Big Trouble

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Authors: Dave Barry
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round hole in the back of the plastic cabinet. Looking behind the TV, she saw a matching hole in the wall. She went around to the other side of the wall, which was the dining room; there was a hole in the wall, and another hole in the wall on the opposite side of the room.
    â€œJesus,” she said. She went back into the family room.
    â€œOK,” she said. “Let’s go over what happened again, and this time, let’s include the part about who shot the TV set.”
    Arthur Herk, pouring a drink, jerked his head up.
    â€œ Shot it?” said Anna. “Nobody shot it.”
    â€œIt’s a squirt gun, ” said Matt.
    â€œListen,” said Monica. “There’s a bullet hole in the wall there, and I want to know, right now, how . . . Wait a minute.”
    Monica turned and went over to the window next to the sliding-glass door and stood for a moment, staring. Eliot, Matt, Anna, Jenny, and Officer Kramitz moved closer to see what she was looking at. What she was looking at was a neat, round hole in the glass.
    â€œOh my God, ” said Jenny.
    â€œIs that a bullet hole?” asked Eliot.
    â€œLooks like,” said Monica.
    â€œSo,” said Matt, “like, a bullet came through this room? With us here? ”
    â€œOh my God, ” said Jenny, again. Anna hugged her.
    At the bar, Arthur Herk went pale.
    â€œMatt,” said Monica, “when you and your imaginary friend were outside, did you see anybody else?”
    â€œNo,” said Matt.
    â€œMrs. Herk,” said Monica, “does anybody live here besides you and your daughter and your husband?”
    â€œWell,” said Anna, “there’s . . . My God, where’s Nina?”

    NINA could smell beer. It wasn’t a bad smell; in fact, it reminded her of her father, when he came home late from work on Friday and sometimes she would sit on his lap and he would sing her songs, and on his breath was the sweet smell of the cerveza .
    She could smell it now, but it wasn’t her father; it was somebody with a different voice, a higher voice, and he was saying, “You OK? Lady? Lady? You OK?”
    Nina opened her eyes, and she saw a man, but she didn’t scream, because she was not afraid of this man. He had a beard and sad brown eyes, kind of like Roger the dog’s, and she could see in them that he had a sad brown soul, and that he would not hurt her.
    Puggy thought that Nina was beautiful. Just beautiful, like an angel in a blue nightgown, or a woman on the TV. He could not believe that a woman as beautiful as this was in his tree. He knew—he was sure—that she was the reason for the flute music, because that music was as beautiful as this woman was. He had never really loved a woman, or even really talked to one, but he believed that he loved this woman very much.
    â€œYou OK?” he said again.
    â€œ Sí ,” said Nina. “Yes.”
    Spanish, thought Puggy. He would die for this woman.
    â€œWhat happen to me?” she asked, tentatively touching her forehead, discovering a large and tender lump.
    â€œThat guy ran into you,” said Puggy.
    â€œSeñor Herk,” said Nina. “He chase me.”
    Whoever Señor Herk was, Puggy hated him.
    â€œI got the gun,” said Puggy.
    â€œGun?” said Nina. She pronounced it “gon.” Puggy thought it was a beautiful way to pronounce it. He wanted this woman to stay in his tree forever, pronouncing things.
    â€œThe gun the other guy had,” said Puggy. “I got it.”
    â€œThere was another?” asked Nina.
    â€œThere was two guys,” said Puggy. “They’re gone, though.”
    Nina looked around her. She was lying on something hard and flat, like wood, but she was outside, with branches all around.
    â€œWhere is this?” she asked.
    â€œThis is my tree,” Puggy said.
    Nina sat up a little bit, and saw that she was in a tree.
    â€œWell,” said Puggy,

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