I gazed around the storefront once more, but none of the current crop of customers looked like the type who’d come here to cause trouble or try to murder me, so I went back to my cooking. Maybe today would be a calm day. I hoped so. I needed some time to think about Owen, Salina, and what her reappearance might really mean to my lover—and how I could keep her from messing up what I had with Owen.
But it wasn’t to be—because Phillip Kincaid strolled into the restaurant around two o’clock.
Kincaid had sandy blond hair that was slicked back into a low ponytail and strong, pronounced cheekbones a model would have been envious of. He wore a dark blue suit that showed off the strength of his tall, thick body, and he looked almost as good in the expensive threads as Finn did in one of his designer duds. Kincaid wasn’t movie star handsome—not like Finn—but there was something about him that caught your eye and made you take a second look. Something in the easy, confident way he carried himself, and the coldness in his vivid blue eyes.
Despite his striking looks, Kincaid was on my radar for another, less pleasant reason: he happened to be one of Ashland’s top underworld sharks, with a network of giant enforcers and other rough types who worked for him. Kincaid had been one of the few heavy hitters who’d dared to go toe-to-toe with Mab when she’d been alive. Now that the Fire elemental was dead, Kincaid had even more power, as he’d spent the last few months picking up some of the pieces of her old empire and consolidating them into his own operations.
The last time I’d seen Kincaid had been on his luxe riverboat casino, the Delta Queen, back in the fall. I’d gone to one of his parties to kill Elliot Slater, a giant who was stalking and terrorizing a friend of mine. I’d never spoken to or had any real interaction with Kincaid, other than watching him smile at me at Mab’s funeral, but we both knew who the other was.
I expected to see a giant bodyguard or two step into the restaurant behind Kincaid, but the door swung shut behind him. Phillip Kincaid, walking into my gin joint all by his lonesome. Interesting. Somehow, though, I didn’t think he was here for the food, no matter how good it was.
Sophia heard the bell over the front door chime when Kincaid opened it, and she looked up from the warm sourdough buns she was slicing. She recognized him too, her black lips flattening out into a thin, hard line.
“Trouble?” the dwarf asked, her fingers tightening around the bread knife in her hand.
“We’ll see,” I murmured. “Stand by for now.”
Sophia grunted and went back to her slicing.
Kincaid scanned the inside of the restaurant, looking over everyone and everything, much as I’d done earlier. Then, to my surprise, he walked over, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and took a seat at the counter right in front of where I was slicing ripe tomatoes, sweet red onions, and crispy lettuce for the day’s sandwiches.
Catalina grabbed a menu and started to go over to Kincaid, but Sophia headed her off and pointed her to a customer who needed a drink refill, leaving him to me.
Kincaid sat at the counter and watched me slice the vegetables. The surprising thing was that I didn’t sense any judgment or rancor in him. Not like when Jonah McAllister came in. The lawyer always sneered at me, but Kincaid just looked at me with curiosity—and wariness.
I chopped my way through a head of lettuce, amusing myself by imagining it was McAllister I was cutting into, before he finally spoke.
“Gin Blanco.” His voice had a slow, seductive Southern drawl to it, the sort that would make a woman melt on a hot, steamy night, although I could hear a faint twang in his words, as though he’d been raised more poor country than his slick city suit let on.
“Phillip Kincaid.” My tone was as frosty as his was warm.
His eyebrows arched up. “You know me.”
“And you know me. So let’s cut the fake surprise and niceties and get down to business. What do you want?”
“Well, right now, I want a sweet iced blackberry tea, a bacon cheeseburger, potato salad, baked beans, and a slice of that cherry pie in the cake stand. It looks absolutely delicious. And would you be so kind as to bring it all out together, please? I always hate waiting for dessert.”
I gave him a hard, flat stare, but Kincaid just smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. He didn’t show a hint of doubt or fear in the face of my wintry gray gaze. If anything, his own eyes brightened in what looked like delight, as if I’d passed some sort of secret test by not responding to his obvious charms. Well, if that was the game he wanted to play, I’d be more than happy to oblige him—right up until I stuck one of my knives in his chest the second he showed his true colors.
“Why, coming right up, sugar,” I said in a drawl that was as slow and syrupy as his.
Kincaid’s eyes narrowed at my mocking tone, but he kept his smile on his face. He had balls, I’d give him that, coming into my restaurant and acting like just another customer. Then again, so did all the other lowlifes who did the exact same thing. I wondered if Kincaid had more brains than the others did. One would assume so, given how long he’d managed to survive swimming in the underworld muck. You didn’t achieve Kincaid’s level of staying power and success by being a pushover or stupid.
Sophia helped me fix Kincaid’s food, and a few minutes later I set his plates in front of him. He wasted no time in tucking a white napkin in at his chin and digging into his bacon cheeseburger, side dishes, and pie. He ate them all at once, taking a bite of burger, then one of potato salad, then beans, and finally one of pie, instead of waiting to eat his dessert after he finished everything else. Every once in a while, he’d break up the pattern with a swig of tea. Curious. So was the fact that he ate so quickly, as if he was afraid I was going to reach across the counter and snatch away his plates before he’d had his fill.
The way he wolfed down his meal reminded me of myself when I’d been living on the streets as a kid. Back then, I’d crammed food into my mouth as rapidly as Kincaid was doing now. Most curious indeed.
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.
<
br /> “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.”
5
That Thursday I found myself staring up at the Delta Queen riverboat casino.
The riverboat was a massive structure, with six decks of gleaming, whitewashed wood, red- and blue-painted trim, and polished brass rails. At the rear of the boat, a giant paddle wheel rose up from the water and loomed over the topmost deck like a white whale about to crash down and sink the whole ship. Globe-shaped lights wrapped around all the rails and dropped from one level to the next, swinging back and forth in the warm spring breeze.
The Delta Queen was docked in the downtown district in front of a wooden boardwalk lined with old-fashioned iron street lamps and benches. Several uppity art galleries, overpriced antique stores, and cutesy cafés could also be found along the walkway, their windows and outdoor seats offering views of the boat and the Aneirin River that it slowly bobbed up and down upon.
The boardwalk and shops were an attempt by the city planners to gentrify the area, despite how close it was to Southtown, the dangerous part of Ashland that was home to the city’s down-on-their-luck bums, deadly gang-bangers, vampire hookers, and their violent pimps. So far, the upscale stores and pristine landscaping had stuck, thanks in part to the security force Kincaid paid to watch over the Delta Queen and surrounding parking lots. After all, it just wouldn’t do for someone to get mugged before he could board the riverboat and lose his money in the casino.
“Pretty lights,” Sophia rasped beside me.
“Yes,” I murmured. “The lights on the riverboat are certainly pretty.”
I just wondered what darkness waited for me on board.
I’d asked Finn to find out everything he could about Kincaid and what was going down on his riverboat tonight. My foster brother had an impressive network of spies, snitches, and folks who owed him favors in Ashland and beyond, and Finn loved digging up dirt on people more than a gardener enjoyed planting his prize roses.
Still, despite all his sources, Finn hadn’t been able to find out much. Kincaid had appeared on the underworld scene as a teenager, doing whatever dirty job he was asked to and ruthlessly working his way up through the ranks of various criminal organizations until he’d struck out on his own. Today, he controlled the market for all the gambling operations—legal and otherwise—in Ashland.
Kincaid was rumored to be as dangerous as they came, despite the fact that he wasn’t an elemental. Then again, you didn’t need elemental magic to kill—just an intense desire to make someone quit breathing and the will to make it a reality. Kincaid wouldn’t have gotten where he was and stayed there all these years without having both of those in spades.
Good thing I did, too. I’d be more than ready for whatever trap the casino boss had in store for me tonight.
“Well,” I said to Sophia, “let’s go make some barbecue.”
Sophia and I spent the next fifteen minutes unloading our supplies from her classic convertible and the Cadillac Escalade I’d borrowed from Finn’s fleet of cars. Together, the Goth dwarf and I carried everything we needed up the gangplank and on board the riverboat . . .
And right into the middle of a frat party.
Guys and girls in their late teens and early twenties filled the riverboat’s third deck, which formed an open U shape that jutted out past all the other decks and curved into the bow of the boat. Everyone had on flip-flops and sandals, along with the tightest T-shirts and the shortest shorts they could get away with. A banner hanging down from the fourth deck read Charity Rocks! Give ’Til It Hurts!
That was the other strange thing about tonight. I’d expected Kincaid to be throwing some fancy gala, but instead here was a fund-raiser for an animal shelter being put on by some sororities and fraternities at Ashland Community College. Well, perhaps fund-raiser was too generous a term. Kegger with a cause would have been more appropriate, given the students who had brought along their own beer and were already stumbling around like the boat was actually moving instead of being secured to the dock.
Games had been set up on deck, everything from poker to roulette to craps. A twenty-dollar cover charge got you on board the riverboat, all the food you could eat, and a stack of chips. They didn’t have any monetary value tonight, but if you won enough chips playing the games, you co
uld redeem them for prizes. Raffles of donated items were also being held, and screams of delight rippled through the crowd every time someone won something, rising above the loud, constant, ringing ching-ching-ching of the slot machines.
The kids who weren’t drinking or gambling were amusing themselves by hooking up, as though standing by the railing meant that no one could see them sticking their tongues down each other’s throats or would notice all the wandering hands disappearing beneath skimpy outfits.
It all looked so real, so legit, so damn convincing, that I would have almost believed this was a bona fide catering job—except for the fact Kincaid had personally come into the Pork Pit to hire me. Men like him didn’t do things like that—that’s what underlings were for. The casino boss was definitely up to something; I just didn’t know what it was yet.
“Gin! There you are!”
Speak of the devil. Kincaid pushed through a door that led into the riverboat’s interior and headed in my direction. From my past explorations here, I knew the inside of the boat was hollow and ringed with a series of balconies, so folks on the upper decks could see the stage here on the third floor and watch the elaborate shows put on there. Kincaid offered a full, Vegas-style experience, right down to the leggy showgirls Finn always lusted after whenever he watched a performance here.
Kincaid walked toward me, followed by a giant with pecan-brown hair, matching eyes, and olive skin. Both men wore light, summer-weight suits, and each had a large pin in the middle of his silk tie. Kincaid’s pin was made of silverstone, while the giant’s was gold, but both were shaped like a dollar sign superimposed over an outline of the riverboat—Kincaid’s rune for his casino and the buckets of money it netted him. A little garish and too in-your-face for my tastes, but it didn’t surprise me that the casino boss liked to flaunt his wealth. He’d earned it, clawing his way up through the underworld.