Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(37)

“Except for Vinnie.”

“Vinnie is an anomaly,” Ranger said.

“Wow, ‘anomaly.’ That’s a big word.”

The barest hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Ranger’s mouth. “I know a few.”

Lula threw her hands up when she saw us. “It’s about time you came back. We got a situation here. We just opened and the place is packed and there’s a line out the front door. That stupid television station ran another special on this place. All about the people getting beamed up and leaving a shoe behind. And it was about me and Hal and how we were connected somehow. And how we were a sight to see. I don’t even know what that means. It might not be flattering in the way they said it. And if that isn’t bad enough, we haven’t got a waitress. Who’s gonna wait tables? I’m telling you it’s chaos.”

“You wait tables,” I said. “I’ll do the sandwiches and Ranger can take the phones.”

“Good luck with that,” Lula said. “The phones won’t stop ringing.”

“I have my fry oil ready,” Raymond said. “Let’s do this.”

Lula was wearing a royal blue bandage dress that was so tight it looked like it was painted on her. It had short sleeves and a low scoop neck that barely contained her massive breasts. The skirt wrapped around her Kardashian butt and hung two inches below her hoo-ha. She sashayed out on five-inch stilettos and distributed menus. She dropped one, bent at the waist to pick it up, and the bandage dress skirt did nothing to hide the full moon. Only a hint of her red thong was visible, the rest being sucked up into the Grand Canyon of Voluptuousness.

There was a collective gasp from the dining room.

“I must now pour bleach into my eyes,” Raymond said. “We are lucky the morality police don’t have jurisdiction in Trenton. They would beat her with a stick many times.”

“New plan,” Ranger said to me. “You wait tables and we’ll put Lula on sandwiches.”

“No one’s going to eat a sandwich she makes after seeing this,” Stretch said. “Give her phones and takeout.”

I handed Ranger a menu. “You’re up for sandwiches. Raymond works the fry station and Stretch plates and nukes. Everything you need to know is on this gravy-stained menu. Your workstation is behind Stretch.”

Ranger eyed the workstation. “Got it,” he said.

I tapped Lula on the shoulder and told her we had a new plan. “We think you’d be better behind the counter.”

“I’m good behind the counter, but it seems a shame people can’t appreciate my new dress when I’m hidden back there.” Lula looked down at herself. “This here’s a bitchin’ dress.”

“True, but it turns out there’s not enough of it for waiting tables. When you bend over all your secrets are on display.”

“Well, anyone would be lucky to see my secrets.”

“Maybe for dessert,” I said, “but not before lunch.”

“I guess you got a point.”

I took the order pad and went to the first table. I was wearing jeans and a girlie pink V-neck T-shirt and sneakers. No secrets were exposed.

It was an easy order. One number sixteen. One number seven with cheese fries. One number seven with onion rings. I stuck the order on the spindle on the service bar in front of Stretch and yelled out the order. We didn’t have computers or iPads or any of that tech stuff. We were old school. I imagine it works great if you have people who know what they’re doing and aren’t dopers. At the Red River Deli it was hit-or-miss.

The second table wanted egg salad, but it had to be on a croissant, hold the pickle, a turkey club on gluten-free, no third slice of bread, and a corned beef with the works. I handed it in and hoped Ranger knew how to do the works.

At three o’clock we were still serving lunch.

“I am out of my freshly cut frozen French fries,” Raymond said. “I cannot go on. You must lock the door and not let anyone else in.”

“Now see, that’s a brilliant idea,” Lula said. “I’m not answering any more phones, either. Some of these calls I’m taking aren’t about food. I’ve had people calling in making inappropriate comments about my mooning incident today.”

“Someone has put it on social media,” Raymond said. “I have seen it. The picture is truly terrible, but you have three thousand likes. I do not even want to come to work tomorrow. I fear it will be hell.”

“I find this inspiring, now that I know I’m a sensation again,” Lula said. “I’ve got an idea for a new creation. I’m going to call it the Lula Moonwich.”

Ranger had been making sandwiches for hours. He didn’t have a speck of mayo, mustard, or ketchup on him. His station was immaculate. Every sandwich had been perfect and cut with precision.

“Impressive,” I said.

He smiled. “I have good knife skills.”

I hung the closed sign on the front door, and the dining room was empty twenty minutes later.

Ranger was hands on hips. “What happens now?”

“I chipped a nail answering phones,” Lula said. “It was my best nail too. It was the one with the stars-and-stripes decal. I’m going to have it repaired before we start with the dinner people. I gotta look my best in case the television crew comes back.”