That’ll speed up processing, you understand? Next!”

It felt good to be out in the sunshine with Jane. The birds were singing in the trees. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves. Their dog, Petey, hadn’t been walked in a while, and he trotted happily next to them.

Standing in their path ahead was a policeman wearing one of those new black uniforms, all decked out in matching helmet, flak vest, and mirrored, aviator-style sunglasses. A curly cord ran from inside his shirt collar up his neck to an earphone inside the helmet.

Benson was in an expansive mood.

“Good day, officer. How goes the War on Terror?”

He regretted his quip the moment he said it. He had supposed it would be lighthearted, even witty, but the cop’s severe expression indicated otherwise.

“Tom, don’t joke around with these people!” Jane whispered between clenched teeth. “You can get in serious trouble, like at the airport.”

The officer stared at Benson. Petey let out a low growl.

“Petey,” Benson said, “it’s okay, boy. Some people have no sense of humor, but not you, Officer…” He struggled to read the name tag.

“Officer Fresher, it looks like.”

“The name’s Officer Friscker.”

“All in good fun, you know.”

“War on Terror…” Friscker said, not taking his eyes from the dog. “That supposed to be some kinda joke? You a jokester, is that it?”

Benson said nothing.

“Identification, please.”

Benson hesitated. He’d done nothing wrong; this low-ranking beat cop had absolutely no right to demand any documents. Pedestrians on the sidewalk slowed down to gawk, glancing behind as they strolled past. The cop waited silently behind his sunglasses. There seemed no point in a hopeless showdown. Benson opened his wallet and showed his ID to the cop.

“Take it outta the wallet.”

Petey growled, but Benson did nothing to restrain him this time. He would have liked to growl himself. He removed the card from his wallet, as ordered. He felt an intense disdain for this hoodlum in a uniform, but he hoped it didn’t show. Nothing good could come from showing the least hint of disrespect to a law enforcement officer. Petey, however, wore his heart on his sleeve, as it were. He curled his upper lips and snarled, baring his teeth.

Keeping a wary eye on the dog, the officer examined Benson’s REAL ID with a miniature flashlight, casting a purple glow on the card. He waved the card under the light, waiting for the RFID chip to register on the wireless reader he wore on his utility belt. Nothing happened, so he swiped the card through the reader slot and waited. The Automated Targeting System remained silent. He entered Benson’s ID number on the keypad, but still nothing came of it. Clearly disappointed, he thrust the card rudely back at Benson.

His fangs bared, Petey lunged for Officer Friscker with a ferocious growl. Benson pulled him back just in time with a quick tug of the leash.

Friscker fell over backwards in fright.

“Restrain that goddamn thing!” he yelled from the ground, his helmet skewed. “You shouldn’t have no dog like that, I could shoot him right here on the street, goddamn mutt.”

He collected his flashlight and Benson’s REAL ID from the ground. Benson offered him a hand, but he proudly refused, fixing his helmet and pushing himself to his feet.