Jack, barely suppressing his excitent at eting his childhood idol, gave a shy smile: "Hello, Mrs. Hunter, I'm Jack Tavelor."
Unexpectedly, Dee Dee McCall proactively extended her arms to the sunny young man before her and gave him a hug: "Hello, handso, it's a pleasure to have you here."
Entering the house, they didn't see the long-awaited figure. Seeing their puzzled expressions, Dee Dee McCall sighed: "Rick unfortunately suffered a stroke two months ago, resulting in right-sided hemiplegia. He's undergoing rehabilitation... not so good."
A chill ran through them. Jack quickly said, "Can we see him?"
Dee Dee McCall nodded. "Of course you're welco. He hasn't left the house for two weeks. Hearing that two young officers are coming to visit him cheered him up a bit. We don't have children, so young people rarely visit."
She led them to the bedroom on the first floor. Pushing open the door, a thin, silver-haired old man smiled at the young couple. His slightly lancholic eyes still hinted at the charismatic detective of yesteryear.
"Mr. Hunter, I'm Jack Tavelor. It's an honor to et you. I've long admired your deeds." Despite his efforts to conceal it, Jack's slightly trembling voice betrayed his true feelings.
Although Rick Hunter was paralyzed on one side, he was perfectly lucid. The stubborn old man struggled to extend his left hand, which he could still barely move, and shook hands with Jack. Sensing the young man's excitent, he looked sowhat puzzled: "Who are Nathan Tavelor and Fanny Tavelor to you?"
Jack was taken aback. Could it be that Detective Hunter actually knew the original owner's parents? Considering that this old man was a veteran police officer in Los Angeles for over thirty years, perhaps it was really possible. He simply abandoned his prepared response and no longer forced himself to restrain himself, replying in a trembling voice, "They are my parents. Do you rember them?"
"Of course, Nathan and Fanny are my old friends. Back when I was still on the streets, I often went to that little shop on Saturn Street to buy so Japanese snacks. You probably weren't even born then. How are they doing now?"
Jack was startled, then his expression turned sorrowful: "My house was destroyed in a fire three years ago. I survived, but they both perished..."
"Oh, poor child." Dee Dee McCall, standing beside him, had already embraced Jack with tears in her eyes.
Rick Hunter looked apologetic. "I'm so sorry, kid, I didn't know."
"I'm fine, it's all in the past. My father often talked about you when I was little, so now I'm a mber of the LAPD too," Jack, ever the actor, comforted the two elderly people, going along with the conversation.
Hannah, standing to the side, suddenly understood. No wonder Jack had said he wanted to visit these two elderly people; little did she know it was a huge coincidence.
Listening to Rick Hunter recount the past, Jack felt a surge of relief. It turned out that more than 30 years ago, when Rick Hunter was still a patrol officer, he had helped chase away so street thugs causing trouble at a small grocery store. That's how he t the original owner's parents, though their relationship wasn't deep. Over ti, and with his later role as a detective, he gradually lost contact with them due to his busy work schedule.
"Speaking of which, it was your parents' elopent that deeply moved , which later gave the courage to propose to Dee," Rick Hunter said with a sigh.
Jack felt reassured. He hadn't expected such a coincidence. He smoothly established a connection with the Hunter couple, and soon, the original owner's parents beca, in his words, a grateful couple.
They would often read the news in the newspapers and then tell their son about Uncle Hunter's heroic deeds. From then on, the young Jack aspired to beco an LAPD officer. To prove his point, he vaguely ntioned a case he had seen in *Hunter*. Hunter and Dee Dee's mories were clearly excellent; with just a few prompts, they could clearly recall the entire case, and Jack listened with frequent nods.
Hannah, the helpful assistant, added fuel to the fire, telling how Jack, after experiencing a calamity, persevered, not only continuing his studies but also graduating from the police academy with excellent grades, becoming a promising young police officer.
As a result, Jack suddenly had an uncle and aunt, and he and Hannah were forced to stay for lunch, enjoying Aunt Dee Dee's delicious stew.
After lunch, Jack struggled to help Uncle Hunter into his wheelchair. He felt a pang of sympathy for Aunt Dee Dee's hardship; Dee Dee was less than 1.7 ters tall, while Hunter was 1.98 ters, almost a 2-ter-tall telephone pole even at his thinnest. No wonder his rehabilitation was so difficult.
Pushing the wheelchair to the front yard, letting the old man see the long-awaited sun and breathe so fresh air, Jack chatted with Uncle Hunter while cleaning the lawn.
"Hannah said you've been a police officer for less than two months and already killed two suspects?" Hunter asked, gently rubbing his numb right arm, sowhat incredulous.
"Yes, the first ti was when I was helping my fellow rookies deal with a hostage-taker, and the second ti was when I killed a drug dealer who tried to shoot our commander, Commander Gray," Jack replied, skillfully trimming the rose bushes.
"I thought Los Angeles in the 80s and 90s was dangerous enough. Back then, I had to get a new car every ti I was on a case. I didn't expect it to be any better now."
Jack nodded repeatedly, thinking to himself, 'Yeah, yeah, when I was a kid, I loved watching you drive around with the beautiful Dee Dee and crash into people. You'd wreck several cars every episode. I thought pretty people were so rich back then, crashing those expensive cars without a care in the world.'
"Hey kid, do you have a spare gun?" Hunter suddenly seed to rember sothing and turned around to shout loudly inside, "Dee Dee, get that box from the safe."
Dee Dee brought out an exquisite walnut box, placed it on Hunter's lap, and asked with a smile, "Honey, are you really willing to give away your precious treasure?"
Jack looked at the wooden box curiously. Hunter opened it with difficulty with his left hand, and inside lay a powerfully colored, blue Colt Python.
"I can't use it anymore anyway, so I might as well give it to this nice young man. You can't rely on just a plastic gun on dangerous streets; sotis an old-tir is more reliable."
Jack's current police-issue Glock 22 contains a large number of engineering plastic parts, earning it the nickna "plastic gun" among so veteran officers. anwhile, the Colt Python, a classic weapon, was widely used by Arican police in the 1970s and 80s.
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