Big Trouble Read Online Free PDF Page A

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    â€œDon’t tell me try. Don’t try. I hate the word try. Try is for losers, ” said the Client From Hell, who got his entire philosophy of life from Nike commercials. “Lemme tell you something.” He was tapping his finger on Eliot’s desk (his fingernails were fat). “You are not the only ad agency in this town.”
    I am the only ad agency in this town who is so far behind on his alimony that he will tolerate a moron of your magnitude, thought Eliot.
    â€œOK, Bruce,” he said.
    â€œI wanna see it TOMORROW,” said the Client From Hell.
    I could get a gun by tomorrow, thought Eliot. With those hollow-point bullets.
    â€œOK, Bruce,” he said.
    The phone rang. Eliot picked it up.
    â€œEliot Arnold,” he said.
    â€œI need to borrow your car tonight,” said Matt, who was Eliot’s son and seventeen years old, which meant that he was usually too busy to say hello.
    â€œHello, Nigel!” said Eliot. “How’re things in London? Can you hold for a moment?”
    â€œNigel?” said Matt.
    â€œBruce,” Eliot said to the Client From Hell, “I need to take this call from a client in London about . . .”
    â€œI wanna see it tomorrow, and it better be right, ” said the Client From Hell, banging open Eliot’s door, walking out, not closing the door. From the hall—from right outside the next-door office of the certified public accountant who complained whenever Eliot played his stereo—he shouted: “AND SHE BETTER HAVE BIG TITS!”
    â€œThanks for coming by, Bruce!” Eliot called to the empty doorway. “I think we’re almost there!” To the phone he said: “Matt?”
    â€œWho better have big tits?” asked Matt.
    â€œNobody,” said Eliot.
    â€œWho’s Nigel?” asked Matt.
    â€œNobody,”said Eliot. “I made Nigel up so my client wouldn’t think I was interrupting a meeting for personal business.”
    â€œWas that the beer moron?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhyn’t you just dump him?” asked Matt.
    â€œMatt,” Eliot said, “do you have any idea where money comes . . .”
    â€œSo,” said Matt, who was not about to waste valuable non-school time listening to a lecture he’d already heard, “can I borrow your car tonight?”
    â€œWhat for?” asked Eliot.
    â€œMe and Andrew have to kill a girl,” said Matt.
    â€œOK,” said Eliot, “but I want the car back at my apartment by ten-thirty, and I want you to promise to drive . . .”
    â€œOK thanks, Dad,” said Matt, hanging up, a busy man.
    â€œ. . . carefully,” said Eliot, into the silent phone.

    WHEN she finished cleaning up after dinner, Nina went back to her room—it was called the “maid’s quarters,” but it was just a little room with a tiny bathroom—and locked the door. She’d started locking it about three months earlier, when Mr. Herk had walked in on her. Nina was getting undressed, down to her bra and panties. Mr. Herk had not knocked; he’d just opened the door and come in.
    He was holding a glass of red wine. Nina snatched her robe from the bed and held it in front of herself.
    â€œIt’s OK, Nina,” he said. “I just wondered if you’d like a little wine. You work so hard.”
    Nina knew he didn’t care how hard she worked. She knew what he wanted, because of the way he looked at her sometimes, especially when he was drinking. He liked to come into the kitchen when she was there alone and stand a little too close to her, not saying anything, just looking at her.
    Holding the robe close to herself, she said, “No, thank you, Mr. Herk. I am very tired.”
    He closed the door behind him and moved toward her. “You just need to relax,” he said. He put his hand on her bare shoulder and let it slide toward her breast. His hand was wet with sweat.
    Nina