Jerks In Time

Anne grabbed the doorknob, but Tim grabbed the hem of her dress. "Wait," he said. "What about the timecops?"

"The what now?"

"The timecops!" Tim said. "They're like the cops, but they chase down the bad guys who mess up time."

Anne scoffed. "Kid, you need to lay off the comic books," she said, lightly tapping his chin with her fist.

Timothy, like any self-respecting middle-schooler, did not appreciate the condescension one bit. He jerked away. "How do you know there AREN'T timecops, huh? You didn't even believe there was time travel until I told you!"

Anne crouched and tussled Tim's hair. "We can outrun any cop there is, bud," she said.

Tim smiled. "Yeah… you're so cool, Ms. Gruen."

"Greene, actually," she winked, and stood up. "Now come on, we've gotta get some food and a gun."

"What do we need the food for?" Tim followed Anne out into the hallway.

"Eating."

Tim gasped.

"What? You never eaten before?" Anne said.

"No, no, not that… how are we gonna pay for it?"

Anne shook the bag full of gems and money.

"Yeah, but like… money has dates on it, right? They'll be able to tell right away that it's from the future!"

Anne looked at the bag, then back at Tim. "Oh shit, you're right," she said. "Good thing I wasn't planning on buying…"

---

A gun store at 1 AM is nowhere for a child to be, even one that thought they were an adult, nor was it really a good place for an adult that thought like a child. Anne, pretending to chew, slid the survivalist-grade canned peanut-butter-and-jelly across the counter along with a few boxes of ammo, then placed the sniper rifle down.

"Howdy," she said to the clerk. "I was wonderin' if you could show my kid here the ropes of his first rifle in the range 'afore we go huntin' today?"

"It's my birthday!" Tim volunteered, with his goofiest grin.

The clerk put down his porn magazine and sniffled from his cold. "Right this way," he mumbled as he shuffled towards the range. If it weren't for Andrew's fucking flaky ass, he thought to himself, I wouldn't be working the graveyard with a cold.

"Put those on, for your protection," he vaguely gestured to the ear protection, although he himself did not slip them on like Anne and Tim did. He was too busy loading the gun and thinking to himself: God damn, I hate the graveyard shift. Nobody should be at a gun shop at one in the fucking morning, and that goes double for me. I hate having to deal with shady-ass night fuckers and these fucking infuriatingly-chipper morning people… and, God, I have to ask: "Ma'am, are you wearing high heels to go hunting with?" He lowered the sniper rifle onto Tim's shoulder. It was ridiculously oversized. These people were some kinda morons.

"Nah," said Anne. The clerk felt the cold press of cylindrical steel on the back of his bald head. "I'm wearin' high heels to rob you with." Anne cocked her pistol for emphasis and ejected another perfectly-good bullet on the floor.

"Stick 'em up!" shouted Timothy, swinging around with the rifle in hand and accidentally slapping the poor clerk with it.

Now, under usual circumstances, trying to rob a gun store is probably a worse idea than a jeweler. Generally, you can assume the clerks spend their days devising new and cooler ways they could self-defend themselves from theoretical burglars, surrounded by weapons both obvious and hidden. This clerk, though, was not about to lay their life on the line for the chance to pull a slick move on some wannabe stick-up artists and defend their shitty job. So they gave up all the goods and dough that Anne & Tim could carry, and then shortly after gave up their job.

Anne led Tim on a walking tour of the car chase they had been on in reverse, until Tim & Anne holed up in the second floor of a boarded-up mixed-residential-commercial building to enjoy for a day a nonfunctioning shower, broken lights, complete lack of furniture or can openers for their canwiches, but most of all the scenic view of the jeweler across the street. Tim wanted to fire the shot, but Anne sent him downstairs to the phonebooth on the corner at 6:40 AM instead, where he called taxi company after taxi company with addresses Anne had noted two nights ago, like she was actually smart. (She didn't realize she could avoid the police chase entirely.)

---

Tim stayed in the booth long enough to see what Michael had seen.

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

"No, no, babe," Johnny cooed. "The store was closed. We can bluff through it!"

"No masks either?!" Anne groaned. "Johnny, hon, you gotta let me do the shopping from now on!"

"Now that was no mistake," said Johnny, lying. "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. Tim thought that was funny and actually laughed into the receiver. He didn't remember Johnny being so small!

"Tim, just because you're older doesn't mean — oh shit!" Beth slammed on the brakes and came up just short.

"Watch where you're drivin', you maniac!" Johnny shouted and slapped Beth's hood. He turned to Anne and shouted in a whisper: "Witness! What're we gonna do?"

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

Michael had had ample time to hit the silent alarm by the time the sniper bullet ripped through his window and skull, killing him instantly.

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

"A — what the fuck?!" shouted Anne, aiming her glock at where Michael once stood and then aimlessly around the room.

"Hands up!" shouted John, who couldn't see through Beth. Neither of them saw a taxi pull up to the phone booth behind them.

"Johnny, dude's already dead," said Anne.

"Give us your shit! In the bag!" shouted caught-up-in-the-moment John, who then coughed up some of Bethany's hair. "Wait, what do you mean?"

Anne hopped over the counter and popped open the register with a phony charge. "Drop the hostage, we just hit the jackpot."

Johnny slammed the butt of his shotgun down into a display case, littering even more broken glass onto the floor that he then threw Beth down onto. Beth ran back to her van and peeled out with a new perspective on life and more piss in her pants.

As the two thieves were shoveling goods into their bag and Beth made rubber tires squeal, Johnny smelled trouble — with his ears. Sirens.

"Fuzz!"

"Fuzz?! Shit!" said both Annes at the same time. Anne ran downstairs and broke a heel.

"What's going on?" said Tim. "I thought you took care of this!"

"I don't know, they musta set an alarm with the glass," bullshat Anne.

"Hey, hey, hey, I don't need any trouble in my cab," said the driver. "Get out of —" Anne shot him dead, which definitely got Johnny's attention (and her own.)

"Need a getaway ride?" smirked Anne, standing halfway in the taxi.

Johnny just shrugged. "I call shotgun!" he laughed.

Anne helped Anne dump the taxi driver's body into the gutter, then Anne hopped in the driver's seat.

"Don't worry, I know just the route," she said.

"I didn't know you had a twin, babe," swooned Johnny to his kitty-corner beau.

"I…" began Anne.

"What would you think if after this we… hey, what's this kid doin' here?"

"Actually, she's from the future!" chimed in Tim. "So am I!"

"You need to lay off the comic books, kid," said Johnny.

"And you need to focus on ridin' shotgun, Johnny," said Anne as she swerved around one of her strategically-placed taxi cabs.

"I ain't got no bullets!" Johnny said.

"What!? How?!" Anne said, swerving around the approaching cop car, which rammed right into the taxi. That left one pursuant.

"You should know, right? I just explained, Future Babe."

"Whatever," said Anne. "Anne, take my rifle off and give it to Johnny." She leaned forward over the wheel and took her gun off of her. Then, she swung it around and put it on the back of her own head.

"Not until you start talkin' a lot more sense, lady," said Anne. "Right now."

"Seriously?!" Anne yelled. "While I'm driving?!"

"You know I'm crazy enough to do it," Anne said. Anne knew she was.

Anne groaned as she passed around Beth's racing van.

"Why are you slowing down?" said Anne, ejecting a perfectly-good shell for emphasis.

"We need another Tim, right, Tim?" Anne said.

"Who's Tim?" said Johnny.

"Why would we need another Tim?" said Tim. "Keep going!" Tim slapped Anne's rifle out-of-position as Anne hit the accelerator, then Anne shot him in the head in retaliation, covering everyone and all the money in blood.

"Aw, come on!" said Anne, slowing back down. "Now we definitely need another Tim!"

"Who's Tim?!" said Johnny.

"That, that kid you shot!" stammered Anne. "He's in that van and we need him or else we'll break time or something! I don't know, it made sense when he explained it yesterday!"

"It doesn't make any sense at all!" shouted Anne. "Who are you?!"

"Ladies, ladies!" Johnny said. "Surely we can all get along at least until the cops are off our tail! And then afterwards, maybe we could get along even better, if you catch my drift?"

"No!" Anne shouted again.

"Absolutely!" Anne exclaimed simultaneously.

Johnny waited a second. "I don't know, Anne, I think I like the other you better."

"Oh, fuck you, Johnny," said Anne.

"I'm kiddin', babe! You know I only got eyes for you!"

"Good thing you got two," Anne said, taking a hard right to avoid that semi truck.

"Anne, would you just hand me the gun please?"

"Yeah, we need the fuzz off our peach like pronto!"

Anne sighed and passed Johnny the sniper rifle. "Fine."

Johnny stood up through the sunroof, wind blowing through his hair. He howled, shot the approaching driver dead, then sat back down. "Thank you." He passed the rifle back behind him.

"Perfect timing," said Anne, slamming on the brakes in front of Mountain Creek Apartments.

Johnny pushed through the creaking rotating door. One hand was holding Anne, and the other was holding the other.

"How you doin', Paul?" he declared.

"Jesus Johnny, you're really fuckin' hot," said Paul, leaping off his stool. Anne slapped her considerably-more-full-and-bloody plastic bag on the counter, where it broke on impact, scattering soggy dollars and blood diamonds all over. Paul jumped back. "Aw shit, aw shit, aw shit! When you two gonna learn to use real bags?"

"Three," said Anne, who was still holding her bag.

"Sorry, Paul," said Anne. "But we're kinda in a rush here!"

"Get out!" Paul said. "You're nothing but trouble, kid!"

Johnny, Anne, & Anne left Mountain Creek Apartments and got back in the cab.

"Well, now what?" said Johnny, taking the wheel and cruising away.

"We need to go to the middle school and kidnap that Tim kid back," Anne said. "He's the only one who knows how to work that time watch thing."

"Fuck that!" said Anne. "We're gonna knock off this broad right off and go to another hideout. A fucking middle school during a manhunt? Christ."

Now what, indeed, Johnny?