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 f**king 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.