This is my badge. I wore it with pride for a few weeks on the mean Louisiana streets as a steely-eyed boy of fifteen.
Yes, I was a teenage detective.
Perhaps "apprentice" is a better word, since my duties mainly involved hanging out with a private eye and serving as willing audience for his many stories. There was some surveillance, too, which was a lot like storytelling, only the stories were told while sitting in a car watching an apparently empty house.
I had a second badge, too, but it was stolen.
Sadly, my one investigation was personal, and ended in failure. You can read all about it in my essay on the subject: "Mark Bertrand, Boy Detective."