Big Trouble (7 page)

I
f you asked the average seventeen-year-old male whether he would enjoy lying on the floor pressed between two attractive women, he would say, Heck yes. But it was not proving to be a sensual experience for Matt. The problem, basically, was that although
he
knew that he was just a fun-loving high-school student engaged in a harmless game, neither Anna Herk nor Jenny knew this. And so while he didn't want to do anything to hurt
them,
they had no qualms whatsoever about beating the shit out of
him.

Behind him, Anna Herk, who worked out regularly at the health club, was clinging to Matt like a psychotic lamprey. She had both legs wrapped tightly around him, pinning his arms to his side; her right arm was around his throat, pretty much cutting off his air supply. She was using her left fist to pound the back of his head, and she was screaming into his left ear, and although she was not by nature an aggressive or hostile person, she was trying desperately to sound like one.

“YOU LET HER GO YOU SON OF A BITCH!” were her exact words.

Matt would have liked nothing more than to let Jenny go, because Jenny was kneeing his groin and scratching at him with fingernails that felt like X-Acto knives. But Matt could not move, because Mrs. Herk was right on top of him, pressing him down on her writhing, scratching, screaming daughter, slamming his face into the hard tile floor every time Anna pounded the back of his head; blood was spurting from his nose. He tried to explain himself, but the only sound he could force out through his constricted throat was an ambiguous “Gack.” Through the darkening haze of his diminishing consciousness, Matt felt a new, hairy presence next to his right cheek. It was Roger, who, having sized up the situation and decided what needed to be done, was licking up Matt's blood.

ON the street outside, Miami police officer Monica Ramirez, who heard a minimum of three Monica Lewinsky jokes per day from her endlessly self-amused male colleagues, stopped her police cruiser in front of the Herk address, which had been phoned to 911 by a neighbor. She rolled down her window and heard what sounded like a woman's screaming. Turning the cruiser into the driveway, she nosed the front bumper up against the steel security gate and pressed the accelerator gently; the security gate, as most of them did, immediately popped open.

Monica pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, as did her partner, Officer Walter Kramitz. They had been partners for two months now, and Monica could tell he was getting ready to ask her for a date, which meant she had been thinking about how she was going to gently tell him no, the truth being that he was a little too fascinated by his own arm muscles. Plus he was married.

Kramitz tried the front door, which was locked, then pushed the buzzer, then pounded on the door, yelling, “Police!”

Monica didn't expect anybody to open the door. She said, “I'm going around back,” and took off running around the left side of the house.

When she rounded the back corner, she heard the screams coming louder from the direction of the patio. As she approached the open sliding-glass door, Monica unholstered her revolver. Through the glass, she first saw a tangle of feet; then she saw people struggling on the floor, blood, and a rifle.

Pivoting in through the door opening, she raised her revolver and shouted: “Police! Everybody hold it!” (Monica never yelled “Freeze!” She thought it was trite.) The people struggling on the floor did not appear to hear her, although Roger immediately trotted over and, in the universal gesture of dog friendship, thrust his snout into Monica's crotch.

“STOP IT!” shouted Monica. This statement was aimed at Roger, but Anna Herk heard it and, with her arm still around Matt's throat, turning to see a police officer aiming a gun her way, froze.

“Get off them,” said Monica.

“I live here,” said Anna.

“Get off them anyway,” said Monica.

Anna rolled off Matt. Matt, free at last, rolled off Jenny and put his hands up to his bleeding nose. Jenny, weeping, crawled over to her mom.

“Are you OK, honey?” asked Anna. Jenny nodded.

Monica, lowering the gun but keeping it unholstered, said to Anna, “OK, I want you to tell me what's going on.”

Anna pointed to Matt and said, “This person tried to . . .”

“FREEZE!” shouted Officer Kramitz, coming through the patio doorway with his gun drawn. He had given up on the front door.

“It's OK,” said Monica. “Everything's cool.”

“OK,” said Officer Kramitz, disappointed. “What happened?”

“This lady was just starting to tell me,” said Monica. “Go ahead.”

“This person tried to kill us,” said Anna.

Everybody looked at Matt.

“No!” he said. “It's me! Matt Arnold.” He took his hand away from his bleeding nose so they could see who it was.

“I was just trying to kill Jenny,” he explained.

“You SEE?” said Anna.

“No, no,” said Matt, “I don't mean
kill
her, I mean, it's a
game,
Killer. From
school
. I'm in her
biology class
. Jenny, tell them it's me.”

Everybody looked at Jenny, who was looking at Matt and realizing that, underneath the blood, he was, in fact, a guy from her biology class. She had seen him looking at her, although, like all pretty girls, she had learned to appear as though she never noticed when boys were looking at her, although of course she always did.

“What are you doing in my house?” Jenny asked.

“I'm supposed to kill you,” said Matt.

“You
see?
” said Anna again.

“With a squirt gun,” said Matt. “It's a
squirt gun
.”

Everybody looked at the rifle. Officer Kramitz went over and picked it up.

“It's a squirt gun,” he said, really disappointed now.

“Oh
shit,
” said Jenny. “Is THAT what this is? That stupid
game?
”

“Yes!” said Matt. “The game!”

“Oh Jesus,” said Jenny. To her mom, she said: “We have this game at school where you get somebody's name, and you're supposed to squirt them.”

“In their
house?
” asked Anna. “At
night?
What kind of game is that?”

“I'm sorry,” said Matt. “I didn't think it . . .”

“It's about TIME you people got here,” said Arthur Herk, emerging from the hallway. He had been in Nina's room, with the door locked, until he was sure the danger had passed. Roger trotted over to see if Arthur was bringing food, but veered away when Arthur kicked at him.

“And you are . . .” said Monica.

“I
own
this house,” said Arthur.

“Good for you,” said Monica. “And your name is?”

“Arthur Herk. I know the mayor, and I want to know what took you people so fucking long.”

“Sir,” said Monica, “first, we came as soon as we got the call. Second, don't use that language with me.”

“That's right,
sir,
” said Officer Kramitz, who was hoping that Arthur would become disorderly so he could restrain him.

“What're you gonna do about this?” demanded Arthur, pointing at Matt. “Guy comes in here with a fucking gun! Trying to kill us!”

“Arthur,” said Anna, “it's a squirt gun.”

Arthur looked at the gun in Officer Kramitz's hand. Officer Kramitz pulled the trigger, sending a stream of water onto the floor. Roger trotted over to lick it.

“Good thing you ran away, Arthur,” said Jenny. “You might have got squirted.”

Officer Kramitz snorted. Arthur whirled to face Jenny and said, “Shut up, you little bitch.”

There was a moment of silence while everybody in the room, except for Arthur and Roger, reflected on what an asshole Arthur was.

“OK,” said Monica, “let's all just settle down and . . .”

“MY TV!” said Arthur. “HE BROKE MY FUCKING TV!”

Everybody looked at the TV, now a mute black box with a gaping hole and glass littering the floor in front of it.

“I didn't do that,” said Matt.

“YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THAT AND YOU'RE GONNA GO TO JAIL YOU LITTLE FUCK,” said Arthur.

“I didn't
do
it,” said Matt. “It's a
squirt gun
.”

“He's more upset about the TV than about us,” said Jenny.

“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP,” said Arthur.

“Sir,” said Monica, who was wondering how come she always got these domestic disputes instead of nice, simple homicides, “I'm asking you to please calm down so we can . . .”

“THIS IS MY FUCKING HOUSE,” said Arthur.

“Yes, sir,” said Monica. “And these right here are my handcuffs, and if you don't calm down, you are gonna be wearing them.”

“That's right,
sir,
” said Officer Kramitz, wishing he had thought of the handcuff line first.

“OK,” said Monica, “I wanna hear, from the beginning, one at a time, what happened, starting with Mr. Killer over here.” She nodded to Matt.

“Well,” Matt said, “me and Andrew were outside with the squirt gun, and . . .”

“Who's Andrew?” asked Monica.

Matt, realizing he was in danger of committing the mortal schoolboy sin of ratting on a friend, said, “Nobody.”

“Andrew is nobody?” said Monica. “You were out there with a squirt gun and an imaginary friend?”

“Yes,” said Matt. “I mean, no.”

Monica started to rub her temple, then realized she still had her gun in her hand. She holstered it and said, “OK, so you and nobody are outside. Then what?”

“OK,” said Matt, “so Jenny's mom opened the door, and I came running up to squirt Jenny, and . . .”

A buzzer sounded.

“That's the front door,” said Anna.

“Officer Kramitz,” said Monica, “could you please go see who it is?”

Officer Kramitz, giving Arthur a look, left the family room.

“So,” said Monica to Matt, “you ran up for a squirt, and . . .”

“And Mrs. Herk jumped me, and I went down on Jenny,” said Matt. “I mean,
fell
down on Jenny.” Matt and Jenny both turned red.

“I'm sorry,” said Anna. “I thought you were . . . I didn't realize. Are you OK?”

“Yeah, it's just a bloody nose,” said Matt. “Do you work out or something?”

Anna said, “I'll get you a washcloth.”

Jenny said, “I'll get it.” The truth was, she thought Matt was cute.

“You're not getting him
shit,
” said Arthur. “He broke into this house, and he broke my fucking TV, and I'm suing and I'm pressing charges.”

Officer Kramitz reentered the room and said, “This guy says his son is here.”

Behind him, wearing gym shorts and a Miami Fusion T-shirt and looking very anxious as he brushed Roger away from his groin, was Eliot Arnold. Eliot went straight to Matt.

“Matt,” he said, “you OK?”

“Yeah,” said Matt. “It's just a bloody nose. I'm sorry, Dad. I never thought, I mean . . . I'm really sorry.”

“This is your son?” asked Monica.

“Yes,” said Eliot. “I'm Eliot Arnold. I got a call from Andrew, Matt's friend, he said there was trouble here, so I took a cab.”

“Ah,” said Monica. “The imaginary friend.”

“What?” said Eliot.

“Never mind,” said Monica.

Arthur Herk walked over to Eliot and, standing too close, said, “You got a lawyer?”

“What?” said Eliot.

“You better have a good fucking lawyer,” Arthur told Eliot. “Your son broke my TV. It was a Sony, thirty-nine inches diagonal.”

“Thirty-five inches,” said Jenny, returning with a washcloth.

“Bitch,” said Arthur.

“Could somebody please tell me what happened?” asked Eliot.

“I was trying to kill Jenny,” said Matt, “and her mom jumped me.”

“Hi,” said Anna, giving Eliot a little wave. “I'm Anna Herk. I didn't mean to hurt him.”

“Hi,” said Eliot, waving back. “Listen, I'm really sorry about this. I thought it was, I mean, the way Matt described it, it was just supposed to be a game.”

“Hey,” said Anna, making a what-can-you-do gesture. “Kids.”

“Yeah,” agreed Eliot. “Kids.” Eliot was noticing that Anna had extremely green eyes.

“Your kid's going to jail,” said Arthur Herk, heading for the bar.

“Monica?” said Officer Kramitz.

“What?” said Monica.