Range is about 20 ft for clear voice pickup. A soft knock interrupted them. Coach Mallory slipped inside, still in his coaching gear, looking haunted. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his usual confident posture was gone. I had to come, he said quietly.
What I did, helping them cover this up, I can't live with it. Mrs. Price gestured to an empty chair. Sit down, Samuel. You're doing the right thing now. The coach sank into the chair.
They've got me by the throat with these gambling debts, but seeing what they did to these kids, he looked at Jada and Caleb. I'm ready to tell everything. Caleb produced another device from his bag, a slim wire with a flesh-colored adhesive patch. This will record everything during the festival. The battery lasts 12 hours.
Coach Mallory took the wire with trembling hands. Where do I wear it? Under your shirt collar, Caleb demonstrated. The adhesive patch goes on your chest. Just remember not to shower with it on Saturday morning."
The coach nodded. "What exactly do you need me to record?" "Everything," Mrs. Price said firmly. "Every conversation, every instruction from the mayor or the chief. But most importantly, stay close to Trip and his cousins before Jada's demonstration.
We need to catch whatever they're planning." A quiet knock pattern, three short, two long, signaled the arrival of State Trooper Martinez and her partner. They entered silently, closing the door behind them. "The warrants are signed and sealed," Martinez reported, patting her jacket pocket. "Judge Henderson was very interested in the evidence packet we showed him."
Her partner added, "We'll have plainclothes officers scattered through the crowd. First sign of trouble, we move." Jada stood, stretching muscles tight from sitting. "I need to practice. The demonstration has to look perfect, or they'll know something's wrong."
"Go." Mrs. Price waved her toward the door. "But be careful at the dojo. They're probably watching." Dawn found Jada in the community center's back lot, working with a heavy sandbag.
Sweat darkened her T-shirt as she practiced chin na holds, martial arts techniques designed to control without injury. Each movement had to be precise, each lock perfectly placed. The sandbag swung. Jada caught it, redirecting its momentum into a joint lock that would immobilize, but not harm. Again and again, she drilled until every motion was muscle memory.
Across town, festival workers raised banners and assembled stages. Sound technicians tested speakers while vendors set up booths. Mayor Whitmore stood at the main platform, rehearsing her speech about unity and progress. "Together, we prove that Beaumont Crossing stands united." She practiced, unaware of the sealed warrants waiting to be served.