“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.