CPA ID."
 
 Joe handed him the card with trembling fingers. He felt as if the world had collapsed beneath him. Conspiracy to commit a crime wasn't a crime. Anyone could conspire. And if the conspirators were prevented from committing a crime, then that meant the CPA had functioned properly once again. That meant the CPA had once again prevented crime, and the CPA didn't punish crimes or attempted crimes, and it didn't attempt to prevent crimes by punishment. If it did, that would be a violation of the New Civil Rights.
 
 Hendricks crossed the room, deposited the card in a slot and punched a button. The machine hummed and a new card appeared.
 
 When Hendricks handed him the new card, Joe saw that the words DANGEROUS CRIMINAL TENDENCIES were now in red and larger than before. And, in slightly smaller print, the ID card stated that the owner was a DCT First Class.
 
 "You've graduated," Hendricks said coldly. "You guys never learn, do you? Now you're a DCT First Class instead of a Second Class. You know what that means?"
 
 Hendricks leaned closer until Joe could feel his breath on his face.
"That means your case history will be turned over to the newspapers. You'll be the hobby of thousands of amateur cops. You know how it works? It's like this. The Joneses are sitting around tomorrow night and they're bored. Then Mr. Jones says, 'Let's go watch this Joe Harper.' So they look up your record—amateur cops always keep records of First Classes in scrapbooks—and they see that you stop frequently at Walt's Tavern.
 
 "So they go there and they sit and drink and watch you, trying not to let you know they're watching you. They watch you all night, just hoping you'll do something exciting, like trying to kill someone, so they can be the first ones to yell ' Police! ' They'll watch you because it's exciting to be an amateur cop, and if they ever did prevent you from committing a crime, they'd get a nice reward and they'd be famous."
 
 "Lay off," Joe said. "I got a headache. That girl—"
 
 Hendricks leaned even closer and glared. "You listen, Joe. This is interesting. You see, it doesn't stop with Mr. and Mrs. Jones. There's thousands of people like them. Years ago, they got their kicks from reading about guys like you, but these days things are dull because it's rare when anyone commits a crime. So every time you walk down the street, there'll be at least a dozen of 'em following you, and no matter where you go, you can bet there'll be some of 'em sitting next to you, standing next to you.
 
 "During the day, they'll take your picture with their spy cameras that look like buttons on their coats. At night, they'll peep at you through your keyhole. Your neighbors across the street will watch you through binoculars and—"
 
 "Lay off!"
 
 

 
 Joe squirmed in the chair. He'd been lectured by Hendricks before and it was always an unpleasant experience. The huge man was like a talking machine once he got started, a machine that couldn't be stopped.
 
 "And the kids are the worst," Hendricks continued. "They have Junior CPA clubs. They keep records of hoodlums like you in little cardboard boxes. They'll stare at you on the street and stare at you through restaurant windows while you're eating meals. They'll follow you in public rest rooms and watch you out of the corners of their eyes while they wash their little hands, and almost every day when you look back, you'll see a dozen freckle-faced little boys following you half a block behind, giggling and gaping at you. They'll follow you until the day you die, because you're a freak!"
 
 Joe couldn't stand the breath in his face any longer. He rose and paced the floor.
 
 "And it doesn't end there , Joe. It goes on and on. You'll be the object of every do-gooder and parlor psychologist. Strangers will stop you on the street and say, 'I'd like to help you, friend.' Then they'll ask you queer questions like, 'Did your father reject you when you were a child?' 'Do you like girls?' 'How does it feel to be a DCT First Class?' And then there'll be the strangers who hate DCTs. They'll stop you on the street and insult you, call you names, spit on you and—"
 
 "Okay, goddam it! Stop it! "
 
 Hendricks stopped, wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief and lit a cigarette.
 
 "I'm doing you a favor, Joe. I'm trying to explain something you're too dumb to realize by yourself. We've taught everyone to hate crime and criminals ... to hate them as nothing has ever been hated before. Today a criminal is a freak, an alien. Your life will be a living hell if you don't leave New York. You should go to some small town where there aren't many people, or be a hermit, or go to Iceland or—"
 
 Joe eyed the huge man suspiciously. " Favor , did you say? The day you do me a favor—"
 
 Hendricks shrugged his shoulders negligently. "Not entirely a favor. I want to get rid of you. Usually I come up here and sit around and read books. But guys like you are a nuisance and take up my time."
 
 "I couldn't leave if I wanted to," Joe said. "I'm flat broke. Thanks to your CPA system, a DCT can't get a decent job."
 
 

 
 Hendricks reached into a pocket, withdrew several bills and extended them. "I'll loan you some money. You can sign an IOU and pay me back a little at a time."
 
 Joe waved the money away. "Listen, why don't you do me a favor? Why don't you frame me? If I'm such a nuisance, pin a crime on me—any crime."
 
 "Can't do it. Convicting a man of a crime he didn't commit is a violation of Civil Rights and a crime in itself."
 
 "Umm."
 
 "Why don't you take the free psycho treatment? A man doesn't have to be a DCT. With the free treatment, psychologists can remove all your criminal tendencies and—"
 
 "Go to those head-shrinkers ?"
 
 Hendricks shrugged again. "Have it your way."
 
 Joe laughed. "If your damned CPA is so all-powerful, why can't you make me go?"
 
 "Violation of Civil Rights."
 
 "Damn it, there must be some way you can help me! We both want the same thing. We both want to see me convicted of a crime."
 
 "How can I help you without committing a crime myself?" Hendricks walked to his desk, opened a drawer and removed a small black book.
"See this? It contains names and addresses of all the people in New York who aren't properly protected. Every week we find people who aren't protected properly—blind spots in our protection devices. As soon as we find them, we take steps to install anti-robbery devices, but this is a big city and sometimes it takes days to get the work done.
 
 "In the meantime, any one of these people could be robbed. But what can I do? I can't hold this book in front of your nose and say, 'Here, Joe, pick a name and go out and rob him.'" He laughed nervously. "If I did that, I'd be committing a crime myself!"
 
 He placed the book on the desk top, took a handkerchief from a pocket again and wiped sweat from his face. "Excuse me a minute. I'm dying of thirst. There's a water cooler in the next room."
 
 Joe stared at the door to the adjoining office as it closed behind the big man. Hendricks was—unbelievably—offering him a victim, offering him a crime!
 
 Almost running to the desk, Joe opened the book, selected a name and address and memorized it: John Gralewski, Apt. 204, 2141 Orange St.
 
 
 When Hendricks came back, Joe said, "Thanks."
 
 "Huh? Thanks for what? I didn't do anything."
 
 

 
 When Joe reached the street, he hurried toward the nearest subway. As a child, he had been frightened of the dark. As a man, he wasn't afraid of the dark itself, but the darkened city always made him feel ill at ease. The uneasiness was, more than anything else, caused by his own imagination. He hated the CPA and at night he couldn't shrug the feeling that the CPA lurked in every shadow, watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake.
 
 Imagination or not, the CPA was almost everywhere a person went. Twenty-four hours a day, millions of microphones hidden in taverns, alleys, restaurants, subways and every other place imaginable waited for someone to say the wrong thing. Everything the microphones picked up was routed to the CPA Brain, a monster electronic calculator.
 
 If the words "Let's see a movie" were received in the Brain, they were discarded. But if the words "Let's roll this guy" were received, the message was traced and a police helicopter would be at the scene in two minutes. And scattered all over the city were not only hidden microphones, but hidden television cameras that relayed visual messages to the Brain, and hidden machines that could detect a knife or a gun in someone's pocket at forty yards.
 
 Every place of business from the largest bank to the smallest grocery store was absolutely impenetrable. No one had even tried to rob a place of business for years.
 
 Arson was next to impossible because of the heat-detectors—devices placed in every building that could detect, radarlike, any intensity of heat above that caused by a cigarette lighter. Chemical research had made poisoning someone an impossibility. There were no drugs containing poison, and while an ant-poison might kill ants, no concentrated amount of it would kill a human.
 
 The FBI had always been a powerful organization, but under the supervision of the CPA, it was a scientific colossus and to think of kidnapping someone or to contemplate the use of narcotics was pointless. A counterfeiter's career was always short-lived: every place of business and millions of individuals had small counterfeit-detectors that could spot a fake and report it directly to the Brain.
 
 And the percentage of crimes had dwindled even more with the appearance of the robot police officers. Many a criminal in the past had gambled that he could outshoot a pursuing policeman. But the robots were different: they weren't flesh and blood. Bullets bounced off them and their aim was infallible.
 
 

 
 It was like a fantastic dream come true. Only the dream wasn't fantastic any more. With the huge atomic power plants scattered across the country and supplying endless electrical power at ridiculously low prices, no endeavor that required power was fantastic. The power required to operate the CPA devices cost each taxpayer an average of four dollars a year, and the invention, development and manufacture of the devices had cost even less.
 
 And the CPA had attacked crime through society itself, striking at the individual. In every city there were neon signs that blinked subliminally with the statement, CRIME IS FILTH. Listening to a radio or watching television, if a person heard station identification, he invariably heard or saw just below perception the words CRIME IS FILTH. If he went for a walk or a ride, he saw the endless subliminal posters declaring CRIME IS FILTH, and if he read a magazine or newspaper he always found, in those little dead spaces where an editor couldn't fit anything else, the below-perception words CRIME IS FILTH.
 
 It was monotonous and, after a while, a person looked at the words and heard them without thinking about them. And they were imprinted on his subconscious over and over, year after year, until he knew that crime was the same as filth and that criminals were filthy things.
 
 Except men like Joe Harper. No system is perfect. Along with thousands of other DCTs, Joe refused to believe it, and when he reached apartment
204 at 2141 Orange Street, he felt as if he'd inherited a gold mine.
 
 The hall was dimly lit, but when he stood before the door numbered 204, he could see that the wall on either side of it was new . That is, instead of being covered with dust, dirt and stains as the other walls were, it was clean. The building was an old one, the hall was wide, and the owner had obviously constructed a wall across the hall, creating another room. If the owner had reported the new room as required by law, it would have been wired with CPA burglarproof devices, but evidently he didn't want to pay for installation.
 
 When Joe entered the cubbyhole, he had to stand to one side in order to close the door behind him. The place was barely large enough for the bed, chair and bureau; it was a place where a man could fall down at night and sleep, but where no normal man could live day after day.
 
 Fearing that someone might detect him before he actually committed the crime, Joe hurried to the bureau and searched it.
 
 

 
 He broke out in a sweat when he found nothing but underwear and old magazines. If he stole underwear and magazines, it would still be a crime, but the newspapers would splash satirical headlines. Instead of being respected as a successful criminal, he would be ridiculed.
 
 He stopped sweating when he found a watch under a pile of underwear. The crystal was broken, one hand was missing and it wouldn't run, but—perfection itself—engraved on the back was the inscription, To John with Love . His trial would be a clean-cut one: it would be easy for the CPA to prove ownership and that a crime had been committed.
 
 Chuckling with joy, he opened the window and shouted, " Thief! Police! Help! "
 
 He waited a few seconds and then ran. When he reached the street, a police helicopter landed next to him. Strong metal arms seized him; cameras clicked and recorded the damning evidence.
 
 When Joe was securely handcuffed to a seat inside the helicopter, the metal police officers rang doorbells. There was a reward for anyone who reported a crime, but no one admitted shouting the warning.
 
 

 
 He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, "Hey. Wake up. Hey!"
 
 He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minute he was still having the nightmare.
 
 "I just saw your doctor," Hendricks said. "He says your treatment is over. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift."
 
 As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference.
 
 During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable to think. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference in himself.
 
 He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be an after-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed when he looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken months and he had, between operations, been locked in his room.
 
 Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back. Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change: Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now, even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred. They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with it altogether.
 
 "Come here and take a look at your public," said Hendricks.
 
 Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gathered on the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks, cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day. But now—another change in him—
 
 He put the emotion into words: "I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but I don't."
 
 "Hero!" Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it sounded like a bull snorting. "You think a successful criminal is a hero? You stupid—"
 
 He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. "You think those people are down there because they admire what you did? They're down there waiting for you because they're curious, because they're glad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You're an ex -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never be able to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kind of guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and get your autograph."
 
 Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he did understand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could see the people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheer and shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero, what was he ?
 
 

 
 It took half an hour to get through the crowd. Cameras clicked all around him, a hundred kids asked for his autograph, everyone talked at once and cheered, smiled, laughed, patted him on the back and cheered some more.
 
 Only one thing confused him during all the excitement: a white-haired old lady with tears in her eyes said, "Thank heaven it was only a watch. Thank heaven you didn't kill someone! God bless you, son." And then the old lady had handed him a box of fudge and left him in total confusion.
 
 What she said didn't make sense. If he had killed someone rather than stealing a watch, he would be even more of a hero and the crowd would have cheered even louder. He knew: he had stood outside the CPA hospitals many times and the crowds always cheered louder when an ex-murderer came out.
 
 In Hendricks' robot-chauffeured car, he ate the fudge and consoled himself with the thought, People are funny. Who can understand 'em?
 
 
 Feeling happy for one of the few times in his life, he turned toward Hendricks and said, "Thanks for what you did. It turned out great. I'll be able to get a good job now."
 
 "That's why I met you at the hospital," Hendricks said. "I want to explain some things. I've known you for a long time and I know you're spectacularly dumb. You can't figure out some things for yourself and I don't want you walking around the rest of your life thinking I did you a favor."
 
 Joe frowned. Few men had ever done him a favor and he had rarely thanked anyone for anything. And now ... after thanking the man who'd done him the biggest favor of all, the man was denying it!
 
 "You robbed Gralewski's apartment," Hendricks said. "Gralewski is a CPA employee and he doesn't live in the apartment you robbed. The CPA pays the rent for that one and he lives in another. We have a lot of places like that. You see, it gives us a way to get rid of saps like you before they do real damage. We use it as a last resort when a DCT First Class won't take the free psycho treatment or—"
 
 "Well, it's still a favor."
 
 Hendricks' face hardened. "Favor? You wouldn't know a favor if you stumbled over one. I did it because it's standard procedure for your type of case. Anyone can—free of charge—have treatment by the best psychologists. Any DCT can stop being a DCT by simply asking for the treatment and taking it. But you wouldn't do that. You wanted to commit a crime, get caught and be a hero ... an Ex ."
 
 

 
 The car passed one of the CPA playgrounds. Boys and girls of all ages were laughing, squealing with joy as they played games designed by CPA psychologists to relieve tension. And—despite the treatment, Joe shuddered when he saw the psychologists standing to one side, quietly watching the children. The whole world was filled with CPA employees and volunteer workers. Everywhere you went, it was there, quietly watching you and analyzing you, and if you showed criminal tendencies, it watched you even more closely and analyzed you even more deeply until it took you apart and put you back together again the way it wanted you to be.
 
 "Being an Ex, you'll get the kind of job you always wanted," Hendricks continued. "You'll get a good-paying job, but you'll work for it. You'll work eight hours a day, work harder than you've ever worked before in your life, because every time you start to loaf, a voice in your head is going to say, Work! Work! Exes always get good jobs because employers know they're good workers.
 
 "But during these next few days, you'll discover what being an Ex is like. You see, Joe, the treatment can't possibly take all the criminal tendencies out of a man. So the treatment does the next best thing—you'll find a set of laws written in your mind. You might want to break one now and then, but you won't be able. I'll give you an illustration...."
 
 Joe's face reddened as Hendricks proceeded to call him a series of names. He wanted to smash the fat, grinning face, but the muscles in his arm froze before it moved it an inch.
 
 And worse than that, a brief pain ripped through his skull. A pain so intense that, had it lasted a second longer, he would have screamed in agony. And above the pain, a voice whispered in his head, Unlawful to strike someone except in self-defense .
 
 He opened his mouth to tell Hendricks exactly what he thought of him, the CPA, the whole world. But the words stayed in his throat, the pain returned, and the mental voice whispered, Unlawful to curse .
 
 He had never heard how the treatment prevented an Ex from committing a crime. And now that he knew, it didn't seem fair. He decided to tell the whole story to the newspapers as soon as he could. And as soon as that decision formed in his mind, his body froze, the pain returned and the voice, Unlawful to divulge CPA procedure .
 
 "See what I mean?" Hendricks asked. "A century ago, you would have been locked in a prison and taxpayers' money would have supported you until the day you died. With the CPA system, you're returned to society, a useful citizen, unable to commit the smallest crime. And you've got a big hand in your dirty little mind that's going to slap it every time you get the wrong kind of thought. It'll keep slapping you until you learn. It might take weeks, months or years, but you'll learn sooner or later to not even think about doing anything wrong."
 
 

 
 He lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring at the car's plush ceiling.
"It's a great system, isn't it, Joe? A true democracy. Even a jerk like you is free to do what he wants, as long as it's legal."
 
 "I think it's a lousy, filthy system." Joe's head was still tingling with pain and he felt suffocated. The CPA was everywhere, only now it was also inside his head, telling him he couldn't do this, couldn't do that. All his life it had been telling him he couldn't do things he wanted to do and now ....
 
 Hendricks laughed. "You'll change your opinion. We live in a clean, wonderful world, Joe. A world of happy, healthy people. Except for freaks like yourself, criminals are—"
 
 "Let me out!" Joe grabbed at the door and was on the sidewalk, slamming the door behind him before the car stopped completely.
 
 He stared at the car as it pulled away from the curb and glided into the stream of traffic again. He realized he was a prisoner ... a prisoner inside his own body ... made a prisoner by a world that hated him back.
 
 He wanted to spit his contempt, but the increasingly familiar pain and voice prevented him.
 
 It was unlawful to spit on a sidewalk.
What is the plot of the story?
104
4a91673a3a10486c98bb515c6c5eb6b8
Joe is at a bar and hands a girl $50 to complete a task for him without telling her what it is yet. He makes small talk to the girl telling her that he is trying to get drunk but he can’t because his drinks are watered down by the CPA robot bartenders. Joe informs the girl that he is assigned a DCT (Dangerous Criminal Tendencies) designation on his CPA ID card. Joe leads the girl to an alley to move his plan into motion. His plan is for her to say that he attempted to rape her because attempted rape is a crime under CPA rules. The girl states that she does not want to go along with that plan because she will lose her rank in the Women’s Self-Defense Association, which is a branch of the CPA. Joe still persists and tries to make her scream. The girl in turn successfully defends herself against him and causes his head to strike the hard concrete floor. He loses consciousness of her actions. 

Joe wakes up in the police commissioner’s office. Joe’s plan does not work because the CPA had microphones monitoring the alley so they already know that the plan was not real. Joe then proceeds to confess to a conspiracy when presented with the evidence the CPA has gathered. As a result of these actions, Joe’s new designation on his CPA ID card has the words ‘Dangerous Criminal Tendencies’ in all caps and in a large, red font printed on his card. It also added that he was a DCT First Class owner. Hendricks lectures Joe about his new designation, but Joe does not care to hear him. The commissioner tries to convince Joe to leave New York or to use the free psychology service. 

Hendricks explains that he cannot think of a way to help Joe without committing a crime himself. In an unexpected move, Hendricks offers Joe a seemingly available victim and their address. Joe memorizes the available information and goes to the address to commit a crime. Joe enters the apartment and takes a watch. He then shouts outside a window that there is a thief. Joe proceeds to run down to the street and is caught by a police helicopter and handcuffed. 

Joe eventually wakes up after months of treatment in a hospital and is picked up by Hendricks. He goes through the large crowd waiting to meet him upon exiting the hospital and has an uneasy feeling about the interactions. He is confused by the reaction of the crowd. Hendrick says that it was a fake apartment that Joe went to and is one that the police use for special cases like his when a person refuses to find a solution. Joe becomes upset because he realizes that he has become a prisoner in his own body because of the treatment from the CPA and he has great contempt for the results. 

107
75ccf4b290d648e68cae7a3a6123dd37
A girl goes up to Joe Harper's table in a tavern and says that Hank said that Joe wanted to see her. He gives her fifty dollars and tells her that he wants her to do a quick job for him. Joe has been trying to get drunk all afternoon because he will get free room and board for a month from the AAA. The girl wonders why he doesn't just get a job but hands her his CPA ID card. She sees that he has Dangerous Criminal Tendencies, which she then realizes why. The CPA does not punish criminals and focuses more on preventing crime. Therefore, criminals who get convicted are sent to hospitals where all criminal tendencies are removed from the mind by psychologists, shock treatments, encephalographic devices, and many other devices. However, these criminals are also hailed as heroes once they have left the treatment program. The girl agrees to his plan, and they go to the alley. He rips her clothes off and tells her to accuse him of rape. However, she cannot agree to the plan because she is a sergeant of the Women's Self-Defense Association (WSDA). He doesn't want to hear it but, she sends him flying through the air. Commissioner Hendricks speaks to him when he wakes up at the police commissioner's office, and Joe confesses to conspiracy. The crime has been prevented, but his new ID card now has DCT written in even larger red font. This signifies him as a DCT First Class, which means that many other amateur cops will begin to watch him in hopes that he will commit a crime. He further taunts Joe and says that all sorts of people on the street will ask about him and that his life is over because he is a freak. When Joe says that he is broke, Hendricks offers to loan him some money. Although both want to see Joe convicted, Hendricks cannot directly help him because it is either a Violation of Civil Rights or will cause him to commit a crime. However, as soon as Hendricks leaves to get water, Jon flips through Hendricks' book and finds somebody to rob. He goes to John Gralewski's apartment to steal a watch and is arrested promptly by the police. The story then goes to Hendricks telling Jon to wake up and that his treatment is now over. Jon says that he does not feel like a hero, while Hendricks tells him that they only admire him because he will never commit another crime again. When they get inside the car, Hendricks tells Jon that he will have the job he has always wanted now, but the treatment has written a set of laws in his mind that prevents him from committing crimes. Joe now realizes how lousy this system is and wants out of it, but it is too late. He demands to get out of the car and realizes he has become a prisoner with himself. 
105
995d1bce82834a66800fc72e066c59c6
A relatively beautiful girl sits down at Joe's table in the bar and gets paid for some future job. Joe tells her he is trying to get drunk, but the robot-bartender keeps watering his drink as being drunk is illegal. The plan is to join AAA and to live there for free for a month, but there are clever robots in every bar in New York. The girl suggests finding a job and learns that Joe had Dangerous Criminal Tendencies (DCT), which is visible in his ID card. Joe wants the girl to help him commit a crime which is almost impossible as CPA prevents every crime by various means. Those few who succeed are not punished but given treatment in hospitals after which they become perfect employees wanted by every company. Joe and the girl go out into the alley and the man asks her to scream to make everything look like an attempted rape. Nevertheless, the girl refuses as she was taught self-defense and is a sergeant, a rank she doesn't want to lose. When Joe tries anyway, the girl beats him down and police comes soon. They had a hidden microphone nearby and don't believe in the attempted rape story. Conspiracy is not considered a crime and Joe's ID has a larger DCT inscription now - a first class one. This means more cops will watch him as a hobby, as well as neighbors and other people. Hendricks, the police officer, suggests Joe gets the free treatment and then shows a small book with the contacts of nor properly protected people, listed in order to fix that blind spots. After leaving the book on the table, the officer goest to the nest room to get some water, and leaves Joe with the opportunity. Soon, Joe visits one of the listed apartments, an old building with an unreported new room. Joe steals a watch from there and screams for help, then runs and gets caught. After a while, Joe wakes up from a nightmare and sees Hendricks, who announces the end of treatment. The treatment lasted for months and made Joe feel more relaxed but nothing more. A huge crowd is waiting outside to cheer the ex-criminal for his newly gained honesty and inability to commit crime. A woman in the crowd blesses Joe for not committing a murder, which confuses him, as ex-murderers are even more cheered. Then Hendricks explains that he didn't do Joe a favor but such help in crimes is to prevent huger damages from those who refuse free treatment and want to be Exes, as they see those as heroes. Turns out an Ex has to work harder than other people and they still want to commit crime but the laws sound in their heads and prevent it causing pain. CPA is everywhere. 
103
d117045cdd864f44a2607c19adc9c839
The story begins with Joe paying a girl fifty dollars, asking her to do a job for him. He does not describe what the job is, but mentions that it will only takes a few minutes. Joe tries to get drunk, but is unsuccessful because the CPA robots prevent anyone from getting too drunk. Then we learn that the CPA is a system that prevents crimes from occurring. It has been very successful. Only a few hundred of crimes has occurred in the past year. Those that did commit a crime are considered heroes, and they are not punished because they outsmarted the system. Instead, they will be put in a CPA hospital for treatments. Afterward, they will be provided with some of the most paid jobs. Joe and the girl goes into the alleyway where he attempts to rape her. She tells him that he cannot do this. But he continues because he wants to get the treatment for a nice job. But because the girl refuses to corporate, she hits him and he drops to the ground. He wakes up in the police commissioner’s office where his conspiracy is revealed through a hidden speaker in the alley. His CPA card is changed to a First Class DCT. After Commissioner Hendricks explains the troubles he will have as a First Class, Hendricks reveals the address to an unprotected property. Then Joe decides to rob the place. After stealing a watch, he purposely let himself get caught. When he wakes up again, his treatment at the CPA hospital is over. As he gets ready to go home, Hendricks tells him about the truth of the treatment: he simply cannot break any rules because his brain does not let him. 
What is the CPA and what does it do?
104
4a91673a3a10486c98bb515c6c5eb6b8
The CPA is meant to prevent crime and not punish crime. It stands for Crime Prevention Association. The CPA organization has made crime nearly impossible through various methods of surveillance and intelligence gathering. The crime was not punished by the CPA but addressed by sending the person to a hospital for expensive treatment to correct and remove the deviance from the person’s mind. A CPA ID card is required to be carried by everyone and when asked, a person has to present the ID card. Being drunk is illegal according to the rules of the CPA. 
107
75ccf4b290d648e68cae7a3a6123dd37
The Crime Prevention Association is an organization that stops crime. Instead of capturing criminals, the goal of the Association is to prevent the crime from ever happening. They implement thousands of crime-prevention methods and devices. There are many amateur cops who constantly follow criminals around in hopes of catching them in the act so that they may be hailed a hero and given a promotion. Hendricks even explains that the kids have junior CPA clubs, where they record the criminals in little cardboard boxes. They will also follow the criminals around until they die. There are millions of microphones hidden by the CPA everywhere, and any threatening messages are sent to the CPA Brain. The CPA Brain is a monster electronic calculator that can alert police helicopters of any threatening messages, and there are also many hidden TVs and metal detectors. For Arson, heat detectors exist too, and chemical poisoning has made it impossible for people to get poisoned. There are shock treatments, encephalographic devices, a form of prefrontal lobotomy, and a dozen other treatments to reform criminals. 

105
995d1bce82834a66800fc72e066c59c6
The CPA is Crime Prevention Organization. It fights crime by all means and reduces its rates to a very small level. They put microphones and detectors everywhere to hear the conspiracies. They place robots as bartenders to control the level of alcohol in visitors to prevent them being drunk. They make all the women learn self-defense. The organization's made crime almost impossible and they do not punish for it, but prevent. All who tried to commit a crime are given free treatment. The CPA hospitals treat those few criminals for free and make them unable to commit any further crime. CPA seems to be everywhere, those who tell about the crime are highly rewarded. Neon signs, TV, radio and other means constantly remind people that crime is filth. 
103
d117045cdd864f44a2607c19adc9c839
The CPA, Crime Prevention Association, is a system that detects different kinds of crimes and prevents them from happening. Thousands of robots and devices make crimes impossible. The association will not punish any crime, instead, the criminal will be send to a CPA hospital for some treatments that will result in getting the best jobs. The CPA also hands out ID cards that states one’s tendency to commit crimes. The CPA has robot bartenders that can detect the drunkenness of a person and prevent anyone from actually getting drunk. There is WSDA teaching judo and jujitsu to women. There are spy cameras and speakers in each alley and street watching every person all the time to prevent all kinds of crimes. The CPA Brain will catch sentences that indicate crimes and watch them more carefully. There are heat-detectors, gun and knife detector, chemical detectors, etc. The CPA brainwashes people, making them believe that crimes are filthy. The treatment will make the criminal’s brain catch every attempt that he or she tries to commit a crime and prevents it from happening. 
Why does Joe hire the girl?
104
4a91673a3a10486c98bb515c6c5eb6b8
Joe hires the girl because he wants to commit a crime and be caught by the CPA. He reasons that if he commits a crime and is caught he will be treated and then labelled as an “Ex” criminal. This designation would allow him to get whatever job he desired, an actual good job. An “Ex” criminal is treated as a type of hero because they are viewed as cured and incapable of ever committing a crime again, thus they are the most trustworthy person in society. Joe hires the girl to use her to pretend that he tried to rape her. 
107
75ccf4b290d648e68cae7a3a6123dd37
Joe hires the girl because he wants her to help him commit a crime. He believes that by falsely accusing him of rape, he will be convicted as a criminal sooner and be hailed as a hero. He desperately does not want the DCT title on his ID card anymore because it will not give him any sort of career advancement. He believes that committing a crime and having himself reformed will lead to others seeing him as a hero. This will also open more pathways career-wise as reformed criminals are generally seen as more responsible and trustworthy. 
105
995d1bce82834a66800fc72e066c59c6
Joe has Dangerous Criminal Tendencies which is stated in his ID card. Because of that he can not get any normal job except a garbage man or something like that. He plans to commit a real crime to receive treatment and become an ex-criminal. Being an Ex means being honest and clean, which provides multiple job opportunities and people consider Exes heroes as not many can succeed in committing crimes. The least is because the CPA, Crime Prevention Association, has managed to control almost everything and prevent almost every crime. Joe pays the girl to play a rape victim and to scream for help, so that he gets arrested. The girl though is a sergeant who is capable of self-defense, so she can't be possibly raped. The police hear his plan through a microphone and make him a first-class DCT instead. 
103
d117045cdd864f44a2607c19adc9c839
Joe wants to be caught with a crime so that he can have the treatment at the CPA hospital. He hires the girl because he wants to commit the crime of attempting to rape her. He desires the treatment because he is currently a DCT Second Level. With this identity, he cannot find any good jobs due to the high level of criminal tendency. Instead, only jobs such as street-cleaning, ditch-digger are open to him. But he wants a satisfying job with a great salary. Thus, he has to receive the treatment because everyone who has received the treatment does not commit crimes. They get the good jobs. 
Describe the different levels of DCT and what effects they have on a person.
104
4a91673a3a10486c98bb515c6c5eb6b8
DCT affects a lot of a person’s social life and work abilities. To inquire about a job opening, a person has to show their ID. Establishments are not likely to hire a person with a DCT designation unless it is for a garbage truck job, a street-cleaner positioner, or other less desirable work options. They do not leave a person in a socially favorable view as people judge those with DCT designation poorly. 

A DCT First Class designation means that the person’s case will be made public. People are interested in crime because it is a complete rarity in current society. The commissioner says that people will follow him wherever he goes and just watches him because they want to be the first one to call for the police when he commits a crime. A person with a first class designation will not have any privacy when out and about. 

107
75ccf4b290d648e68cae7a3a6123dd37
 In the story, the levels of DCT are First Class and Second Class. Second Class DCT ID holders have DCT written on their ID cards. It also affects how they can find a job too. Jon is unable to find any sort of employment beyond being a garbage man, street-cleaner, and ditch digger. He is also broke too and cannot find any sort of stability. The First Class DCT holders have “DANGEROUS CRIMINAL TENDENCIES” written on their ID cards in red and even larger text. Being a First Class DCT means that their case histories will be turned over to newspapers, other amateur cops, and even children. Everybody will keep a constant eye on the person, and many of the cops want the DCT in question to commit a crime, so they will become famous for stopping it. The rest of society will also continue to hate these First Class members. 
105
995d1bce82834a66800fc72e066c59c6
There are different levels of DCT which depend on the number of conspiracies. A DCT First Class is the highest level, the people who have it are under constant attention. Amateur cops spend their free time following such DCTs to be the first to prevent their crimes and get rewards. Common people watch. DCTs out of curiosity and spy on them as committing a crime is rare. DCTs, especially first class ones, are therefore never alone. They can't get any normal job, the higher the class is, the smaller are the chances. The kids follow DCT everywhere as they are in CPA junior clubs, the kids have no shame and they follow DCTs for their whole life. 
103
d117045cdd864f44a2607c19adc9c839
The DCT Second Class cannot find any good jobs since there is a criminal tendency. Instead, only jobs such as street-cleaning, ditch-digger are opened to him. But he wantss a satisfying job with a great salary. The First Class will have their case history printed on newspapers. Anyone can look up their record and hopes that the First Class person will commit some crime. They are always followed and watched and spied. Strangers will spit on them, insult them. They are considered freaks and aliens. Once they commit crimes again, they will be brought into the CPA hospital for some treatments that will forever prevent them from committing crimes. 
What is the setting of the story?
104
4a91673a3a10486c98bb515c6c5eb6b8
This story takes place in New York City. It begins in a bar with Joe drinking and attempting to get drunk on watered-down alcohol. A girl comes up to him to talk about what he is hiring her to do. The two leave the bar and go down a hall into an alleyway where Joe tries to enact his plan of fake committing a crime. When Joe wakes up after losing consciousness, he is in the police commissioner’s office. When Joe leaves the commissioner’s office, he goes to the subway and heads to John Gralewski’s apartment on Orange St. The apartment has a new wall that is clean compared to other walls caked with dirt and stains. He notices that the building is old with wide hallways. After Joe is caught by the police, he is taken to the hospital for his treatment that lasts months. When Joe wakes up, he sees that there is a crowd of people outside of the hospital waiting to meet him. Joe leaves the hospital in a car with Hendricks but becomes so upset that he eventually exits the car and stands on the sidewalk where he comes to his realization of his imprisonment in his own body. 
107
75ccf4b290d648e68cae7a3a6123dd37
The story is set in New York in the United States. The girl and Jon initially meet in a tavern with tables, and there are robot CPA bartenders serving drinks. Then, Jon and her go to a dark alleyway, where he attempts to get her to frame him for rape. When he wakes up in the police commissioner’s office, the place is devoid of any furniture except for a desk and chairs. The walls are lined with television screens, electronic calculators, and many other machines that are a part of New York’s mechanical police force. There is also a slot for old ID cards to be accepted and print new ones. In the next room, there is also a water cooler. Jon goes through the subway briefly, and the darkened city makes him feel ill because it means that the CPA could be hiding anywhere. There are huge atomic power plants scattered around the country to control the advanced system and supply endless electricity for only four dollars a year. When he reaches apartment 204 at 2141 Orange Street, there is a dimly-lit hallway and new walls. The building is old, and the owner had constructed a wall across the hall. Although it is supposed to be wired with CPA burglarproof devices, the owner has not paid for it. There is also a cubbyhole, but the room itself is barely large enough for a bed, chair, and bureau. The place has old underwear and magazines in the bureau; however, there is a watch buried underneath the pile. At the hospital, there is a large window to look out of. There is a large crowd below the hospital steps; many ask for Joe’s autograph, give him gifts, or take photos. The car that rides is robot-chauffeured, and they later pass by a CPA playground. There are girls and boys playing while CPA psychologists stand on the side. Later, the car drops him off at a sidewalk and goes back into the sea of traffic. 

105
995d1bce82834a66800fc72e066c59c6
The story starts at a table in the bar with a robot bartender. Then Joe takes the girl outside into an alley through a hall and a back door. There are hidden microphones and police come soon. Joe is taken to the police commissioner's office - a large room almost unfurnished with a huge amount of machines along the walls. Wen the officer leaves to the next room, Joe takes a look at the small book with names and addresses and goes out. He goes to the subway through the dark city which makes him uneasy. Then he reaches apartment 204 at 2141 Orange street in New York. The building is old and dim but the apartment room is new. The place is small, just enough for a bed, chair and bureau. There is nothing to steal except underwear and old magazines, but Joe finds a watch soon. He runs out and is caught by police, who handcuff him in a helicopter. A couple months later Joe wakes up in a hospital after the end of his treatment. A huge crowd is waiting outside, and it takes a long while to get through it. Joe and Hendricks get into the least's robot-chauffeured car and pass various CPA sites until Joe exits on the street, unable to handle all that has happened. 
103
d117045cdd864f44a2607c19adc9c839
The story starts in a bar which has robot bartenders that prevent people from getting drunk. There is a jukebox on the side of the room and there is a dance floor. There are tables and chairs in the bar. A door from the bar leads into a hall. And leaving the hall, there is an alley. The alley has hidden speakers. The floor in the alley is very hard. The police commissioner’s office is large; it does not have any furniture but a desk and chairs. The wall is attached with controls of television screens, calculators, and machines. There is also a desk top. Across the room there is slot for the ID cards. There is also a book. There are subways on the street. The building that has the unprotected room is old and the hall is wide. The room is small and has a bed, chair, the bureau and a window. The bureau has underwear, old magazines, and a watch.