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“Get real,” Stretch said. “You use the same oil all week. Remember that time when you came in and had to fish the rat out of the fry oil?”
“Oh yes,” Raymond said. “That was horrifying. I had to use the big tongs.”
“Excuse me,” Ella said. “The gentleman at table number three is waiting for his number seventeen.”
“Where’s his number seventeen?” Stretch said to Lula.
“I was thinking about making it when you hit me,” Lula said.
“What’s to think about? It’s all on the menu,” Stretch said. “Why don’t you stop farting around with the food and read the directions for a change? You might even make something edible.”
“I don’t like your attitude,” Lula said.
And she squirted him in the chest with the ketchup. SPLAT. A big red splotch on his white chef’s coat.
Stretch narrowed his eyes and smacked her on the top of her head with his spatula. Lula squirted more ketchup and Stretch swatted the ketchup out of Lula’s hand. The ketchup bottle flew through the air and landed with a splash in the fryer. There was a lot of crackling, with oil splattering onto the counter and the eight-burner gas cooktop. Flames raced in runners across the counter and up the greasy wall.
“Fire!” Lula yelled. “Somebody do something!”
Ranger looked around. “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”
“It got very old so we threw it away,” Raymond said. “We needed the space for the paper towels.”
I punched 911 on my cellphone and gave them our location. Ella cleared out the remaining customers. Stretch and Ranger attempted to smother the fire with kitchen towels.
“I got it under control,” Lula said. “Stand back.”
She aimed the sink’s handheld sprayer at the fryer, turned the water on, and WHOOSH the entire area exploded in flames.
“It is not a good idea to put water on a grease fire,” Raymond said. “This is bad. This is very, very bad.”
Ranger grabbed my wrist and yanked me to the front door. Lula, Ella, Stretch, and Raymond followed.
“I need to move my car, so the fire trucks can get in the back lot,” Ranger said to me. “Stay here with everyone and don’t move.”
He ran down the alley between the buildings and disappeared from view. It was a two-story building, and I couldn’t see in the second floor windows.
“What’s up there?” I asked Stretch.
“Nothing,” he said. “It was an apartment, but it hasn’t been occupied in years. Sitz used it like an attic. It’s full of junk.”
I heard sirens and saw flashing lights a couple blocks away. It was a dark, moonless night, but the sidewalks were lit by the faux gaslight streetlamps. Late commuters and residents were standing at a distance, watching the drama unfold. Our little deli family was huddled together. Moments before we’d been squabbling, and now we were speechless. I have no idea what was going through anyone else’s head, but I was numb. It happened so fast. It was hard to believe. There was smoke pouring out the door, and flames licking at windows. And out of the dumb numbness I had a moment of panic for the poor trapped roaches and rats.
Ranger moved next to me, put an arm around me, and cuddled me into him.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“The poor roaches and rats,” I said.
He kissed me on the forehead. “They’re fine. They were all running out the back door when I moved my car.”
“Thank God.” I looked at him. “Were they really?”
“Babe,” he said. “You couldn’t kill those roaches with a blowtorch.”
We all moved farther down the street when the trucks rolled in. The buildings on the block were brick, there were narrow alleys between them, and there was no wind, so the fire was staying contained.
“What are we to do tomorrow?” Raymond asked. “Where will I go if I have no fry station?”
