Hannah's eyes lit up. "Detective Hunter and Detective McCall? Of course I know them. They were legends in the LAPD back in the '80s and '90s. Dee Dee McCall especially — one of the few women who broke through in that era. Total role model for female officers."
She turned, curious. "Why? You know them?"
Jack almost laughed. Know them? In his past life, everyone in Serbia knew them. Hunter had been one of the first American shows to air after televisions became common. Families crowded around to watch Rick Hunter and Dee Dee McCall clean up the streets of L.A.
"They live together?" he asked carefully. "You mean… married?"
"Of course. More than a decade now. They're one of the department's model couples. Always invited to commemorative events."
Jack leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. So this world had already rewritten their storyline. Dee Dee hadn't run off to marry some random doctor like in the series. That meant Zoe's fate wasn't set in stone either. Maybe he really could save her.
When Hannah pulled into her driveway later, Jack hesitated at the door. "Hey. Think you could take me to meet Hunter and McCall sometime?"
She gave him a puzzled look but nodded. "Sure."
Wilshire Division, briefing room.
The chatter died the instant Sergeant Wade Gray strode in. Stocky, mid-forties, with a scowl that looked baked onto his face — the man could silence a room without a word.
"This," he barked, slapping a stack of papers onto the front desk, "is an internal wanted bulletin for Lance Selby. Violated parole yesterday. On a scale of one to ten, this guy's a twelve."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"Selby served five years for attempted murder. Used a carpenter's hammer. If you bring him in, expect commendation from upstairs… and two tickets to Sunday's Super Bowl."
The room stirred. Gray's glare snapped them back.
"Listen up. Intelligence says he may have accomplices. Likely armed with automatics. Do not play hero. Be cautious."
Jack scanned the sheet. A white male, mid-thirties, scruffy hair, plain face, swollen eyes. He didn't look like much — but the system didn't hand out twelves for nothing.
Armory.
Angela checked out their gear: two M16s, plus the standard Ithaca 12-gauge. She handed Jack his rifle.
"How's your rifle work?" she asked.
Jack slid the weapon into the cruiser's trunk. "Solid. I did fine with irons on the hundred-meter test."
On patrol, Jack finally asked, "So… shouldn't we actually go after him?"
Angela shook her head, steady behind the wheel. "Other units will chase leads. Our job is coverage, not cowboy work. If Selby shows up, we call it in. We don't move without backup."
Then, as if nothing had happened, her tone shifted. "Anyway, what's for lunch? Same as yesterday? I could eat that again."
Jack almost laughed. Another foodie.
"I made three bowls of scallion-oil noodles this morning. Hannah stole most of it. What's left is yours. Got rice too — sides are garlic broccoli and pork chops. We'll need a microwave, though."
"No problem. I know a spot." She tilted her head at him, eyes curious. "Jack… are you really only twenty-one?"
Jack sighed. "Lost my parents at eighteen. Only way to survive was running a corner grocery store and saving every penny for school. You learn fast — cooking, managing, taking care of yourself. Otherwise, you don't make it."
He gave a half-smile. "Honestly, I've never understood why people here just eat burgers. Recipes are everywhere online. Cooking saves money and tastes better."
Angela chuckled. "See, that's why I doubt your age. You talk like someone born in the disco era. More Nolan than Chen."
Jack grinned. "John and I do get along better than Lucy."
Truth was, keeping up this "mature" persona mattered. No one here could know he wasn't from this world. Americans might not believe in reincarnation, but they sure believed in demons — and the last thing he needed was some preacher calling an exorcist.
Angela glanced at him again, catching herself staring at his face. She turned quickly, cheeks warm.
"What?" Jack asked.
"Nothing. Just thinking the job would be a lot easier if more rookies were like you."
Lunch break.
Same food truck, same tables. Angela hustled to the convenience store microwave with her lunchbox while Jack grabbed a couple Cokes.
A minute later, John and Lucy joined them. John looked keyed up.
"Got a lead," he said quickly. "Selby's buddy, Darius Nguyen — runs a gym. Bishop and I are checking it after lunch."
Jack nodded seriously. "Keep it on the channel. Guy's too hot for one team to handle."
They ate, joked, went back to patrol.
The rest of the shift passed quietly. A couple tickets, some paperwork.
But Jack knew better. In a normal America, a street cop might never fire his gun in his career. Here? This was TV land. Quiet didn't last.
And if the system was throwing twelve-point monsters at them already… this was only the beginning.
(End of Chapter 6)