#my grocery bill is sky high sorry kiddos

[allbeendonebefore]

i.... i got cleared out of candy before 7pm

this has never happened to me before

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

What Happens, Stays

The Nevada sky was ablaze as last rays of the sun disappeared behind the mountains, casting the old stretch of desert highway in total darkness.  Not a single car had gone by in two hours, so the attendants of the Last Chance gas station prepared themselves for another long night of tedium.

Charlie had left his post at the register to meander aimlessly around the two aisles of concessions. The morning guy wasn’t clocking in until 4 AM, so he tried his best to keep himself entertained.  He started off the night by studying the Nutrition Facts on the back of candy wrappers, but soon grew tired of this little endeavor. Later, he began stacking boxes of store brand pop tarts into a makeshift pyramid, but again became bored.  With nothing left to clean or stock, Charlie made his way back to counter, stopping at the brochure display to examine a tourist map to Las Vegas.  His dad had always promised to take him to Vegas one day.

“When you grow up, kiddo.”

Charlie neatly folded the brochure and stuffed it in his uniform’s chest pocket.

He sat back down on his stool, groaning over its lack of back support, and reached under the counter for one of his boss’s dog-eared detective novels.  Older than most people he knew, the book’s pages were yellow and brittle, many of the corners having snapped off from being folded over a few times too many.  He wouldn’t admit it to any of his friends, but he had grown fond of these old pulp novels, his only source of entertainment besides the CCTV that hung in the far corner.  When he first started working here he would often make faces into the camera, watching himself on the TV like a child mugging into a funhouse mirror.  This pastime soon grew old, and while he had already read every book in Duke’s collection, he found himself returning to each of them every few weeks.

Duke was in the back room, the glorified supply closet he called an office.  He sat in an old lawn chair at the poker table he used as a desk, gong over the day’s receipts.  There weren’t many, but he had little else to do until morning.

“Hey Duke,” Charlie called, “I gotta go to the restroom, can you man the store?”

“You ain’t in high school no more, bud.  Don’t gotta ask permission to take a leak.”

Charlie grabbed the key to the men’s room and headed out to the cinder block hut next to the pumps. The women’s room key was attached to a comically large pair of sunglasses, while the men’s was chained to an old VHS tape with ‘Burning Man 91’ hastily scrawled across the yellowed masking tape.

Burning man.  There was another one his dad promised to take him to, years ago.

“Road trip, kiddo. Just me ‘n you, Chuckaroo.”

His dad made a lot of promises he never kept.

Charlie had barely left the store when he saw the RV, bouncing down the pothole covered road, making a beeline straight for the station.  Its headlights were off, but he could see through the windshields that the lights were on inside. Whoever was driving wasn’t slowing down, and for a second Charlie expected them to crash into the pumps.  Thoughts of a fiery death vanished as the RV’s brakes let out an otherworldly shriek, skidding to a precarious stop doubled parked just inches beside pumps 3 and 4. Charlie let out a sigh of relief and walked back into the station.

“Scratch that, boss,” he called, “customers.”  He retook his place at the register and adjusted the sign Duke had unceremoniously taped to the card reader.  NETWORK DOWN, CASH ONLY.  Charlie waited dutifully for the RV’s occupants, the engine knocking and pinging as it cooled off.

It’s door slammed open, adding another dent to its pockmarked exterior, and out fell a disheveled man.  Charlie figured he was a little older than himself, late twenties maybe.  He could hear voices yelling from inside the RV, but could only make out the man’s responses.

“No, absolutely not! Scott is going to get the gas, you stay put.  Fredo, do not let him out of this RV, I swear to God- Do not… Cause you’re a MESS, that’s why!”

Visibly seething, the man lumbered his way into the store, letting out a disgruntled hiss through gritted teeth the second the door closed behind him.  He stood there for a moment, eyes shut tight like a 12-stepper trying and failing to find his happy place, awakening from his rage induced trance only after Charlie set his book down with a near inaudible flop.  The man took a deep breath and glided over to the counter.

“Hey, listen, do you got, like, one of those… thingies...”

Charlie sat with concerned confusion as the man fumbled for the right word, physically grasping at the air with one hand.

“Handle. Purse.  Bag- Basket!  That’s the one.  Like a grocery basket, you got any of those?”

Charlie shook his head, a slight wince breaking across his face.  The man thanked him anyway and floated over to the fridge at the far end of the store.  He stood there, propping the door open with his body for much longer than Charlie was comfortable with, letting all the cold out.  Just as he was about to speak up, the man trudged back to the counter laden with a dozen bottles of water hugged tightly to his chest.  He placed them on the counter, and left to make another trip. He had soon cleared out the Zephyrhills and was working his way through the Aquafina when he nearly dropped his armful in shock as Duke exited his office.

“Hey bud, you think you can handle this? I’mma go take a leak myself.”

Both Charlie and the man stood frozen, following Duke with their eyes until he vanished into the bathroom hut.  With that, the man let out a loud sigh, not so much relieved as just tired, and made his way back to the register to finish his transaction.  He shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot as Charlie began adding up the total on a pocket calculator, a deafening silence filling the store.

“Eight-eight-three-five,” the man stated, unprompted.  Charlie didn’t know what he meant until he pressed enter, and saw that the man’s total was indeed $88.35 after tax.  “We also need 200 on pump… uh, which one is it... 3? 4? Whichever, I dunno.”

He reached into his pockets and pulled out a crumbled wad of cash, plopping down three $100 bills and continuing his nervous shifts as he waited for his change.  Charlie took the sweaty bills and splayed them out as flat as he could. He was about to mark them with the counterfeit pen when he noticed the feed on the CCTV had been cut.

“God damn it,” the man sighed.

The door flew open with a violent kick, and in stepped a man wearing a children’s Halloween mask, a pair of wire cutters in one hand, and a Smith & Wesson in the other.

“Don’t fucking move. Open the register right fucking now.”

“God damn it, Hank!” the first man yelled, “I told you to wait in the RV!”

Charlie was a deer in the headlights, standing there speechless with his hands up in front of him. The gunman’s only response was to level the weapon at his forehead, finger placed firmly on the trigger.  He reeked of alcohol, and much of it could be seen staining his t-shirt and jeans.  Charlie still didn’t move, but his breath quickened to short gasps.

Outside, two other men, presumably Scott and Fredo, were getting into a shoving match over whose job is was to watch who.  One of them stared in through the store window and violently waved for both his colleagues to pile back into the RV before something bad happened.  The other had a gun drawn and kept staring back and forth between the bathroom hut and the station.

The gunman pressed the barrel hard against Charlie’s trembling forehead.  Tears streamed down his face, and he was biting his lower lip so hard he nearly drew blood, but Charlie found himself unable to move his hands to the register like he desperately wanted them to.

“Hank, for Christ’s sake, will you put the gun down, man?  You don’t wanna hurt...” He squinted at Charlie’s name tag. “...Charles, do you?  No, of course not.  What you wanna do is head back to the GOD DAMN RV!“

Hank let out a long snort, and swallowed hard.  He cocked his slightly head to one side, but kept his bloodshot eyes locked on the weeping cashier.  Without lowering the gun, he took a step back, leaving a circular red mark where the barrel had been pressed against his head.

“Any day now, kiddo.”

“Fuckin’ ay Hank, stop it!”  The man haphazardly grabbed at the gun the same way one might try to take a drunk friend’s keys.  Then and only then did Hank lower it to the floor.

Charlie was ghost white, shaking uncontrollably from an adrenaline rush, trying is hardest not to hyperventilate.  The man shot him a desperate look that seemed to say I’m sorry my friend tried to murder you, and began nudging Hank back towards the door.  Hank didn’t move, legs planted firmly in place.  He stuffed the gun back in his belt, and walked over to the counter, never breaking eye contact with Charlie.  In one quick motion he snatched the folded-up brochure sticking out of his pocket.  After giving it a quick glance, he made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and another phlegmy snort.

“See you ‘round, Chuckaroo.”

He turned to exit, knocking over the pyramid of pop tarts with his shoulder as he stumbled out the door.

“Listen, I’m really sorry.” the man said once Hank was out of earshot. “Hey, I’m- this- just- sorry.  He’s, uh, he’s not all there.”  At this he mimed frantic jazz hands, trying to convey some sort of information, but unsure exactly what. He nodded, content with the point he didn’t make, and scooped up as many bottles of water as he could carry. “Just, uh, keep the $300. Sorry. Again, sorry.”

The four men piled into the RV, and Charlie could just make out a heated argument as they slammed the door and peeled out from the station without pumping an ounce of gas.  They continued north, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and a short trail of skid marks in their wake.

Charlie plopped back down on the stool and doubled over, head between his knees, throwing up a little in his mouth.  He grabbed a wad of napkins from the dispenser next to the hot dog warmer, and wiped away snot and tears as best he could, composing himself as Duke finally exited he men’s room, fanning the air in front of him as he walked back towards the store.

“Hey bud, you might wanna use the ladies’ room, I did something awful in there, it’s-” no sooner had the door closed behind him than he noticed things were off.  Charlie’s eyes were red, nearly glazed over into a thousand-yard stare.  There were boxes of pop tarts all over the ground, and bottles of water all over the counter.  He looked up at the CCTV and saw nothing but static.

“What the fuck?”

Charlie’s face was a stone mask, a million thoughts going through his head.  Before he could say anything, Duke trudged over to his storage office and came out with a large push broom.

“Hey, clean this up, will ya? I’mma go check out the raccoon nest by the camera.  They musta came back and chewed through the line again.”

Charlie flashed two thumbs up and nodded without a word.  With that, Duke went on his crusade.  Just as he suspected, the camera line was chewed straight through, but the little bastards were nowhere in sight.  He’d be sure to put more poison in the trash, though they’d gotten smart last time and picked around it.  Either way, it was an easy fix; he had more coaxial cable in the office.

He walked back inside, and Charlie nearly jumped out of his skin when the bell above the door started ringing.

“What’s eatin’ you, bud?”

“It’s... nothing, boss. I just finished another of your books, and... the ending really freaked me out.”

Duke didn’t buy a word of it, but he didn’t probe any further.  They had worked together for almost five years now, so he knew when Charlie needed some time to think his thoughts.

“We ain’t busy,” he said. “You can clock out early if you want, I got this.”

Charlie thanked him and made his exit, still shaking from the emotional roller coaster he’d just been through. He walked over to the beat up old muscle car his dad had given him for his sixteenth birthday.  That was the last time he’d seen him.  Six whole years had flown by like nothing.

The engine couched to life, and he made his way back to the highway, ready to go home and get some much deserved sleep.  In the distance, he saw two blinking yellow lights, just out of sync with one another, looping back and forth as they almost lined up.  When he got closer, he saw it was a rusted blue road sign, HIGHWAY ADVISORY, TUNE TO 1640 AM, URGENT MESSAGE WHEN FLASHING.  

Any other time he would have ignored this, it was usually just warning about a car crash some fifty or sixty miles away, but tonight he tuned in.  He caught the tail end of a police report asking listeners to call the crime stoppers tip hotline, before it started again from the top.

There was a bank robbery in San Diego a few days ago, a big job, millions of dollars, and the four perps managed to up and disappear.  The FBI had identified the suspects via facial recognition, and the announcer listed off their names and descriptions, before again urging people to come forward with any tips that may lead to their arrest.  Repeat.

Charlie must have listened to the message five or six times, and without thinking he had pulled out his phone and typed in the hotline number. He paused at the last second, thumb hovering forlornly over the dial button, and he eased on the brakes, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the road.  His headlights were the only ones for miles, the only other signs of civilization being the blinking road sign and the fluorescent glow of the gas station some ways behind him.  The rest of the world was bathed in shadow, a dark sagebrush sea that stretched to the invisible mountains on the horizon.

His apartment was a little south of the station, but after some deep thought, he turned off his phone and threw it into the passenger seat, before making a three point turn and heading north on Route 95.  He soon passed another rusted road sign which told him Las Vegas 58 Miles.

His eyes kept darting to the phone beside him, so he tossed it into the backseat.  He knew he would probably regret this later, but right now nothing else mattered to him.  He blew by the Last Chance gas station, and figured the RV couldn’t have made it even halfway to Vegas if they were running on empty.  He’d filled up his own tank before he clocked in for his shift, so he was good to go; he’d catch up to them in no time.  He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

“Just me ‘n you, dad.”