The automatic went off, smashing the window and sending a shower of jagged glass down through the dark after him. He hit the ground hard, landing on one knee and an elbow. It was his right arm and for a moment he couldn’t use it to draw out his own gun. He rolled over the cobblestone street toward the house. “Son of a bitch,” said Mullin upstairs. A smaller sprinkling of shards of window glass came flickering down. Then the scaffold board buckled, swaying slightly. Easy was under the scaffolding now. He got to his feet. He kept flexing the fingers of his right hand. He reached up with his left, catching hold of a piece of the metal frame. “Hey, that son of a bitch is out here someplace,” Mullin shouted. His heavy footsteps shook the plank he was walking on. Quietly, Easy pulled himself upward again. Stopping when he was directly below the board the other man was standing on, he braced his feet against a crossbar. Ennis’ window was yanked open. “What son of a bitch?” “That detective son of a bitch.”
