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We didn't speak as he ate, and I moved back and forth behind the counter, fixing drinks, dishing up food, and helping Sophia and the waitresses with whatever the other customers needed. But through it all, I kept an eye on Kincaid.
All the while, I kept waiting for some of his giant bodyguards to show up, for someone to try and take a shot at me through the bulletproof storefront windows . . . hell, for something, anything, dangerous to happen - but nothing did. For all intents and purposes, Phillip Kincaid had just come here for lunch.
The problem was, I didn't believe that any more than I believed the moon was made of green fucking cheese.
Several minutes later, as I was whacking my way through another head of lettuce and still indulging in my murderous daydreams, Kincaid finished his meal and let out what sounded like a satisfied sigh, as though he'd truly enjoyed the food. He removed the napkin from the collar of his shirt, dropped it on the counter, and pushed his plates to the side.
I finished with the lettuce and moved on to the next vegetable on my list, potatoes that needed to be peeled and cubed so I could make another batch of potato salad.
"That was a mighty fine meal," Kincaid said, sounding quite sincere. "Best one I've had in a long time. In fact, that's why I came here today. "
"Oh?" I said, putting as much withering disbelief as I could into that one word.
"I'm holding a little get-together on the Delta Queen in a few days' time. And I want you to cater the event. "
This time, my eyebrows were the ones that shot up. "You want me to cater a party? On your riverboat?"
"I do. Everyone says you make the best barbecue in Ashland, so I decided to see for myself. You've sold me on your little place. Consider me a loyal customer from now on. "
He gave me another winning smile, as if that seemingly innocent expression could somehow lure me into swallowing the absolute bullshit he was spouting. He rather reminded me of Finn in that moment. The difference was, I trusted my foster brother.
"Don't you have your own chefs?" I asked. "From what I hear, the food on your little boat is some of the best in the city, close to rivaling Underwood's. Surely your own staff could cater. "
He shrugged. "Perhaps. But I think the patrons of this particular event will enjoy something a little more . . . down-home and relaxed than champagne and caviar. I'm prepared to pay you quite generously for your time and culinary expertise, of course. "
"Of course. "
I looked over at Sophia, who was stirring the barbecue sauce I'd put on the stove earlier. The Goth dwarf was standing close enough to hear Kincaid's catering offer. She glanced at me and shrugged, telling me she didn't know what he was up to any more than I did, but that she'd go along with whatever I wanted to do. She was a good friend that way.
I concentrated on my potatoes, giving myself a few seconds to think. Try as I might, I couldn't imagine what Kincaid was plotting. He'd never made any problems for either Gin Blanco or the Spider before. Just about every other crime boss in Ashland had sent some goons after me, trying to eliminate me, but Kincaid was one of the few who hadn't. I'd thought it had just been common sense on his part, but now I was wondering if it was something else - if he had some other kind of trap in mind for me. Either way, it made me curious enough to want to find out - and to upset whatever apple cart Kincaid had so thoughtfully arranged. I rather enjoyed being petty that way.
"When is this little shindig of yours?" I finally asked.
His eyes gleamed with sly triumph. "Thursday, three days from now. "
"And how much food do you think you'll need?"
He quoted me some figures about expected guests, what he wanted to see on the menu, and when he wanted the food to be served. We also hammered out the payment, which was far more generous than it should have been for a job like this one. Then again, nothing about this was what it seemed to be - except rotten.
"Excellent," Kincaid said when we'd finished our discussion. "Let's take care of the money right now. "
He reached into his jacket, and my hand tightened around the knife I was using to cube the potatoes. Just in case he was going for something other than his checkbook.
But that was exactly what Kincaid drew out of his jacket, along with a silverstone pen, and he wrote me a check for the catering gig and his lunch. He even added an obscenely generous tip on top of everything. Oh yes, he was definitely up to something, but that didn't keep me from taking the slip of paper from him, folding it, and sliding it into the back pocket of my jeans. Finn would never let me hear the end of it if I passed up all that money.
"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Gin," Kincaid said, putting away his checkbook and pen, getting to his feet, and buttoning his suit jacket once more.
I gave him a thin smile. "I doubt I'll say the same before this is all said and done. "
For a moment, worry filled his eyes before he was able to mask it, although the pleasant expression never dropped from his lips - not even for a second. Oh, yes. Phillip Kincaid could definitely give Finn a run for his money in the suave department.
Kincaid nodded at me, did the same to Sophia as well, then turned and headed out of the Pork Pit. He stopped and held the door open for someone coming in, and I realized it was Finn. The two men stood in the doorway and stared at each other, before Kincaid moved past Finn and stepped outside, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Finn frowned, walked over to the counter, and slid onto the stool the other man had just vacated. "What the hell was he doing here?"
"I don't rightly know," I said, watching Kincaid stroll down the sidewalk and out of sight of the storefront windows. "But I'm going to find out. "
Chapter 5
