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?

into the conveniently placed time machine on Cradle Street. They'd never follow her there!

They say the best safehouses are the ones in the country, far away from prying eyes. Psh. That's nonsense: the best safehouses are the ones crammed in the middle of lots of other safehouses. You're small time, but with this haul you could probably pay off Paul at the skyscraper, get a place to lie low on the 47th floor until this all blows over.

You're also probably going to have to raise the kids now, or ditch them. Whatever. You're not sentimental.

Send the car off a cliff and evacuate in mid-air, before scampering off to your safe-house

>Head onto the highway, but take the on-ramp at such a speed that you clear the entire road and land on the roof of a convenience store on the other side.

Send the car off a cliff and evacuate in mid-air, before scampering off to your floating safe-house

because you can also fly. too bad the kids can't fly

You're supposed to keep the hostage alive so that the police don't come get you, you dingus!!!!!

Whatever you do, do a sick flip while doing it.

drop the kids off at school

She's gonna tell the kids her partner, the one who leapt out of the moving vehicle just now and punched a cop car so hard it exploded, has their mom hostage. They're going to repeat verbatim the story she's about to spin 'em when they get dumped sequentially across Noted Ratrace Suburb Shitsburgh.

Anne took a deep breath and checked her pistol. Four bullets. Four kids. She checked over her shoulder, at little Robert who couldn't have been older than 10 and smelled like piss, at even littler Sally, clutching her backpack and shaking, and at Alexis hugging her tight and giving Anne the stink-eye. Also at Timothy, who was incongruously smiling and bouncing up and down. Could she do it?

Anne turned a corner and turned around behind her again with her glock against the headrest and tried to shove some steel into her voice. "One way or another, you're not telling the pigs anything, you hear?" Robert nodded. "My name's Anne Gruen, and my partner back there who just took out the two cop cars back there is my husband, Johnny. He's gonna go back, pick up your mommy, hop in the original getaway car, and go to our hideout way, way out in the country with her, so you won't be seeing her for a while, okay?" Anne lied.

"Now as for all y'all," she continued, still driving without looking at the road, "I haven't made up my mind. Can I trust you not to tell the police anything all on your own?"

Robert and Sally frantically nodded.

"Really? I can?"

"Yeah! I won't tell them anything, I swear Misses Gruen!" said Robert.

"Fuck you!" Alexis threw her backpack at Anne and Anne jerked away, swerving them all into the wrong lane for a moment.

"It ain't Xmas, kid," Anne said. "And it ain't your turn to fuckin' speak!" She took her hand off the wheel and started steering with her knees, and nearly ejected another perfectly-good bullet for emphasis, then remembered her arithmetic.

"Look out, Misses Gruen!" said Robert, pointing ahead.

Anne turned back around to the road and took a hard left rather than drive into a wall or a semi truck. Did you know SUVs could drift?

"Thanks, kiddo," said Anne. Right turn. "Now, I've got three options here. One: I kill you all." Anne swept the sweat off her brow with her gun hand.

"No!" cried Sally.

"Two: I kidnap you all," Anne said. Right turn. "Just for a bit. An insurance policy."

"Our dad's a cop! You'll never get away with this!" said Alexis.

Anne laughed. Left turn. "Kid, you tryin' all the time to make number one look like a better idea or what?"

"Yeah, shut up Alexis!" said Timothy. "I wanna hear number three!"

"Number three..." said Anne. She slammed on the brakes and skid to a stop in the road in front of the elementary school. "Get out. It's time to go to school." She put her head against the steering wheel and caught her breath. The sirens were getting closer every second.

Robert, Alexis, and Sally filtered out of the sliding doors quickly, screaming. Timothy reached over and closed their door behind them.

"Timmy, come on!" said Alexis from the sidewalk. Tim just waved goodbye.

"What's the matter, kid?" said Anne. "Trouble with the buckle?"

"I'm not some dumb baby in elementary school," said Timothy. "Eighth grade is boring anyway and they're all jerks. Can you take me hostage?"

Anne, laughing, threw her head back to the headrest and her foot down to floor the gas pedal. "Okay, kid." The van peeled out.

"My name's Tim," Tim said, putting his hand into the front seat for a handshake.

"Driving," said Anne, who was indeed. Tim retracted.

"Is Anne Gruen really your name?"

"Pfft! Nope, and that wasn't my husband either," she said.

"Sweet," said Tim. "You're so cool. I wanna be just like you when I grow up. Except not a girl." (Now, Tim was actually dead wrong on that last point, but he's gonna have to survive seven more years to figure that out.) "Where are we goin', anyway?"

"Here," said Anne, slamming on the brakes and skidding to a stop again, like she didn't even know how else to park a car. She grabbed the plastic bag, unbuckled her seatbelt, stashed her pistol away, stepped out, and tossed the keys to the valet. "Take it 'round back to the Batcave. Dig?" She winked.

Timothy trailed behind her, gazing up in awe at the Mountain Creek Apartments building. It was just an unadorned concrete rectangle piercing the sky, strangled by ivy, possibly the most nondescript, decrepit tower in the whole city, but to Tim it was Disneyland.

Anne pushed through the creaking rotating door. One hand was holding Tim's, and the other put the bag on the reception counter.

"Jesus Anne, you're really fuckin' hot," said Paul, leaping off his stool. He peeked in the plastic bag.

"Why, thank you," Anne fluttered her eyelashes.

"No, really, REALLY hot." Paul shoved the bag off the counter. "This oughta cover it, but I ain't paintin' my hands red when I can hear the -and-blue. Just get up there, we'll talk payment later."

Anne nodded and walked away, high heels clicking on linoleum.

"I'm taking the car, though!"

"I've never been in a freight elevator before," said Timothy a few moments later, riding in the freight elevator with Anne. "It's so cool!"

He thought the barren apartment with exposed, moldy concrete walls, non-functioning plumbing, a broken window, and a lightswitch that sparked when you touched it was cool too. Anne sat cross-legged on the floor and dumped the loot out.

Spare bullets and now-useless shotgun slugs to the left. Real jewels in one pile, phonies in another. Same for the watches. A six-inch-tall stack of large bills. This is why you're not supposed to keep more than $500 in your cash register.

All in all, a great haul, but one Anne couldn't actually enjoy. She lied back on the floor and stared at two rings from the bag. They were supposed to get married after this job. Anne slipped one of the rings on and threw the other one across the room, then turned on her side to the wall to have a good cry.

"Hey, what's wrong?" said Timothy.

"Nothing," lied Anne, lying.

Timothy shrugged and left it at that, because middle schoolers are little monsters with no sense of empathy. Instead, he started digging through the stolen goods like they were his toys. He put on a necklace, used a diamond to scrape a crude penis into the floor, and opened up a stopwatch.

It was golden-plated, and actually had 4 date-keeping clocks on the other side of the clamshell from the main watch. It was ornate overkill, a beautiful and perfectly-calibrated little machine made, according to the lower-right date dial, to last for centuries. So naturally, Timothy started fucking with it. He pressed in a dial and started winding the watch back and forth aimlessly, then pressed in another dial and did the same thing with that, then pressed the button on the top that held the chain.

The air in front of Tim ripped open. It was an oval window into pitch-black darkness.

"Holy shit," said Tim, standing up and approaching it. Of all the crazy things he'd seen today, this slightly outranked the freight elevator.

"What the — what the fuck did you do, kid?" Anne rolled over the other way and stood up quickly. She hoisted Tim off the ground and stepped away from the portal. "Drop the shit, God damn!"

"No way, this is so cool!" said Timothy, clutching the watch to his chest. "I bet it's a time machine!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you, are you an idiot?" Anne now deeply regretted her choice of hostage.

"Come onnn," Tim whined. "Lemme try it!"

Anne sighed, and dropped the kid. "Your funeral."

Timothy shoved his hand into the portal. "See? It's fine," he said. He pulled his hand back to the present to open up the watch. "What time is it?"

Anne checked her own watch, rolling her eyes. "7:36 AM."

"It's two days and seven hours ago through here! That's why it's so dark!" Tim said, hopping up and down in place, making his necklace bash against his chest. "Or six, I don't know how to read clocks. Come on, let's go through, it'll be fun! Oh, you should bring your stuff." Tim started putting the things on the floor back in the plastic bag. "You know, in case we can't come back or something. This is gonna be so cool!"

"Kid. Kid. Kid. It's not happening."

"Aww, come on!" Tim whined and finished shoveling loot in the bag.

"I'm not going running through crazy God damn mystery death portals because a little boy wearing a fake pearl necklace — take that shit off, by the way — said so, okay?"

Tim pouted as he slipped the necklace into the bag. "Man, I thought you were fun."

Three knocks — pounds, really — on the door. "OPEN UP!" they shouted. "THIS IS THE POLICE!"

"Now, the 5-0 on the other hand," said Anne, grabbing the bag and Timothy. "Let's get."

"Yesss," said Tim. The two ran through the portal, which disappeared behind Timothy.

ACT II
In Which There's Time Travel Now

Tim and Anne appeared in thin air at midnight-thirty. Anne shivered from the cool night breeze from the broken window, and looked around the room.

"Well," she said. "Here we are, I guess. You happy?"

Tim wandered about a yard away, looking at the floor. "Look, here!" He pointed. Anne squinted.

"There's nothing there."

"Exactly!" Tim said. "I drew a dick on the floor right here! We traveled back in time!"

"Fine, whatever."

"I was right, and you were wrong! Say it!"

"Shut up for once, you brat, you're really getting on my nerves here," said Anne. "People are tryin' to sleep."

"Let's go to the future next," said Tim. "I wanna see what I'm like when I'm older!"

"Except you won't be there," said Anne. "Because little you disappeared years ago into a time portal."

"Oh, damn. Well robots will still be cool."

"No," said Anne. "No... We need to save Johnny."

What was Anne's plan to do that?

You're already running from one bunch of cops and probably the original jewelery store owner at this point, once-shot or not, last thing you want is timecops too. Timecops are real, right? You should probably figure out how paradoxes and shit work, and also probably wrest the watch from the brat.

We need to bring another van into the clusterfuck. Grab Johnny before he falls out of the van, go back to the future, really lay low by disappearing for a few months. Perfect plan.

>Reenact the heist, but now with two of yourself. Three heads are better than two, even if most of them are identical.

You should get on the roof across from the store and snipe the store clerk before he can call the fuzz

Call in an anonymous tip about a bomb at the kids' school. This way, their mom won't need to drive them!

Arrange a delivery of mattresses to go the same route as you did a few minutes earlier, then sabotage the back of the van so that one falls out exactly where Johnny should land.
After that, it's just a matter of getting away from the cop's!

edit: and call a paramedic to the jewellery store I GUESS.

take a lunch break, eat canned pb&j sandwiches. then save johnny

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?

Jesus fuck. Okay, one of the Annes needs to take the fall.

>Steal a truck and hook it up to one of those portable classrooms outside the school and drive away with it, hoping Tim's inside

Well, one of these Annes is definitely being more fun than the other. Let's go kidnap a middleschooler and escape the fuzz THROUGH TIME!!

Tim checked the roof exit door. Damn. They remembered to lock it today. He sighed and sat on the top step, then unzipped his backpack beside him.

Timothy took out his stack of comic books for the day and put them on his lap. He placed a cigarette in his mouth clumsily, and tried to fire up a dollar-store lighter with both fists. After about ten minutes, he put the cigarette neatly back in its pack. Nothing was goin' his way today, but at least it was better than first period Sex Ed with Mrs. Appleby. He could swear, she got off on telling kids not to have sex and showing them the grossest pictures of exploding dicks she could find. (Like they weren't gross enough on their own.) He didn't understand why they had to split up the boys and girls, at least then there'd be some variety.

Hey, speaking of girls! Tim opened the second compartment on his backpack and pulled out the new Wonder Woman to read first. The guys always made fun of him for it, but c'mon, she was hot! Who needs the Sex Ed, right?

Just as he was getting into the story, the fire alarm went off. Shit. Tim went to put out his cigarette on the concrete step, then realized it wasn't his fault this time. He put his comics away in his backpack, then stopped with the zipper half-closed. If he went out there and a teacher saw him, he'd get caught skipping. Besides, it was probably just a drill...

The intercom crackled to life. "Students, this is your principal speaking," the principal said. "We have received an anonymous tip that there is a bomb somewhere in the school. Please remain outside until the police have finished their sweep and declared it safe. Thank you."

Not a drill. Tim zipped his backpack up, slung it over one shoulder, and stutter-stepped down the stairs. He figured it out: he would cut across the field, hop the fence, and walk back around from the wrong side of the school all "oh, sorry I'm late, my MOM got taken HOSTAGE," and he couldn't even get in trouble 'cause it's true. He could play hooky all day instead, but what even would he do?

Ultimately, he ended up slipping out one of the fire exits instead 'cause the cops and their K-9s were crawling the school. Tim kicked a rock into a sewer grate and cut through the church parking lot for his first of three planned left turns. It'd take a couple blocks, but hey.

---

Johnny turned the taxi right and rolled down the avenue at a crawl. "So, we've got the kids flushed out of the school, now what we gonna do about all the pigs we called in?"

"They're all inside anyway," shrugged one Anne.

"Maybe we could go undercover," said the other. "You could pass for a middle schooler, right Johnny?"

Both Annes snickered. Johnny slapped the steering wheel. "God DAMN it," he yelled. "It was bad enough with just one of ya!"

"Aw, I'm sorry Johnny," said Anne, stroking his hair over the head rest. "You know I love you."

"Me too," said the other Anne, competitively stroking the other half of his head.

"Get off, get off!" said Johnny. Both Annes yanked their hands away. "Jesus, how did you manage to get jealous of yourself?" He laughed.

"Hey, pull over!" said Anne. "That's him!"

Tim noticed the taxi that had slowed down to match his speed and looked over. The window rolled down. A short black man leaned out and dripped dark red blood onto the asphalt and the yellow paint on the door. It looked like the whole interior was covered in blood as well.

"Hey kid," he said, smiling a mile. "Need a ride?"

Tim froze.

"Hey, c'mon, don't be a stranger!" said Johnny, adjusting the brim of his newsie cap cordially. "You remember me, right?"

"...You're the guy that took my mom hostage?"

"That's right!" said Johnny. "That's right. See, we're practically best friends already! Now why don't you climb on in, me and my assosciates'd like to discuss something with you. I'll even let you ride shotgun!" Johnny waggled the shotgun in the air by the barrel for emphasis.

Tim breathed for a second. Then, he broke into a sprint down the sidewalk towards the school. Johnny double-clutched up and burnt rubber.

"Shit, SHIT!" he said, slapping the steering wheel. "He's goin' right for the cops, too. I thought you said this kid was cool, Future Anne!"

"He is, I swear!" said Anne. "Maybe you scared him!"

"Me?! How could I scare the guy? You're not making any sense," said Johnny.

Johnny drifted the cab to the left, right over the sidewalk, stopping a mere yard in front of Tim. "Hey," he said. "I think you need a ride."

Tim looked around and started climbing the chain link fence next to him. It was for naught: Johnny nearly yanked Tim's pants off pulling his legs and the Annes made short work of his grip.

---

"Please don't kill me," sobbed Tim.

"Relax," cooed Anne, reaching over and giving Timothy a shoulder massage from behind. "We really do just want to talk."

"You sure we got the right kid?" said Anne to the other. "He's acting like a baby."

"Pretty sure," said Anne. She took her hands off Tim and started rifling through her plastic bag. "Last time we just looked really cool is all."

"Come on, did you SEE that drift?" said Johnny.

"...That was pretty cool," sniffled Timothy.

"Yeah, Tim gets it!" Johnny laughed.

"How do you know my name?"

"We just need your help, buddy," said Anne. She scooted over and dangled a blood-stained pearl necklace from the bag by Tim's face as if it were car keys to a cat. "You can put this on, if you like. It's real pearls!" She tossed it onto his lap. Tim regarded it. "You're with us now, you hear?" Timothy nodded and hastily slipped on the necklace. "We're a team. We're best buds."

Meanwhile, Tim's lifeless, practically headless corpse continued to float through the sewer.

"Just get to the point," said the other Anne. "I think you're scarin' him more!"

"Point is," said Anne. "We need you to tell us..." She dropped the watch in Tim's lap. "...how this works."

Tim opened it up and baffled. "Misses, I don't even know how to read a clock right."

"Stop playin' dumb, kid, we know you know exactly how it works," said Johnny. "Future Lady here says so, and she's from the future."

"Wait... what?" said Tim. He turned around to face the Anne behind him.

"Shh," shushed Future Lady.

"Basically, we need you to figure out how that thing works or else time is completely destroyed," said Anne. "I mean, according to Future Lady."

"Well, according to you in the first place," said Anne. "I don't get it, myself."

Tim looked at the watch again, turned it over in his hands. "I'm sorry... I don't know how this works."

"Just relax and work your magic, kid," said Anne, leaning back. "We've got all the time in the world."

"Then what was all that about time getting destroyed?" snapped Anne.

"I figure, as long as we get it eventually, right?" shrugged Anne. Tim continued to fiddle with the machine. "I'm not even Future Lady anymore, and time just kept going, so..."

"Well, in the meantime," Johnny said. "We need to get gas." He hit the parking brake and pulled the keys out of the ignition. "Tim, would you go up to the nice man in the convenience store and tell him we'd like to fill our car and buy us a spare tank? Give him some green, Anne." Both Annes grinned.

Anne dug through the plastic bag and handed Tim two $50 bills that didn't look too bloody. Johnny stepped out, lit a cigarette, and put the nozzle in the tank. Tim wandered out of the car and towards the convenience store in a daze.

The bell rung. Tim shuffled up to the counter, throat dry.

"Can I help you, son?" said the kindly old gas station owner.

Was Tim gonna take this opportunity to make another break for it, even call the cops, or was he going to keep playing along with whatever Johnny & the Annes told him to do?

Tim's gonna get a better lighter

Tim realizes if he's gonna survive with these jerks he has to prove himself to them. Trick the gas station owner into bending down to pick something up, bash his head with something heavy and steal all the money out of the register. Also grab some cigarettes for johnny