The words drew the attention of customers approaching the sale. A man who had been setting up balloons stopped with a ribbon in his hand. Margaret Ellis crossed her arms and refused to go back inside. Jaylen watched Hagen with such obvious anger that Clayton wanted to warn him, but did not dare interrupt.
Hagen eventually hooked the second cuffs back on his belt. Sherman did not move. The old mechanic simply looked down at Clayton and asked whether he could feel his fingers. Clayton said he could, though his wrists were burning. Sherman took one breath, nodded, and stood nearby.
Jaylen bent beside the puddle and retrieved the badge, careful not to step too close to the officers. He wiped it with his shirt and held it up. The little gold sticker still clung to the corner. "Star's still there, boss," he said. "Hope's star didn't come off."
"Put it somewhere dry for me," Clayton said. "On the dashboard of my truck, if you don't mind." He tried to smile, but the muscles in his face would not cooperate.
The young mechanic held up his phone, and Hagen told him to put it away. Jaylen lowered it to his thigh but did not stop recording. His thumb trembled against the edge of the case. He had worked for Clayton for two years and never once seen the man raise his voice at an employee, even when a mistake cost the shop money. Watching his boss kneel in water while two officers mocked him left Jaylen sick with helplessness.
Lel began patting the pockets of Clayton's hoodie. Clayton remembered the testing remote almost as soon as the officer's hand reached the left side. It was thick, square, and unlike an ordinary key fob. A white label on its back identified the Halcott Police Department fleet commissioning project. Clayton had been carrying it to check the vehicles during the sale before the Monday handover.
"There's an electronic test controller in my left pocket," he said. "Please don't drop it. The department will need it for acceptance testing."
Lel pulled out the device and turned it over. "What's this? Some kind of garage opener?"
"Read the label," Clayton replied. "Then look behind you."
"Halcott PD Fleet Upfit," Lel read slowly. He showed it to Hagen, who leaned closer. For the first time, the officers looked toward the twelve identical new cruisers parked along the service-bay wall, their windshields bright in the morning sun.
"That's city property," Hagen said suspiciously.
"Not yet," Clayton corrected him. "It's inventory my company built under a signed city contract. Final acceptance is Monday. The remote is a temporary testing tool. It's listed on page eleven of the agreement. If you let me show you, I can demonstrate exactly what it does."
Hagen's first instinct was to refuse. But the eyes on them had multiplied, and a police department label was now in his partner's hand. He told Lel to keep the device steady and allowed Clayton to indicate the middle button while the officer held it. Clayton pressed once with his cuffed thumb.