The old Colt Python was a relic—six rounds, heavy as a brick, and slow to reload, even with a speedloader. By today's standards, it was obsolete.
And yet, the six-inch, deep-blue revolver gleamed in its walnut case like a king's crown jewel. Jack held it carefully, feeling the weight—nearly double his Glock 22. The ivory grip was cool against his palm, impossible to let go.
Every boy dreamed of holding one of these. Jack remembered flipping through comics as a kid, seeing the detective in City Hunter strut around with a revolver like this, as if raw steel itself could make you untouchable.
"Take it," Hunter said firmly. "My old backup—a three-inch barrel—will be buried with me. This one was custom-made by Colt when I retired. Fired five rounds, that's it. Smooth as silk."
Hunter's face was pale, his left hand trembling as he held the case. The stubborn old detective had the look of a man who wouldn't take no for an answer. Jack's throat tightened.
"Uncle Hunter," Jack asked quietly, "have you ever heard of Chinese medicine?"
He didn't know much himself—beyond Zoe's tonics, some goji berries, and the basics of yin-yang balance. But in America, it sounded exotic enough to cover for what he was really about to do.
With calm confidence, he persuaded Hunter and Dee Dee to let him try his "massage techniques." To sell it further, he even invoked the legend of his great-grandfather—a Chinese court physician to the Emperor.
Hunter resisted at first, but the faint chance of standing again was more than enough. Jack carried him back to bed, bottle of medicated oil in hand. The same oil he'd once used to tease Zoe in playful moments—now rubbing it into the frail muscles of a seventy-year-old man.
Two hours later, Jack's shirt clung with sweat. Using mastery-level healing techniques in secret, he repaired blood vessels, stimulated nerves, and rebuilt wasted muscle. Slowly, Hunter's right arm began to twitch. Then the fingers bent.
"It's… it's working," Hunter whispered hoarsely, staring at his hand like it belonged to someone else.
Dee Dee burst into tears, clutching Jack tightly. "You're a miracle. An angel. You've given him back to me."
Jack swallowed the guilt. "Please… keep this between us. I don't have a medical license. Hunter's recovery is his own willpower and rehabilitation. Nothing else. Promise me."
The couple nodded through their tears. Jack knew they would keep his secret. But in America, a secret like this could get him branded a fraud—or worse.
By the time he and Hannah left, the sun had set. Jack carried the revolver case, and Dee Dee clung to them as if saying goodbye to her own children.
In the car, Hannah's smile was too smug for Jack's liking.
"Why do you look happier than Dee Dee?" he asked.
"Because," she said with a grin, "I finally know your secret. You're some kind of mysterious Chinese healer. Even Zoe doesn't know that."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Don't get carried away."
"Fine," she said slyly. "But in exchange, tell me the name of that perfume you've been using."
"What perfume?" Jack blinked.
"Don't play dumb. Ever since you joined the LAPD, you've had this minty scent. It's amazing. I want the same perfume."
Jack's brain stalled. Then it clicked. "You mean… that Florida Water I use? It's just Chinese floral water. Not perfume. A mosquito repellent, actually."
Hannah pouted. "Well, it smells better than any perfume I've found."
Jack sighed, spending the rest of the ride explaining the difference between American cologne and Chinese herbal water. Truth was, in the sweltering LA heat—long sleeves, wool uniforms, thirty-eight degrees—he couldn't survive without it.
The next day, he registered the Colt Python at the precinct. The moment he walked out, Hannah strutted past him, practically radiating the scent of floral water, instantly drawing curious stares from the other female officers.
Jack groaned. He'd never live this down.
But fortune followed fortune. Superintendent Gray—stoic as stone—actually cracked a smile and announced Jack had earned the rare privilege of wearing the short-sleeve LAPD uniform.
For the first time, John and Lucy looked at him with naked envy.
Today, Jack thought, really was his lucky day.