If he proved too dunderheaded to appreciate my candor with him, then I fixated on him first. This found him separate him from the group and almost inevitably in the backseat of my patrol car. There are few things more demoralizing to a bunch of followers than seeing their "leader" cut off from them.
That's not to say that the quiet ones were the least of my worries. Again, I had to ask myself if they were merely keeping their mouths shut because of some inner dialogue they were having with themselves about whether or not they should take off running because they were named in one or more warrants.
Such were the reasons I wanted everyone a little uncomfortable. When they were seated curbside with ankles crossed, hands beneath their butts, and heads down, it was hard for them not to telegraph their desire to haul ass. That was usually enough to avail you or your backup the split second you need to take their ass down; better, the mere fact that they'd be stealing surreptitious glances to inventory where the good guys were and what they were doing was enough to prompt the initiative to get them isolated, too.
When it came to having them take a curbside respite, I wanted the slighter members seated closest to me-they tended to be the fastest runners. The more corpulent souls got the far seat. They were usually the easiest to catch up to, the easiest to justify Tasering, and formed a suitable bookend in the meantime.
When it came to letting them go, I likewise tried to do it in as piecemeal a fashion as I had in patting them down and getting them seated in the first place. By taking one's time in letting people venture off elsewhere, you let them know that you're not apt to let your guard down at any time during the detention.