Rick took a heavy, aggressive step toward Marcus, raising the flashlight.
It happened faster than Malik could track. Marcus stepped into Rick’s strike radius rather than backing away. With surgical precision, Marcus deflected the flashlight with his left forearm, clamped his right hand onto Rick’s wrist, pivoted, and applied a brutal joint lock.
Rick screamed, dropping the flashlight as his knees buckled. Marcus effortlessly forced the man face-first onto the meticulously manicured lawn, pinning him with a knee between the shoulder blades.
Dale yelled an expletive and lunged from behind. Marcus didn't even look. He shifted his weight, drove a devastating back-kick into Dale’s solar plexus, and followed it up with a sweeping leg trip. Dale hit the concrete driveway with a sickening thud, all the air rushing from his lungs in a ragged wheeze.
In less than five seconds, the two "enforcers" were completely neutralized. Marcus hadn't even breathed heavily.
Linda shrieked, fumbling for her phone. "I'm calling the police! I'm calling the real cops! You're going to jail, you thug!"
Marcus calmly reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a leather wallet and flipped it open. The golden shield of the Federal Bureau of Investigation caught the fading sunlight.
"Please do, Mrs. Whitfield," Marcus said, his voice laced with cold steel. "Dial 911. Tell them a Federal Agent is requesting local units for the immediate arrest of two men committing aggravated assault, false imprisonment, and impersonating law enforcement officers. And tell them to bring a squad car for you, as an accessory."