𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 | ❝Superpowers? Dude, I don't even know how to pee in this thing!❞
We all have a superhero inside of us, it just takes a bit of magic to bring it out.
•••
━━━━ IN PHILADELPHIA, Billy Batson and Y/n L/n are abandon...
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Y/N
The sound of police sirens blare louder as the police acts drove towards Bishop's Pawn Shop. Billy and I were patiently waiting just outside the building. Billy looked over at me and gave me a small smile. I lean against his shoulder and watch the two police officers—a man and a woman—get out of the cop car.
"Holy moly. The boys in blue!" Billy exclaims in with a fake smile, thankfully the cops didn't seem to notice to ounce of mischief hidden in there.
"Sure glad to see you!" I say, sighing in relief. "We called as soon as we saw."
Billy eagerly nods his head in agreement. He points to the pawn shop behind us.
"They're in there," Billy tells them, pointing behind us, into the shop. Both officers turn to look at the pawn shop.
"You two stay here," the male police office instructs us before the pair start walking to the shop. The officers stride into the shop while we walk behind them and stand in the doorway.
"Police!" the male office shouts. His partner cut off the alarm and hesitantly steps forward into the shop before looking at us.
"I saw them hide back in there!" Billy says, pointing to the back room.
They stare at us for a second. I gave them a look a point back behind them. The female officer swiftly opens the back room door. I smirk as I glance to Billy. People will believe anything.
That's a closet, dumbass.
"There's nobody here," the female police officer tells the other one.
"What do ya mean?" he says.
"It's a closet."
"You really bought that, huh?" Billy queries, clutching the door frame.
"We expected more from you," I say with artificial pain.
Billy slams the door shut.
"Hey!" they shout.
We try to grab the metal gate to by jumping, but it takes a couple tries before we can successfully pull it down over the front of the store. Billy helps me latching the gate down. With the cops still yelling at us, we scrambled inside the cop car with Billy in the drivers seat, me in the passenger seat. Billy begins to type on the small screen.
The police are practically begging to release them.
"Notebook," he says.
I pull out the notebook and hand it to him. He types the license plate into the system and hits enter. We scroll through the list, looking for the correct name.
The person was a Rachel M. Batson who lived on 21 Hoffman Street in Philadelphia.
Billy wrote it down and then smiled at me. "This is it. Next, your mom."
