Jerks In Time

ACT I
In Which There's No Time Travel Yet

A jeweler's eye is attenuated to the finer details, which is how Michael noticed Anne and Johnny gesturing at his shopfront from across the street, loading their guns and bickering in broad daylight.

"Johnny," Anne whined, "Don't tell me you forgot to bring the masks again!"

"I didn't forget," lied Johnny, who had forgot. "I'm gonna make us famous, babe. We'll be just like Bonnie & What's-Her-Name." Johnny got on his tip-toes and kissed Anne on the cheek.

"Okay..." Anne said. "In and out, right? Just like the gas station jobs?"

"Right, just with less fire." Johnny snapped his loaded shotgun closed.

"Just like the gas station jobs." Anne cocked her pistol to look cool and ejected a perfectly-good bullet into the gutter as the pair began to jaywalk. "You wanna be bag boy this time?'

"No way, I've got the shotgun. Here, you take it." John stuffed his gun in his armpit so he could shove the plastic shopping bag into Anne's hands.

"Aw man, I'm always bag boy!"

"I swear to God if you kids don't shut the hell up and stop arguing this second I'm going to pull this car over and you can sleep in the gutter tonight!" Bethany had long since given up not cursing in front of her kids. "Tim, just because you're older doesn't mean — oh shit!" Beth slammed on the brakes and came up just short. Two jackasses were just standing around in the middle of the fucking lane.

"Watch where you're drivin', you maniac!" Johnny shouted and slapped Beth's hood. He turned to Anne and shouted in a whisper: "Witness! We gotta kill 'em, right?"

"Hostage." John nodded. Anne swung her pistol level at the driver's head. "Alright now, just step on out."

Beth unbuckled her seatbelt and exited her vehicle, hands above her head. "Please don't hurt me," she blubbered. "I'll give you anything, I have kids!"

"Keys," Johnny barked. Beth tossed them at his feet.

"Come pick 'em up," said Anne, smirking. Bethany, already crying, shuffled over and picked the keys up off the asphalt. Anne put her pistol to the side of Beth's head and her arm around their neck. "Slowly now."

"Oh, come on, Anne, what are you thinking?" said Johnny. "Now all your hands are full. Just give me the hostage." Johnny put his shotgun to the other side of Beth's head and sidled around behind Anne.

"Can't you just take the bag?" Anne said over her shoulder, taking Bethany's keys.

"Shotgun!"

"Ugh, fine," said Anne. She crouched and wiggled out of her human sandwich. "Can we just go now?"

Michael had had ample time to hit the silent alarm by the time his would-be robbers finally crossed the street.

"This is a hold-up!" shouted Johhny, muffled somewhat by a facefull of Beth's hair.

"A stick-up!" shouted Anne, aiming her glock at Michael.

"Hands up! Give us your shit! In the bag!" shouted John, who then coughed up some of Bethany's hair. Anne, keeping her pistol trained on the jeweler, extended the plastic bag and sidled up. Michael opened his register, put his hands in the air, and walked sideways to the display case. He flipped through every single key on his keyring, savoring each one like a fine wine while Anne shoveled cash into the bag.

"Speed it up, geezer!" Anne said, cocking her gun for emphasis and discharging yet another perfectly good round onto the display case.

"Do anything they say, please!" said Beth. "They're crazy!"

"Real nice talk, girl," said Johnny into Bethany's ear. "Maybe we could make this a regular gig?"

Michael had really just started unloading the contents of the display case into the bag, when Johnny smelled trouble — with his ears. Sirens.

"Fuzz!" He shot Beth in the head and let her body collapse on the ground.

"Fuzz?!" said Anne. "You fuckin' rat!" She shot Michael in the forehead. The two blood-splattered thieves booked it to Beth's van and hopped in just as the first police car was rounding the corner. Anne floored it.

"Hey, hey, Anne, guess what?" Johnny said, cranking down the window.

"What?"

"Shotgun!" He took a potshot at the cop car behind him that missed. The lovers laughed together, though they were far from out of trouble. A second police car, traveling towards them, had appeared from around a corner. Johnny searched through the crinkly plastic bag for two more shotgun shells.

"Don't bother, we're in a van, we can take 'em!" said Anne, pushing the engine into the red.

"Where's mom?" said Sally, the youngest of the four kids in the back.

Johnny reloaded his shotgun and sat in the window sill, wind blowing through his hair. He howled, shot the approaching driver dead, then fell out of the car.

"Johnny!" Anne cried out in anguish, looking behind her, clutching the headrest as Johnny got run over by all four wheels of the pursuing officer. The children screamed as the driverless police car swerved drunkenly past Anne's van, scraping off the passenger-side mirror.

Anne focused her attention back forwards, gripping the steering wheel and her pistol against that. She had to keep her eyes on the road, and in front of her, not behind her. There could be no returning to the past. The police cars behind her collided into each other and exploded, and she didn't even check the rear-view mirror.

"Badass!" said Timothy. Sirens swirled around Anne's ears.

Anne's got a fully-loaded getaway van, a plastic shopping bag full of stolen goods, and far too many hounds on her trail. How's she gonna shake 'em? Where's she gonna go?