We only stopped by the bank for five minutes.
That was the plan, anyway.
I told my son to stay close while I used the ATM. He was full of questions—curious about everything from how the machine worked to why banks didn’t have secret tunnels like in cartoons.
The next time I turned around, he was deep in conversation with two California Highway Patrol officers by the entrance, chatting like they were old friends.
At first, I panicked—ready to apologize for him bothering them. But one of the officers crouched down, smiled, and handed him a sticker badge. My son puffed out his chest like he’d just been sworn in. Then came the questions: about their walkie-talkies, whether they really ate donuts, and if they’d ever slipped on banana peels during a chase.
To my surprise, the officers laughed and answered every question. One of them—Officer Raynor—looked at me and said, “You’ve got a future detective here.”
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