Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
My fingers rubbed my head briskly, both hands working, trying to get some circulation in my brain. I guessed I had to run. There didn't seem much else to do. I ran. Get help? Not this old lady and her daughter. Not this Neanderthal sailor on his way to a bar and a blonde. Not the bookkeeper. Maybe the car salesman, ex-Army, Lions Club member, beefy, respectable, well-intentioned, not a complete fool. The guy on the corner reading a newspaper by the bus stop. "I need help," I panted to him. "Somebody's trying to kidnap me." "Really makes you sick to hear about something like that, doesn't it?" he said. "I'm in favor of the Lindbergh Law myself." to do. I turned the corner. to stretch back, ever further away from the glossy fronts into the crumbling stone. A man brushed past me, wearing an Ivy League suit and snap-brim hat, carrying a briefcase. And, reassuringly, he was in a hurry. I decided to chance it. I certainly wanted to do it in the worst way. My footsteps carried me on down the block. A little car spurted on past me. One of those foreign jobs, I decided. Only it wasn't. I fixed the silhouette in my mind's eye and identified it. A Henry J. Still, I wasn't worried. It was actually too early in the day. It . There was a little car at the curb. This time I recognized that it being—obviously, on second thought, only the discarded skin of one of wasn't an import, just a Crosley. reading the funnies in a newspaper. His bald head swiveled on the hunched shoulders of his sweater which was azuring toward white. He grinned, toothless. And which he had "Came back for more of the stuff, did you?" we can never judge. I think you could have taken the shock right from the start. Of course, you would still have needed the conditioning to time. Anybody could see I was safe, and I could risk doing what I ached ritual, "a dime for ones with incomplete covers, three for a quarter, check 'em at the desk when you go." to, to retain your identity." "Identity," I repeated. "I have no identity. My identity is a dream. I have two identities—one of them years beyond the other." Daredevil Aces , The breaks were against me from the start. It didn't come as any with a girl in a painted-on flying suit hanging from the struts of a Tiger Moth. , but you, you had to keep wandering onto alpha territory, while they were striking surprise. I could never get away with it. I knew that all along. "This one, this one," he said. "This must be a good one. I bet she you expect of a You identify with the hero of any story if it's well enough written. "I'm not sure whether—" You ain't any Boelcke, mister, but this is from the Fifth for Squadron tail, into the blind spot. Where am I? Where am I? Right here. claims. So long. I'm waving, see. from the rest of the gang, standing them off from a grove of rocks. The Tom Santschi is sneaking across the top of the rocks, a knife in his through. The blonde is running toward Farnum as he polishes off the rest of the aims his six-shooter. No, no, say the girl's lips. "No!" "No!" says heard the oily voice making fun of them. But hadn't I also seen these pictures with the sound of piano playing and low conversation? I pressed some money on him and walked myself out of the store. Gone With the Wind . The street was full of wooden-paneled station wagons, blunt little roadsters with canvas tops, swept-back, tailless sedans. Only one dark, tailed, over-thyroided car moved through the traffic. It had a light on the roof. I dodged in front of a horse-drawn garbage wagon and behind an electric postal truck and ran for that light, leaving a trail of gaudy air battles checkering the street behind me. I grabbed the handle on the door, opened it and threw myself into the back seat. "Madison Avenue," I said from my diaphragm, without any breath behind it. Something was wrong. Two men were in the front seat. The driver showed me his hard, expressionless face. "What do you think you are doing?" "This isn't a taxicab?" I asked blankly. "Park Police." I sat there while we drove on for a few minutes. "D. &amp D.," the second man said to the driver. "Right into our laps." The second officer leaned forward and clicked something. "I'll get the "No, kill it, Carl. Think of all that damned paper work." Carl shrugged. "What will we do with him?" I was beginning to attach myself to my surroundings. The street was full of traffic. My kind of traffic. Cars that were too big or too small. "Look, officers, I'm not drunk or disorderly. I thought this was a cab. I just wanted to get away from back then—I mean back there ." The two policemen exchanged glances. "What were you running from?" the driver asked. How could I tell him that? Before I even got a chance to try, he said: "What did you do?" "Out." I climbed out and stood by the car, blinking. "You were causing some kind of trouble in that neighborhood back there," the driver announced. "Really, officers—" "What's your name?" "Officer, I only bought some books—I mean magazines." "These?" the second man, Carl, asked. He had retrieved them from the I reached for them and Carl pulled them back, grinning. "You don't want "Resisting an officer," Sarge said almost sadly. At that, Carl loped up beside him. They hit clean, in the belly and guts, but not in the groin. They gave "Why don't you take up detective stories?" he asked me. I never heard the squad car drive away. intruders for the first time I could remember, and went inside. The solution was obvious. anybody could tell that from Dawn Patrol on television were mere hallucinations. $3.80 to get into the first run of Gone with the Wind . The thing I must remember, I told myself, was that my recollections were false and unreliable. It would do me no good to keep following true. They were a small boy's bad dream about symbolized authority. taught me, it was social responsibility. I took up the phone book and located several psychiatrists. I selected one at random, for no particular reason. The cool, lovely receptionist told me to wait and I did, tasting mint familiar. it made a noise like click-clack-clunk . to fight with at the beginning. Or, if you prefer, you can sit There was something about them that wasn't so. They might have been the I stepped in while he was trying to decide whether to use the hypo on me or drop it to have his hands free. I stiff-handed him in the solar have any money or identification or a gun. He had a handkerchief and a I had seen it done in movies all my life. Harold Lloyd, Douglas Fairbanks, Buster Keaton were always doing it for some reason or other. I had a good reason. indisputably the second policeman, put his head out of the window windmilling for balance. I was just gone. Lines were converging, and I was converging on the lines. You aren't going to be able to Immelmann out of this dive, Turner. Good-by, Turner. Death. A sleep, a reawakening, a lie. It's nothing like that. It's nothing. My kneecap hurt like hell. I had scraped it badly. Reality was all over me in patches. I showed through as a line drawing, crudely done, a cartoon. Some kind of projection. High-test Cinerama, that was all reality meant.

<question>:
What did the police officers initially pick up the protagonist for?

<options>:
A Reckless driving
B Possession of pornography
C Drunk and disorderly conduct
D Jaywalking

<answer>:

C