He turned his neck gingerly. The bastard had a hell of a kick.
He kept an eye on Desoto and edged to the corner of the house. He snuck a peek and slammed back against the house. Two men were working their way along the side of the house to the backyard. He glanced into the kitchen window of the house. No one. They'd all gone to the front to assist the officers involved in what sounded like one hell of a gunfight. He glanced at Desoto who stared at him; the suspect's eyes were narrowed and vicious. "They're coming for you too, motherfucker." Brody warned the asshole, "Keep your mouth shut or I'll shut it."
Brody crouched and risked another glance around the house. The guns told him they weren't cops because the good guys didn't carry Uzis or Mac 10s or whatever the hell those guys were carrying. Going up against two submachine guns with his .45 was going to be tricky and, yeah, a suicide mission, but he had to protect the motherfucking drug dealer on the ground next to him. He crouched down and braced, ready to launch from a three-point stance into the first man who cleared the side of the house.
A crash of glass and whoosh of flame at the Edelman house diverted his attention for a split second. Damn it. Molotov Cocktails. Two more crashes followed in rapid succession along with several sporadic bursts of gunfire.
He spun at a soft sound behind him and locked his gun on the target. Relief poured through him. Terrell had jumped from the window and was moving his way. He held up his hand, pointed to his eye and then held up two fingers. Terrell nodded. Brody pointed to himself and held up one finger. Terrell moved up behind him, his weapon raised and ready. Brody holstered his weapon. They were outgunned, but the element of surprise was their chance to walk away from this without becoming pin cushions. His boss nodded and placed his hand on Brody's shoulder. Brody bunched his muscles in preparation. When his boss tapped his shoulder, he launched forward.
The bastard didn't stand a chance. Brody was six-feet-five-inches and two hundred sixty pounds of flat out pissed police officer. His shoulder connected with the man's hip. A spray of bullets sounded as they collided. The man’s reflexive pull on the trigger sent bullets into the house with a distinct whapping echo following the bullet's percussion. As soon as they hit the ground, Brody rolled and was on his feet. The man twisted; his arm rose in a perfect arch. Brody grabbed the gunman's wrist and twisted it one way while he twisted the burning barrel of the weapon the other. He felt the break and heard the man's scream. Turning, he drew his weapon to bear on two men running to the rear of the house.
"Halt! HCPD!"
The men dove in different directions, firing as they went down. Brody returned fire. He hit the first man and rolled to his right, drawing the fire away from Terrell. Brody glanced at the epic martial arts fight his captain was embroiled in before he located the second man. The bastard was on his stomach and low-crawled along the flowerbeds, headed toward the backyard. Brody was behind the man, and his position gave him a slight advantage. He rose to his feet and checked his six. The fight between Terrell and the unknown martial arts master in front of the gunman was occupying his attention. Brody sprinted forward in a crouch. He dropped on the man and placed the barrel of his gun at the base of the man's skull. "Move and you're dead."
He cuffed the man and hustled forward, sweeping the area. Terrell delivered a flurry of hits and dropped the bastard he was fighting using a roundhouse kick. His boss went down at the same time as the assailant. He hustled to help. Terrell groaned and hauled himself to his feet. "I've got these. Go!" Terrell pointed to the Edelmans’ house. A fire blazed on the bottom floor. "Get the damn evidence! The notes! We need them to implicate Desoto and Peña!"
Brody sprinted across the lawn. In his peripheral vision he saw Amber running toward the kitchen, too. Another flaming bottle broke through the front windows of the Edelman house. Three detectives took the person throwing the Molotov cocktails down. They hit the porch at the same time. "Where would she keep the notes?"