Ten fifteen. Nowhere near closing time. It was a slow night. He hated slow nights. He'd washed down the floors and cleaned. Changed a tire for an old man. He'd cleaned out the toilets which he hated doing and still it was just ten fifteen.
Then the weird guy pulled in. He was old. In his fifties. Thin and dirty in a rough old truck.
``Ten dollars,'' he said.
``Regular?''
``Regular.''
He got out of the truck as the boy pumped the gas, and the boy didn't notice the Uzi. It wasn't something he was expecting.
Then the man started blasting at the ground - bullets ricocheting everywhere. The boy ducked down behind the truck and waited. Silence. Then the sound of sobbing.
``Are you all right?'' the boy called.
More sobbing. The boy crawled out from behind the truck.
``I know how you feel,'' he said.
``You were in 'Nam?''
``No sir, but I know how you feel.'' Not born til ten years after it all ended, but he didn't say that.
A car pulled in for gas, then screeched away in a hurry.
``You want a beer?'' the boy asked.
``You offering me a beer?''
``Yeah. Got a couple in my car.''
The boy went to his car. He looked at his cell phone, but he didn't try to call. He returned to the man and they sat between the gas pumps and drank the beer.
The man stared up at the dark sky.
``Sometimes I just wonder...sometimes I just can't stand it...''
``That's a cool gun,'' the boy said.
The man brightened. ``Aint it though?'' He held it up as though to fire it.
``No more ammo.'' he said.
``Where'd you get it?''
``Friend. He was too strange.'' the man looked around at the dark town. ``Too strange, too strange,'' he said.
Then he looked at the sky again. ``It's them Indians,'' he said. ``The girl at the 7-11...you know her?''
The boy nodded.
``She looks like...she looks...you know? Then I start thinking and next thing you know I can't deal. You know?''
But the boy was looking down the street at the approaching police car.
``The cops are here. Now you put that gun down OK? Now kick it out away from you OK?''
On the roof of the insurance place behind the gas station a man named Hubert was crouched with his high powered rifle with the killer scope. The cops always called him when they wanted a sharp shooter even though they'd thrown him out of the reserve. He felt a twinge of disappointment when the Uzi was kicked out into the clear.
``Shit!'' he whispered.
``Let's us move slow,'' the boy said.
In the end they let the man go. He didn't have the money to fix the damage. Said he was heading for Nevada so fine, let Nevada have him.
They took away his Uzi though.
The boy closed up a little early. He stashed the cash from the register in the battery box on the high shelf, brought in the wind shield wiper display and locked the pumps. As he turned out the light and closed the office door he saw Hubert's car stopped at the pumps.
``Closed.'' he said.
``Boy, I don't never want to see you drinking beer again until you're old enough and I know when that will be. You hear?''
``Sir,'' the boy said.