RE: Jerks In Time
05-01-2016, 08:44 PM
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?
"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?