A Good Piss
A gas pump and a security camera face a dangerous situation. Originally written for Furious Fiction.
“Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh… Nothin’ like a good piss, am I right?”
“Sounds like you make that joke a lot.” This Mazda 3 Hatchback had me pegged with its relentless lack of amusement.
The frat boy pulled my nozzle out, tapped it a few times for the last drops (thank you, sir), and placed it back in its holster. After a quick swipe of his card, he was on his way back to whatever poor decisions were on the agenda for a Saturday evening.
“Think that’ll be it for the night?” asked Olina, the pump on the reverse side of my spot.
The streets looked deserted from my angle. “Probably, but you never know with these holiday weekends.”
I felt her relax behind me. “I hope so, I’m exhausted. The last two cars I had were full of loud teenagers and now I have a displayache.”
“Why don’t you put up your Out of Order sign, if anything comes by I’ll get’em.”
“You’re a pumpsaver, Gus.”
The security camera on the wall across from me beeped.
I flashed my Total Sale numbers. “What’s good, Bullet?”
“Hm? Oh, hey Gus.” He seemed distracted.
“Everything alright?”
He buzzed uncertainly. “Other side of the station. South entrance. There’s a mysterious guy loitering near the ice freezer. My third eye started recording him about eight minutes ago.”
I tried to peer through the glass doors on the north side to catch a glimpse across the interior, but it was no good. “People hang around all the time, Bull. It’s a gas station. We’re, like, the number one spot for goofing off when bored.”
“This is different,” the outdated circuitry crackled quietly, “he has a gun.”
I remained quiet for a bit too long, then said “Kinda buried the lede there, Bullet.”
“Well, I *think* he has a gun. His hand’s in his pocket and he’s fidgeting a lot. I think I see a jagged outline under his coat.”
I directed focus behind me. Olina was asleep. Good.
“Okay, so did you alert the police?”
“I can’t, Gus. The clerk has to push the button.”
If I’d had a chin to rub in deep thought, I would’ve been stroking it.
“Who’s working?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t Mortimer.
“Mortimer.”
Damn. I imagined the congenial octogenarian sitting patiently inside, waiting for whoever would be his new friend for the day. Everybody loved Mortimer.
“Has he—”
“Ssshhh, the stranger just entered the—” He cut off.
The camera drooped, deactivated.
From my island I could only hear muffled voices. One sounded angry, the other sounded confused.
“C’mon, Mortimer… don’t be a hero…” My gas prices were dropping out of concern. I wanted to help, but how could I?
A gunshot. The window under Bullet shattered.
The figure burst out on our side. Behind him I saw poor Mortimer slumped over.
I could also see that this guy had a lit cigarette in his mouth.
My nozzle flipped down, aimed at his face.
“Nothin’ like a good piss, am I right?”