Blood had once again soaked through the bandage on Dan’s severed index finger. He was never so sure he could commit a robbery until that very moment, but just to be safe he thumbed through his tightly wound roll of bills one last time in the event it asexually reproduced. Nope, still nearly two thousand dollars short. The wad was cobbled together mostly from relatives and other unfortunates who took pit on him, but that reservoir had run dry along with his pay cheques.
A box filled with the contents of his work desk sitting on the back seat taunted him in the rear-view mirror. The whole thing got a bit heated, but he felt rather fortunate his boss hadn’t contacted the authorities after catching him red-handed in the petty cash.
He was behind the wheel of a four-door sedan parked in a Bohemian business district bustling with foot traffic, so he retrieved the gun from his glove box with caution. It was an air-soft replica of a Beretta M9 but was very convincing. He cradled it in his hands like an injured bird before tucking it into his waistband.
The last of the lunch crowd were being served at the Risotto-mobile, so Dan took a few quick breaths and marched towards the food truck with all the bravado of a man desperately attached to his remaining fingers. He took his place in line behind the final customer sporting casual wear beneath a lab coat. The smell was delicious.
***
Mindy manned the counter. She was 22 years old with a dozen prongs of hair desperate to escape from beneath her hair net.
“Food inspector,” she yelled into the bowels of the truck when Dan approached.
Dan held his breath in anticipation. He didn’t expect his outfit to be that convincing.
Wilf was alone in the kitchen trimming asparagus. The 48-year-old pear shaped owner of the establishment wiped his hands before attending to Dan. “Do you have identification?” He eyeballed Dan. Surprise inspections had a rhythm to them and this didn’t sit right.
Dan breathed a sigh of relief. “Sure do.” He presented a badge wallet to Wilf. Inside was a slip of paper that read, “I have a gun. Put the money in the bag.”
Dan deposited a crumpled plastic bag onto the counter. Wilf had an urge to test if he was bluffing but thought better of it.
Mindy tried to sneak away to the front seat.
“Get back here,” Dan demanded.
Mindy froze.
Wilf transferred the money from the till into the bag, more annoyed than afraid.
Dan inspected the paltry sum. “That’s it?”
“There’s normally more, but we just did a safe drop.” She regretted speaking and blushed at Wilf’s glare.
“Alright then, open it up.”
Wilf replied, “It has a ten-minute timer.”
“Make room.” Dan hopped in the truck.
Wilf punched in the safe combination and Dan corralled them into the kitchen using his firearm as encouragement. He shuttered the service window with the rolling steel cover which hung on loosely on account of a missing screw.
“If you want to draw attention, that’s the way to do it,” Wilf said.
Dan reopened the shutter and an excruciating ninety-six seconds later a customer approached the empty counter.
Dan said, “If you so much as blink queerly I’ll pop him.” He waved the gun at Wilf.
One serving of deep-fried honey mustard arancini later and the customer was gone, and in the time it took to serve two more customers Wilf was stuffing the contents of the safe into the grocery bag.
Dan swung open the barn doors and watched his car being dragged away behind a tow truck. “Son of a…” He’d have sworn on the Holy Bible that fire hydrant must have walked up and planted itself next to his car.
“Where are the keys?” Dan asked.
Wilf replied, “You’ve got what you wanted, now leave us the hell alone.”
Dan pressed the gun against his head and was pocketing the keys moments later. “Good. Now get on the floor, both of you.”
Dan noticed Wilf’s eyes trail off to a knife on the counter. “Don’t even think about it.”
Wilf dropped to his knees and Mindy followed his lead.
“Put your backs together.”
They complied. Dan scrambled and found zip ties which he used to tie Wilf’s right hand to Mindy’s left hand and vice versa.
Dan fired up the truck and exited the city centre but was soon jammed up in traffic. “Hey Natt, it’s Dan Fischer,” he spoke into his phone and was rewarded with a muffled tantrum.
“Funny you should ask about money because I’m on my way…forty-five minutes…. I realize I said two-o’clock, but I’m experiencing a bit of traffic.”
Wilf spoke to Mindy in a hushed tone, “If I roll onto my stomach do you think you could kick the back door latch open?”
Mindy waffled. “I can try.”
“At the next red light.”
Dan continued his call. “I understand, but a finger per minute?” he chuckled. “Be reasonable.” Muffled histrionics sprang from the other end of the line. “Alright, see you in a bit.” Dan hung up. “Do yourself a favour, if your bookie goes to prison, pray the guy who collects in his stead is anyone but this nasty piece of work.”
The brakes squealed at a red light and the faint sound of hot grease sloshed in the deep fryer.
Wilf rolled onto his front, elevating Mindy who now faced the ceiling. She tucked her knees into her stomach and booted the barn doors open, exposing them to the traffic may lay.
Dan swung around. “What the fuck are you doing?”
They rolled off the back of the truck. Wilf hit the pavement first, breaking Mindy’s fall.
Darrel, a man in a hatchback behind them, disembarked. “Are you okay?”
“Never been better,” Wilf said as he pressed one zip tie against the exhaust pipe until it snapped, followed by the other.
Darrel knelt down but when Dan poked his head out of the back of the truck, gun in hand, he bolted across the median into the opposing lane and was struck by a car. Tires screeched; a tumult of crunching metal followed.
Wilf and Mindy watched a pileup unfold from under the Risotto-mobile but when Dan took off at the green light it left them exposed. Darrel’s idling hatchback acted as a buffer between them and the traffic.
Wilf got up, pulled Mindy to her feet and led them to the plant covered sanctuary of the median. Wilf checked his pockets. “Shit, my phone was on the dash.”
“Use mine.” Mindy handed him the phone and he dialed 911.
She began to weep.
“He’s going to be fine.” Wilf put his hand on her shoulder. Darrell was now clutching his leg in the middle of the street surrounded by bystanders. Emergency vehicles were stuck in gridlock.
“I had a cat in my purse,” she said, sobbing.
“You brought an animal into my kitchen?”
“Not the kitchen, the front seat. I found him rummaging through the trash when I left my apartment. I couldn’t just leave him there.”
Wilf hung up the phone. “I can’t sic law enforcement on that son of a bitch now. If they recover my truck and find out about the cat, there goes my dining license.”
Wilf handed her the phone and walked into the street.
“What are you doing?” Mindy asked.
He got behind the wheel of the hatchback. “Going to take my truck back. Call yourself a cab and do me a favour, tell Mom I might be dead for dinner.”
Wilf took off. He weaved his way to within three car lengths distance of the Risotto-mobile, but traffic backed up at another light.
Mindy hopped over flower beds and nearly tripped on a shrub as she bolted down the median. She cut into the stalled traffic and found the passenger side door of the hatchback locked. She stepped in front of it. “If you think you’re going without me, you’re going to have to run me over.”
The light turned green and horn happy drivers spurred him on. He swung open the passenger side door and Mindy hopped in.
“I can’t say it wasn’t tempting. You nearly killed me when you were fifteen and came home with a tattoo.”
***
Dan gnashed his teeth, the signal light blinking. He inched into the right lane and took an off-ramp where traffic flowed more freely. He followed signage in the direction of Moose Valley until the great chasm appeared before him. The large village of Moose Valley was nestled in the middle of the crater framed by thick coniferous forest.
The Risotto-mobile lurched as the road became a seventy degree slope. Kitchen accoutrements clattered as they fell to the floor while others clanged like wind chimes as they swayed from hooks on the ceiling. A cheese grater dangled precariously.
***
Wilf and Mindy followed. Traffic was sparse on this tree lined two-lane road that led to and from the valley.
“Take the wheel,” Wilf said.
“I don’t even have my license. I’ve failed the test three times now.”
“If you can pull this off, you’ll be able to ace a driver’s test in sunglasses during a lunar eclipse.”
Amanda gripped the wheel while Wilf squeezed through the window separating the cab from the truck bed.
Wilf yelled over the howling current, “Now open your window, slide onto the shoulder and drive next to my truck!”
Mindy’s whole body shook when she eased onto the shoulder, her teeth chattering from the Ruffle chip textured rumble strip below the tires. She sped up and drove parallel to the Risotto-mobile.
***
Dan accelerated at the sight of this unwelcome visitation.
The cheese grater slipped free from its hook and shattered the rear-view mirror before hitting the floor and lodging itself under the brake pedal.
Dan wiggled his foot in a vain attempt to clear the obstruction. He strained to reach, but his fingers only tickled the handle.
Wilf, his body shaking, leapt from the truck bed, bridging the gap between the vehicles and grabbed hold of the service counter. The tip of his right toe flicked the asphalt, sending his shoe flying.
Dan swung around and fired a barrage of pellets from the pistol. Wilf kept his grip despite the battery and hurled himself over the counter.
“You’re fucking crazy man!” Dan said.
“That’s what they said when I premiered my dragon fruit risotto, until they tasted it.”
Dan continued to shoot and Wilf used a pot lid as a shield against the pellets that pecked his skin like steel horse flies as he plodded with determination towards the driver’s seat.
He plucked the gun from Dan’s hand with no more effort than if it was a flower petal. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
Wilf found the purse and the feline intact. He discarded Mindy’s personal effects from the bag to make room for the money and threw it across the divide between the vehicles.
Mindy briefly smelt leather as the purse brushed past her nose and landed safely on the passenger’s seat.
“Meet me at the bottom,” Wilf called out to Mindy before turning his attention to Dan. “Pull over.”
Dan replied, “I can’t.”
Wilf pressed the gun against Dan’s temple, “This might not kill you, but I can assure you it won’t be an Autumn hay ride either.”
“Relax man, there’s a god-damned cheese grater jammed up under the brake pedal.”
“You grab it, I’ll take the wheel.” Wilf grabbed the wheel while Dan crouched under the dash and wrenched at the grater.
They were approaching the rear bumper of a puke green Buick, “Hurry up.” Wilf’s voice wavered.
Dan freed the grater and took the wheel. He hit the brake pedal and then stomped on it.
“What the problem?” Wilf asked over the squealing brakes.
“The brakes are seized.” Dan looked to pass the Buick, but a vehicle in the opposing lane dashed that idea. The Buick careened into the trees upon impact. The steel shutter above the service window shook free and Wilf was flung forward and hit his head on the dash. He collided with the floor but remained conscious.
A tire iron from the Buick’s trunk had smashed through the food truck’s windshield and ricocheted like a pinball before striking the deep fryer lid sending up a tsunami of burning hot grease.
Dan wrestled with the airbag like it was an unruly puffer fish and slashed it with a paring knife as the scolding liquid rained down upon him.
He emitted a sound that until then had never been heard in Heaven or Earth.
Wilf used the steel shutter as armour against the scolding shower, but he wasn’t exempt from its wrath as a pool of hot grease and broken glass whirled around him. He shot to his feet. “Take the ramp,” he demanded upon his eyes landing on signage for a runaway truck ramp.
The inclining strip of gravel designed for this exact situation was to the right of them, but a minivan full of ignorant tourists posing for photos blocked it. Dan whizzed passed, tousling the hair of the ignorant obstructors and giving them a waft of burnt electronics, rubber, and flesh.
The right rear tire burst into flames as the red-hot brakes compromised the integrity of the rubber.
***
Mindy found the cat crawling up her arm.
The tire of the Risotto-mobile broke off in strips like pulled pork and pelted the hatchback with a volley of thuds. The cat began nibbling on her hair and the stench of dumpster hit her nostrils.
“You chose one hell of a time to come out of your shell.” Her scalp stung as she relocated the cat to her lap with hair entangled in its claws.
The remaining Risotto-mobile tires burst apart and pommelled the hatchback. It jolted as shredded chunks of rubber went under the tires. The cat sunk its claws into Mindy’s thighs.
The Risotto-mobile looked like a travelling steel forge as the rims scraped ceaselessly against the pavement sending an endless cascade of sparks against her windshield.
***
The Risotto-mobile bounced against the valley floor but continued sliding down the main thoroughfare on pure momentum. Vehicles and bicycles veered. Wilf struggled with the seat-belt buckle but finally clipped himself in.
A deer of the moose variety chewed slovenly on a mouthful of twigs and sauntered into their path. They collided with the beast, ramping over its hulking corpse. Dan was ejected through what was left of the windshield like a limp projectile. Trailed by kitchenware he thumped to the pavement.
The food truck tipped onto its side near a row of angle parked motorcycles. Oil, gas, broth, and grease pooled around the wreck.
Natt Calhoun stepped out of the plain looking building behind the choppers and laid eyes on Dan’s pathetic state. He was in his sixties, had an aggressive moustache and wore a leather jacket that advertised his membership in the Gear Grinders bike club. He was joined by an array of rough and tumble gentlemen with matching coats.
Wilf was dangling by his seat belt inside the Risotto-mobile. Once unclipped he flopped around until finally emerging from the vehicle, slathered in sauces.
Natt looked at his watch and spoke to Dan, “Forty-seven minutes it’s been.”
Dan turned heel and clawed in the opposite direction on his stomach. A filthy Birkenstock stepped on his forearm, heavy, and a butcher’s knife chopped off his hand.
“I believe this is yours,” Wilf said as he tossed the hand to Natt. He took a deep breath and of all the scents, the most punctuated were mustard and pine.
Mindy arrived and alit from the hatchback holding the cat. She stood next to Wilf who took the feline and nuzzled it.
He noticed a building “For Sale”. “Remember when I said I’d never serve food from a brick and mortar?”
“Yeah,” she replied.
“Well, I’m beginning to warm to the idea.”
[Image Credit : Photo by Paul Lichtblau on Unsplash]
by 
Ty Wiebe
Latest posts by Ty Wiebe (see all)
- Lunch Rush - July 7, 2026
Great story, Ty. Loved the dialogue.
Roy