Pasta Heroes (2) - A short novel about noodles, rats and courage

Mutated rats with a taste for gourmet food escape from a laboratory in New York. While fast food chains remain untouched by the rats, restaurants like Pasta Heaven are getting overrun. Time for it's owner, Vincent, and his employees to grab a gun and go to war.

Part 2

Vincent scratched his chin. Whatever the hell that was he had just heard, it was a bit too much for his tired mind. But it had clearly been about restaurants, and since he owned one himself, he recapped what he had just heard and came to the conclusion that he couldn't go to bed now, even though his body was begging him. He turned on his cell phone which showed three missed calls from his sous chef Michael. Since Michael knew that he had just walked home with a piece of lasagna and always turned of his phone while eating, this was a bit worrying. Vincent had also received several messages, but before he could open them, the phone rang.
"The rats are coming!" shouted Michael at the other end.
"The rats from the radio?" asked Vincent.
"So you've heard, yes, something is going on and now there's a bunch of rats here trying to get into the restaurant."
Vincent's mind woke up within a split second. For a chef the word combination 'restaurant' and 'rats' was as bad as for other people 'your grandma' and 'explosion'.
"So you're still at the restaurant? How can the rats get inside, we've closed up every hole there was."
"I'm in the alley in front of the backdoor. Some of the rats tried to brake the window, believe it or not, and then Lenny saw that and tried to catch one with the broom and well...he missed and smashed the window. Somehow word got around, I mean among the rats, and now there are more and more of those bastards gathering in the alley."
Vincent grabbed his forehead. Lenny was his dishwasher and maintenance guy who lived in a small flat right above the restaurant. As diligent and goodhearted he was, he was also a clumsy fool. It seemed almost logical that when an invasion of mutant rats was rolling over the city, Lenny would accidentally smash the window.
"All right, I'm on my way," said Vincent and stood up to put on his shoes. "Did Lenny at least not injure himself?"
"No, but he feels terrible and apologized many times to me already, you know how it is."
"Yes..." sighed Vincent and turned the cell phone on speaker to tie his shoelaces.
"He just went to his apartment to get his slingshot and then wants to shoot the rats from the roof."
"Lenny has a slingshot? What does he have that for?" asked Vincent. It didn't really matter right now, but he still wanted to know why an over 50 year old man had a slingshot.
" have no idea, but you know Lenny."
"I'm not sure I do," said Vincent. Lenny had been working for him since the first day over ten years ago, and occasionally caused a disaster. One time he had managed to knock over 10 gallons of olive oil that had just arrived from Italy, turning the kitchen floor into one hell of a slippery surface during the most busiest hour. He had also managed to trigger the fire alarm no less than three times. Unfortunately the fire alarm was hooked to the sprinkler system and the guests hadn't been to happy about the sudden rain. But even though Lenny dropped a plate or a cup about once or twice a week, he was honest, loyal and one hell of a hard worker. He also took care of Misses Harper, the woman who owned the building and lived in the apartment right next to Lenny's.

Since Vincent lived only a few blocks from the restaurant and ran the whole distance, much to the dislike of his stomach, he arrived within minutes at the scene. He saw the smashed window and Michael who, much to Vincent's horror, was holding the oven peel in his hands.
"Are you crazy? You want to smash rats with our oven peel?" Vincent asked, breathing heavily.
"Hey, there you are...and yes, I didn't have anything else and everything happened so fast. And look at the size of this thing, at least you can't miss."
"I'm gonna find something else, we can hardly keep using the oven peel for baking if we smashed rats with it."
"Too late," Michael said and turned the oven peel, revealing it's bloody side. "I'm really sorry, but those beasts are vicious." He pointed with the bloody oven peel to a pack of rats that was bustling close to the wall a few feet away. The rats kept changing their position which reminded Vincent of a basketball game in which the players keep passing the ball around while the others try to get into a favorable position to go for the shot.
"Never mind then," Vincent said, "but you didn't use any of my knives, did you?" The question was redundant since Vincent's knives were holy and everyone working in the kitchen knew that.
"No, of course not, I would never..."
"I'm really sorry," an indeed remorseful sounding a voice appeared from overhead. Vincent looked up and saw the outline of Lenny on the roof, who was always easy to recognize with his pointy hairs. As usual he raised his right hand to greet Vincent.
"Shit happens, don't worry about it," shouted Vincent back and turned to Michael. "I'm gonna go up to him on the roof."
"Okay, Ill keep guarding the window. Watch out when you open the door, the rats might take their chances. And we're gonna need a plan here soon."
"We'll figure something out."