In And Out In Five Minutes

“In and out, baby. In and out.” Ronan’s Irish lilt licked. “Five minutes is all it’ll take.”

Marie bit her lip, curling her honeycomb hair between her fingers. “At least leave me the pea shooter, yeah?” Marie said.

It was time for her favourite game, “the fake-out”. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the gun inside. She snaked her tongue up the metal shaft lavishing in its deathly sting. The rush electrified her loins like a spark plug.

Was this the real Ruger? They always kept a fake. It kept things fun, exciting. Dumb. Sometimes the fake-out got them in trouble, most of the time, it got them out of it.

“Baby, I need the real gun, because, without it, I can’t shoot anyone.” Ronan crooned.

“You said you weren’t gonna shoot anybody…. Baby.” Marie pulled down her sunglasses, brown eyes taunting. The game wasn’t up yet, no sir.

“Well, maybe the dollar signs told me I might need to.” He patted his chest. “I keep the gun, you keep the fake.”

Marie winked at him, he always did this. He pretended he wanted to know who had the real gun but Marie knew him like the holster of her pistol. They’d know when some poor soul was on the receiving end of a bullet — or not.

She squeezed Ronan’s inner thigh and his eyelids flickered.

Ronan’s 1993 Dodge Daytona was on its last wheels. The right side mirror hung on the end of exposed wires like tentacles and concave scars of a previous chase dotted the left side.

They cruised until Marie spotted a space, “Right there! Right outside.”

Ronan pulled up outside a bank; the wheels scraped the curb as it ground to a halt.

Marie pouted, “Baby, there’s a meter. The only one on the gosh damn street!”

Ronan exploded in rapturous laughter. “Right! I’ll pay the parking attendant myself when I’m out with our millions.”

Marie, momentarily frozen, bubbled with giggles and then joined in the merry cacophony. She leant in close to Ronan, his must filled her nostrils. Their lips locked, soft flesh on stubble.

Ronan cracked open the door and stepped onto the pavement, his toe-tipped shoes tapped the cement.

Marie reached out and grabbed his arm, “Be careful, baby.”

Ronan shook her off and as he strode past the wonky parking meter he called back, “It’ll be fine. No one is around, it’s midday. No one works mid-day.”

* * *

At midday, Jasper turned down Bellvue Street, his job was to hunt down all who avoided the meters. Today was a big day; he faced the axe. Pressure had been mounting; an increase in meter dodgers had taken its toll on his boss, Jeff. He’d threatened, “you’ve got one ticket to save your ass”.

He was scanning the horizon when his right foot became entangled with his left shoelace. The force twisted his ankle and the next moment, arms flailing, Jasper was mid-air. He hit the ground hard, elbow first.

“Oh, you stupid man, Jasper. Mom was right. Stupid.” He scowled, blowing on his skin that had already begun to purple.

“You’ll be out on the street, Jasper!” His mother had screamed as she’d kicked him out the door. His rear-end was still sore from the impact.

Huffing, he picked himself up and continued down the strip.

Bellvue Street was a clutter of bricked shops, they appeared to lean inwards on rotting foundations over the pavement. Those who were lucky to escape town left on a one-way, hole-ridden road towards the desolate horizon of sand.

The bank, the furthest building, stood detached. Outside was a solitary parking meter, crooked like a misshapen hairpin. Years ago, a car had jack-knifed around it; Jasper could still recall reports of a local street race gone wrong. These days the meter spat out of tickets like an infant rejecting its supper. Nobody could feed it money if they’d tried.

It just needed a gentle prompt, Jasper had always thought.

Up ahead, a car pulled up outside the bank. A man leapt out and strolled inside.

He heard his mother’s voice rang out once more.

“He didn’t pay the meter,” Jasper muttered, speeding his pace. “I may not be the smartest but I work hard, and this is my job, yes sir.”

* * *

Ronan raised his handgun into the air; the weight made his arm ache. Was Marie playing that game again, what did she call it? Switcheroo? That girl and her games, she was trouble — he loved it.

“Everybody down!” He barked.

A clerk jumped and he towards her. “You! All the money in the safe, on the table now and nobody gets hurt!”

He assessed the danger: two clerks and three pedestrians with their hands on their heads.

Five minutes is all this will take, he thought. Easy. We’ll be millionaires out on the road and Marie’ll have a ring come the evening as they lapped champagne on the Vegas strip. He glanced at Marie who sat relaxed in the car with no worries in the world.

* * *

Jasper's feet shuffled in a maraca rhythm as he approached the worn vehicle. Quite a mess. He stopped to check his laces, loose again! What would he do? Laces or jobs?

There was no time to dillydally, there was work to be done.

He composed himself and then knocked on the window.

The woman inside jumped, her hands darting to the hem of her dress and wound down the window. Jasper noticed a tattoo, the pronged tongue of a snake, slipping out the back of her dress.

“Oh hello,” Marie angeled down her sunglasses. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Miss, I am the ticket inspector and I saw a man run into the bank without paying the meter,” Jasper cleared his throat.

“Did he not? Oh my, I’m sorry.”

“Well, miss, I have a job to do and I must insist you pay at the meter.” He waited at the window. His attempt at a commanding tone had trickled away., “Please?”

“How gosh darn rude!” Marie huffed, slamming her fists on the chair beneath her. “I’m just sitting here minding my good business and you come along.”

“Now, miss-”

“Marie,”

“Mary, I-”

“Marie.”

“Yes, Marie. Sorry, my mother always said I was terrible with names. I do need you to pay for your time, even if it is a few minutes.”

“Well, sir-”

“Jasper is my name.” Since she’d introduced herself then why shouldn’t he do the same?

“Jasper, how nice. My husband will be there for only a few more minutes. He said, “Baby, I’ll need five minutes and then we’ll be r-” She gulped, stopping herself.

“Ready to go?” Jasper finished the sentence for her.

Her tone jittered, “That’s exactly what he said. Thank you, Jasper, good day!”

She began to wind her window up and Jasper in a frenzy grabbed the top. His fingers crunched in the top as it shut.

Jasper yelped through the glass, “Now, Marie. Please. My boss will be very angry. I could lose my job, I’m on my last warning!”

“Ugh, fine!” Marie scowled. She unwound the window and shoved open the door.

Jasper was confused by Marie’s odd exit from her car. She waddled, penguin-like, with her hands clasped behind her back. Perhaps she had something wrong with her feet?

At the meter, Marie lowered her sunglasses, squinting at the machine. “I can’t possibly see where the slot is, Jasper. I don’t have my glasses.”

“Miss Marie, the slot is in its usual place.” He motioned in front of her eyes, “Please let me help you.”

He leaned in, Marie’s arm twitched behind her. What was that? Jasper was sure she was looking for money.

* * *

Ronan stuffed the final wads of cash into his bag, his pistol remained aimed at the clerk. In and out in five minutes, just like he’d said.

“Keep down! Don’t any-”

Outside, by the crooked meter there was a man that looked like a Jehovah’s Witness talking to Marie… talking to Marie?! His heart pulsed like a canon. His focus left him, and in that split second, a stray clerk smashed the alarm.

Ronan jumped at the blare, launching the gun into the air. It clattered on the ground, meters in front of him.

“Oh for fucks sake.” He sighed.

* * *

Jasper’s scream matched the pitch of the siren. Instinctually, he reached out, and when he did he grabbed something cold. Marie was pointing a gun at him.

“Gosh darn it, Jasper. Why’d you have to go and make me pay for the parking? Now I’ve got to shoot you!” Marie yelled.

“W-w-w — well, it’s j-j-j-just my job. My m-m-mother told-”

“Oh, your mother this and your mother that. Baloney! I’m not paying for a meter today, we’re leaving with millions.” She burst into laughter at the same time the meter spat out a ticket.

Unaware, Marie pulled the trigger. Jasper screamed in anguish, arms twisting. He fell backwards, tripping over his lace and was launched into the air.

He was dead! He’d been shot!

Ronan shouldered out of the bank like a wrecking ball. Money that fluttered from the duffle bag began floating in the wind down the street. Onlookers frantically jumped at the notes passing over their heads.

“What are you doing, Marie?! Let it-”

Ronan’s roar was cut short by the full mass of Jasper. His lungs were sucked empty as if by a vacuum. The world spun a half circle and then went black as his head hit the curb.

Marie, bent down to pick up the rogue ticket. It was only when the storm of police cars, whaling red and blue, had pulled up behind her that her awareness returned.

The next moment she was was at gunpoint herself, red-handed.

I’m dead. Jasper felt for the pool of blood below him. Nothing. There was a gun on the ground next to him. A fake?

“My god man, you’re a god damn hero!” An officer, heaved Jasper to his feet, “What the hell were you doing?”

Marie was huddled into a nearby police car alongside a motionless Ronan.

Jasper pulled his tie around his collar. “T-t-they didn’t pay the meter.”

“They’ll be paying a lot more now. You knocked the guy straight out.” As Jasper swivelled from the scene, the officer called to him, “Hey, you dropped your ticket.”

Jasper took the ticket and then nodded thanks to the crooked meter that had saved his job. It just needed a gentle prompt.

He’d live to work another day, time to clock out.

Good Job, Jasper!