Chapter 844: Wax Figure

Chapter 844 -11: Wax Figure

Ronald brought Chen Zhou two old-model Colt single-action revolvers.

Each gun holds six rounds in total, with a short barrel—just 5 centimeters long.

At this time, US gunslingers were well-versed in the theory “the shorter the barrel, the faster the draw,” so they favored short-barreled guns. Colt Company, in order to cater to shooters’ tastes, even removed the ejector rod to reduce the barrel length.

Of course, that was a long time ago. Ever since 1940, Colt revolvers have drastically reduced production, and most Colts circulating on the market now are antiques.

The oldest models have wooden grips, and the newer ones use black rubber grips.

Both guns in Chen Zhou’s hands are unmistakably wooden-handled, and their bodies show obvious signs of use.

Although the gun shop had refurbished them to a degree, the weathered look still couldn’t be concealed—compared to the contemporary M1911, this old thing really offers no advantages.

But a weapon isn’t just about its specs—it depends on the user’s skill, too.

At least, in Chen Zhou’s hands, its effectiveness rises significantly—

Chen Zhou’s physical fitness and reaction speed allow him to perfectly control shooting accuracy. At the same time, his firing speed and timing are much faster than an average person.

As long as the opponent’s gun doesn’t massively outclass his in range or rate of fire, Chen Zhou can still go toe-to-toe—and his odds of winning are decent.

…

After loading the revolver and resting it nearby, Chen Zhou tore off the rag from his head, wrapped it around the shotgun, and tossed it onto the back seat.

“I’ll find somewhere to change clothes first. Later, you fill the car up with gas, take it to the shop for repairs, then wait for me at the hotel. As soon as I finish asking around, I’ll be back to meet you.”

As he spoke, Chen Zhou stuffed both guns and the boxed ammo into his coat pocket.

“Stay sharp while driving. Don’t let any gang members spot you.

I just hit a few of them—not dead, but crippled for sure. They might not even be able to move freely in their next life. If they see you, they’ll definitely seek revenge.

Be cautious during repairs, and at the gas station too. If things get dicey, just ditch the car. As long as I’m alive, I can steal it back from whoever gets their hands on it.”

With that, Chen Zhou tossed Ronald 50 US Dollars, tightened his coat, grabbed the new clothes he bought, and left the car—vanishing around the street corner soon after.

He wasn’t saying all this out of concern for Ronald, nor did he consider Ronald a friend.

It’s just that Ronald is the first person here he’s met who can help solve his identity problem—and already owes him a favor.

Finding a partner tangled up with both sides of the law, wealthy and well-connected, isn’t easy. If Ronald dies, it won’t be simple to find another.

Chen Zhou’s always hated trouble—solving things in one go is best. Otherwise, finding another collaborator would waste plenty of time.

The longer things drag on, the greater the risk of being noticed by the murderous family.

In fact, injuring four gang members just now was already pretty bold; Chen Zhou was worried it might’ve stirred up trouble with bad consequences.

…

Pondering how to communicate with the wax figure family, Chen Zhou quickly arrived at a hotel by the street and rented a room by the hour.

Because of his looks, the hotel owner flatly refused to rent him a deluxe room with a shower. Only after Chen Zhou paid double did he get a small room in a corner of the first floor.

But it was enough for his needs.

Shutting the door tight, he undressed inside, changed into a thinner shirt, put light armor over it, and then layered his coat on top.

He washed his face, shaved, and tidied his hair a little.

He split his money, stashing it in different spots on his body, and slid his handgun into his waistband.

He tightened his abdominal muscles inward, doing his best to prevent the gun’s shape from showing through his jacket. Once satisfied everything was in order, Chen Zhou left the hotel.

…

The wax figure family’s place was the first spot Chen Zhou visited upon arriving in Prescott—leaving a deep impression.

The town wasn’t large. Aside from the bustling commercial street, the other roads weren’t even paved. After leaving the hotel street and walking outward, he soon saw a tall church—then arrived at the wax figure family’s door.

Before heading out, Chen Zhou had specifically asked about them: the head of the household was Brian, there were three family members, and his eldest son hadn’t gone to college—after graduating high school, he just lived at home with his parents.

Already suspecting they were murderers, or members of a murderer family, Chen Zhou tightened his muscles before knocking—ready to draw and fire at a moment’s notice.

He straightened his collar, walking with an apparently relaxed but in fact weighted stride, standing steadily at the Brian family’s front door.

According to Ronald, these folks had just experienced an accident this morning. Yet at this moment, it was as if nothing had happened—the scene peaceful as ever.

Family patriarch Brian was sitting under the house’s extended rain awning drinking tea, a fat, ugly bully dog sprawled at his feet.

Mrs. Brian was inside the house. From a distance, Chen Zhou could hear the clatter of dishes—she was probably doing chores.

Brian’s eldest son was laboring away at the lawn.

The patch he worked on was where Ronald had walked this morning—once smooth, now trampled with lots of deep footprints.