Jerks In Time

>Tim purchases the gas, but then heads into the nearest manhole out the back and escapes through the sewers.

If he's got a shred of empathy for his fellow man he's going to leave this poor old gas station owner out of these chucklefucks' horseshit.

This is going to be the coolest thing you ever do.

SHOPLIFTING.

Tim's got a lighter! He can totally threaten to toss it at the gas station and blow em ALL up!!

Tim pursed his lips, pushed off the counter, and wandered away backwards. He needed time to think of a plan.

"That's okay, son, we're all a little nervous sometimes," said the inordinately-friendly gas station owner. "Take your time." He hummed a song to himself and wiped down the counter. Gerald took pride in his work. Ever since his daughter died this old beat-down gas station was his only family. He once knew a mangy old stray cat who would wander in occasionally to get fed and lap up some milk, but just a couple months ago he found its maggot-adorned body, baked to death under the A/C unit 'round back. Damn shame.

Tim, spare tank in hand, opened the refrigerator and browsed the selection with his index finger. 1%, 2%, skim, quart, gallon — so many choices, it could really dazzle a young man! Tim was resolute, though, and grabbed one gallon of 1%. He nearly skipped up to the counter and placed it down, with the money next to it.

"Awful lot of cash for one gallon'a milk!" laughed Gerald, pushing thoughts of his wife's shockingly-quick decay from liver cancer to the back of his mind.

"Um, it's also for the gas. Pump four." Tim perused the goods hanging under the counter. Was that... Tim placed it on the counter. "Is this a real Zippo lighter?"

"Sure is, son," said Gerald. Sometimes he slept in the backroom here, because when he went home at night it felt like a house for ghosts and not for people.

"Wow, and for only twelve bucks..." Tim mused. "I'll take it!" He slid it across the counter. "Hey, could you get my stepdad some cigarettes, too?"

Gerald looked out the corner of his eye at Johnny & the Annes for a second. Johnny waved to him with the gas nozzle while holding the trigger down. "Well now!" said Gerald. "Hasn't anyone ever told you it's against the law for young'ns to buy themselves cigarettes?"

Tim frowned. Gerald thought of the good times he had had with his own step-dad, before he drank himself to death.

"...But I guess if it's for your step-daddy over there, I won't tell the cops if you won't, huh?" He smiled, and Tim smiled back. Gerald turned around and started searching through the cigarettes behind the counter. "Now then, is your pappy a Marlboro man?" Gerald grabbed a pack.

Tim acted fast. He threw the gallon of milk right at the back of Gerald's bald head, sending him down to the linoleum floor, hard. Then, he clumsily leaped over the counter and fell on top of Gerald.

"You saw my stepdad down at the pump?" Tim asked, trying to stand up and slipping back down in the puddle of milk. "Well, if I give the signal, he's gonna blow this whole joint sky-high."

"Please, please don't kill me," sobbed Gerald as the blood from his head wound mixed pink with milk.

"I ain't gonna if you just do what I say, old man," Tim sneered as he yanked the cigarettes from Gerald's grip. "You're gonna give us all that gas for free, and the cigs and the light, and then all the money in the register." Tim marveled at how he got so cool so fast.

"Anything, please!" Gerald pleaded. "I don't wanna die like this." He had poured his whole life into this gas station out in the middle of nowhere; he didn't want to pour his death into it, too.

Tim shoved the zippo and the cigarettes in his jacket pocket and backed up off of Gerald and around the counter. "Just play it cool, old man." He stuck his finger out from inside the coat so it looked like he had a pistol.

Gerald stood up slowly, both to make sure that Tim knew he wasn't trying anything and because he couldn't exactly do anything quickly. (Except fall.) He opened the register, and placed all the money on the counter. Tim shoved all twenty dollars and seventy-seven cents in his other coat pocket and strafed backwards out the door.

Tim hopped in the backseat with Johnny and Anne immediately peeled out. Nobody had their seatbelts on.

"Kid's got moxie!" Johnny laughed and hugged Tim.

"Yeah, I told you!" said Anne from the passenger seat. Tim beamed and pulled out his haul from his pockets.

"Considerate, too," said Johnny. He tore open the Zippo packaging. "A real model citizen." He flipped over the soggy cigarette package in his hand and went to stuff it down his shirt pocket, only to find one already in. He took it out and slid it open. One left. "You smoke, kid?" Tim nodded. Johnny passed him the last cig and then littered it out the window. "Think you've earned it."

Tim grasped the Zippo and tried to fire it up with both hands, to no success. Johnny reached over and effortlessly lit up Tim's cigarette for him. "You're with us now, kid," he said.

"Hey, he get the spare tank?" said the driving Anne.

"Sure did, miss!" said Tim, who then quickly devolved into a horrendous coughing fit.

"Did we put anything IN the spare tank?" said the other Anne.

"Ah, we'll just siphon it out!" said Johnny.

"So someone's gonna have to drink gas?"

Johnny shrugged.

"Nose goes!" yapped Tim. He snapped his index finger to the tip of his nose. Johnny and the passenger Anne followed suit.

"Hey, hey!" said the driving Anne. "No fair, I was shifting!"

"Nose goes," shrugged Tim.

---

Anne drove into the night. One by one the cargo fell to sleep. She left the radio off so she could better focus on seething.

Lord, how she hated that slumbering impostor. Where did she get off, acting like she was the real Anne? The fun Anne, the one that always knew just what was up. She isn't the one that's been by Johnny's side for years. She must have been sent by Satan himself to come between her and her Johnny. She had to do something, damn it. Before it came time for marriage and Johnny picked her instead of her.

Something like what, specifically?

Steal the watch and force tim to use it to go back in time so that she can steal other anne's place

attempt to murder her, but accidentally wake her up in the process
then time clone battle to the death

paint scales on her so that johnny thinks she's a reptillian.

Just leave her in the woods somewhere

the old "chinese fire drill" prank

Moonlight whipped through the trees and onto Anne's face at 105 miles per hour. Not a soul around on this old stretch of highway. She threw on her hazards, lifted her foot off the gas pedal and back into her high-heel, and pulled over to the shoulder.

She leaned in through the passenger-side door. "Hey," whispered Anne, shaking her clone's shoulder. "Hey."

Anne's brow flexed and unflexed. "Hmm?"

"Get out, we got a flat tire."

"...And we're gonna change it?" she mumbled.

"Yeah."

Her eyes darted over to the radio. "...At 1 AM?"

"Yeah, come on, no time like the present. Or is this the past, future girl?" Anne grinned and gently punched her shoulder. "Asides, we gotta talk."

Anne groaned and rolled out of the passenger seat while Anne went around to the back and popped open the trunk. "Right rear." Anne tossed herself a flashlight and caught it.

"...You want me to hold the flashlight on it?" Anne rubbed her eyes.

Anne rolled her eyes. She woke up so slowly. "Yeah, could you pop off the cover piece too?" She dug out that cross-shaped tire iron and shut the trunk back up.

Anne plucked at the stubborn rim cover with her fingernail, to no avail. "Doesn't look flat to me."

It dawned on her slowly, and yet, very suddenly, what was happening. Her fingernail snapped off, the chrome cover angled up and slightly back. She could see in the reflection her doppelganger approaching from behind her, tire iron on her shoulder. Right before she lifted that thing like it were a baseball bat, Anne understood what was happening.

For a moment, Anne was very, very awake.

---

The sunrise broke into the car from the side. Johnny's face got all hot, leaning up against the pane like it was, so he woke up and stretched, smacking his lips. "Mornin', hon." He leaned forward and kissed the back of her head. "Hey, what happened to the other you?"

Anne shrugged and fought back a smirk. "Damndest thing. At midnight she just, like... faded away. Guess time caught up with her or something. Paradox or something. Don't know."

"Well, it was awful kind of time to leave us her rifle." Johnny yanked the rifle from the passenger seat and checked how much ammo it had left. "Could you turn on the radio?"

Anne nodded back and to the right. "Kiddo's still sleeping."

"Ah. Well, pull over. You've been driving for, what, 10 hours?"

"I'm fine."

"Nah, I mean it babe! I'll take over."

"Okay." It was important to politely refuse the offer before accepting it, for reasons nobody involved cared or thought to consider. Anne pulled over to the shoulder once more.

---

The trio pulled into their regular country hideout, a small barn and its friend that you could barely call a house. Anne slunk out of the shotgun seat. "I'll get to siphoning." She tore the taped-on siphoning hose from the spare tank.

"Gee, Anne, it's not like you to volunteer for work like that!" said Johnny, stretching.

"Yeah, well," she said. "Nose went."

"Ha! Forgot about that." Johnny lit a cigarette. "Tim, get out, stretch your legs, c'mon."

Anne put one end of the hose in the tank and the other in her mouth. John elbowed Tim in the ribs. "Hey, betcha wish you had a chick like that back home, huh?" Gross. "You got a chick back home?" Tim shook his head. "How old are you, anyway? Like, what, 12, 13, 14? Don't you fall behind the curve now, you hear me?" Tim nodded, but didn't really mean it.

Anne hacked up some gasoline and shoved the hose into the can. "Hey, swallow next time, babe!" Johnny catcalled. Anne threw up her middle finger, but didn't really mean it. He snickered and slapped Tim on the back.

Tim tore page after glossy page from his chemistry textbook and shoved it into the gas tank while Johnny climbed on the taxi, pouring gasoline on it. "Hey, leave some for the generator!" Anne called out from the sidelines between puffs on her cigarette. Johnny hopped off the roof and threw his own onto the chassis. Tim lit the makeshift fuse with his brand-new Zippo lighter and then ran away.

(The car exploded, of course. It was really cool.)

---

The fire crackled in the fireplace as Timothy sat on the plaid couch intensely focused on the two clamshell watches on the coffee table before him. To endlessly fiddle with their dials was a mixture of frustratingly obscure and boring that Timothy recognized from homework. After 30 minutes that Tim would have sworn were two full hours, he turned on the television and only intermittently examined the watches from there on out.

Two full hours later, Johnny and Anne returned from their rendezvous in the barn. Anne picked some hay from Johnny's curly hair. (You see, they had just had sex, is the discreet implication.)

"Got some eats," said Johnny, slapping the aforementioned onto the kitchen counter. "Some crackers... Some peanut butter... Some bourbon..."

"Hey, you figure out that watch yet?" injected Anne, as if casually.

"Nah," said Tim. "I think they're broken or something." He shrugged. "Or maybe I traveled through time without noticing or something?" He sniffled.

Johnny looked at Anne. Anne looked at Johnny. They both looked at Tim.

"Kid," said Anne, stepping around the isle. "Don't fuck with us." Anne got her gun and stood in front of the television. Johnny came around the couch and grabbed Tim by the shirt collar.

"Now:" said Johnny. "How do these things work?"

"I don't know!" cried Tim.

"You don't know?" said Anne.

"You don't know?!" screamed Johnny, spittle flying into Tim's face. "You don't know, you TV fuck?!"

"I tried everything, honest!"

Johnny threw Tim back down on the couch, which nearly tipped over backwards on its back legs before wobbling back forwards. "You tried everything huh?" He picked up one of the watches and opened it up. "You try this!?"

"Yeah!"

Johnny turned the one of the dials. "You try this!?"

"Yeah! Yeah! All the dials, honest sir!"

Johnny sneered and looked at Tim, then back at the watch. "What about this?" He smashed the inside of the watch-face against the coffee table, shattering the glass cover.

"Johnny, don't break it!" called Anne.

"You try this, huh?!" Johnny reached in and turned the hands around manually.

"I don't think that's it, Johnny."

"You try this, you little punk?!" Johnny smashed the watch against the coffee table again and again and again. If it had been the correct watch, Johnny would have accidentally depressed the chain-button and opened up a portal.

"Please don't kill me!"

Johnny took a deep breath. "Sorry." He put his hand to his face. "We're not gonna... we're not gonna hurt you, kid. C'mon, Anne, put down the gun and let's... let's figure this out." He sighed and sat down on the couch.

Anne sat on the other side of Tim and picked up the other watch. "Hey Johnny, why don't you get us all some bourbon, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing." Johnny hopped over the back of the couch.

Anne stared at the watch, turned it over in her hands. "Was the TV show good?"

"Huh?" said Tim.

"Was the TV show good?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

"That's good."

Johnny returned from his voyage and placed three glasses of bourbon on the coffee table. The middle one was only about a finger deep, on the rocks. Tim smiled and sipped it. Gross. He put it back down.

Johnny took a good-sized gulp of his full, rocks-included glass. "Pretty shitty bourbon, huh Anne?"

"Hm?" Anne put the watch down on her lap and drunk from her own glass — no chaser. "Eh, nah."

"You just like anything that works," laughed Johnny, kicking back another gulp. "What did you think, Timothy?"

"Me?" Tim said. "Oh... uh... I didn't like it."

"Yeah," said Johnny. "They never do. You'll grow into it." He leaned back into the couch and puzzled over the beat-up pocketwatch.

Time traveled one second at a time, and those three felt every one of them as they sat on that couch zooming forward by minutes at a stretch. Positions adjusted, commercial breaks came and went, Johnny even got a refill for himself. Tim didn't realize it, but his body was actually still quietly digesting the dinner he had had yesterday. Blood continued to pump through his heart and veins at a steady, resting rate. His eyelids occasionally blinked open and close again. The keratin on his fingernails built up upon itself. Through no action of his own, cavities he was unaware of continued to eat away at his teeth, molecule by molecule. And all the while, he was growing.

Finally, Anne noticed that the chain-holder on the watch was also a button, and pressed it. Between them and the television, a portal wide enough to fit the couch but so short even Johnny would have to crouch through it opened. Everyone nearly jumped out of their skin.

"Woah shit!" shouted Johnny. He scrambled up the couch, sending everyone toppling over backwards.

"Think that's it!" said Anne.

Tim climbed back over the couch. "Why's it so short?"

"Who cares!?" laughed Johnny.

Tim crawled towards the portal. "What time is it through there?"

"Um," Anne checked her pocketwatch. "Think I mighta screwed with the dials by accident when I fell over?"

"Oh," said Johnny. Tim hesitantly put his hand through the portal, then yanked it back. "Can you... close it?"

Anne hammered on the button. "I don't think so?"

"That's stupid," said Johnny. "Lemme try it." Johnny reached for the watch but Anne kept it away.

"No way, Mr. Smashy-Smashy!" she said.

"So who's gonna go through?" said Tim.

"Nose... goes?" said Johnny.

Everyone hesitantly put up their fingers, hovering grimacing inches away from their noses. A portrait of trepidation.

Who's going through the portal and when are they going to?

Johnny goes through, and emerges three weeks in the past. Several other Johnnys soon appear out of nowhere because they can't figure out how to set the destination to another time.

Tim goes! Anne doesn't wanna leave Johnny, and Johnny doesn't know how the watch works still because he's Johnny. There are better excuses given of course, being that he's smaller...? Tim goes. I don't have any good comedy routine set up for this.

Oh yeah, he goes into the future. The reason the portal is so short is because the farmhouse collapsed because Anne and/or Johnny did something dumb. ' <'

Anne goes, and the portal immediately closes.

Tim goes, leaving the burglars behind.