Silver Linings

come here a year ago . Somehow it all looked exactly as it should, as it had in her dreams and fantasies.
    She leaned over the concrete balustrade and found herself staring into the uncovered stern section of one of the boats. For a second she could not believe her eyes.
    She was looking straight down at a half-finished painting. It was sitting on an easel that had been set up in the aging boat amid a welter of brushes, paints, coiled ropes, and fishing gear.
    The painting was incomplete, but it was stunning.
    The artist had obviously taken the lazy, sun-drenched scene of the main street of St. Gabriel as his starting point. But the painting had gone far beyond a mere reproduction of the quay, bars, and faded storefronts that lined the waterfront. This was no tranquil scene of a picture-postcard island paradise. It was a primitive, incredibly sensual image of savage beauty.
    In the half-finished painting the jungle behind the town throbbed with both unseen menace and a sense of life in its rawest form. The beautiful waters of the harbor threatened the tiny outpost of civilization yet somehow held promise for the future.
    The painting was at once a universal statement on the human condition and a compelling landscape scene. It was a work of art on several levels, totally accessible to a wide variety of viewers.
    And Mattie knew immediately that she could sell it for a small fortune back in Seattle. Perhaps for a very large fortune if she shrouded the painter in enough mystery.
    All of her instincts as a businesswoman snapped to full, quivering attention. Like a hound on the scent, she hurried down the dock steps and peered through the windows of the boat's cabin. She had to locate the artist, and she hoped like hell he was not already represented by another dealer.
    She leaned down to call into the cabin. “Anybody home?”
    There was no response.
    She waited impatiently for a moment or so. When there was still no sign of life, she glanced at the name painted on the hull of the old boat and tried again.
    “Excuse me. Is anyone home on board the Griffin ?”
    “Don't go holdin' yer breath waitin' for an answer from ol'Silk, lady. He's already up at the Hellfire. Won't be back till Bernard rolls him out the door sometime after midnight.”
    Mattie glanced down the dock and saw a grizzled old man crouched over a coil of rope. His skin looked like leather and his eyes had a permanent, sun-induced squint. He was wearing a pair of old pants that hung precariously on his scrawny frame and a cap that looked as if it might once have been decorated with a military insignia.
    “Hello,” Mattie said politely. “I'm looking for whoever painted that picture.”
    “That'd be Silk, all right. He's always fiddlin' around with those paints o' his. 'Cept when he's busy workin' or drinkin', o' course.”
    “Of course. And I take it he is now drinking?”
    “Yup. Take a look at the time. Dang near four o'clock. Silk always heads for the Hellfire at three sharp on Wednesdays. Real regular in his habits, Silk is.”
    “Thank you for the information,” said Mattie, turning. “I'll try the Hellfire. Is it up there on the water-front?”
    “Yup. But I don't reckon you want to be goin' in there, ma'am.” The old man eyed her skeptically. “Silk can get a might difficult to manage once he's had a few. Specially when it comes to females. Silk likes females and he don't get a shot at very many around here. Just an occasional tourist.” The man spit a wad of chewing tobacco into the harbor. “None of us gets much shot at females. Not many females get this far. They usually stop in Hawaii. Worse 'n livin' in a dang monastery.”
    “Really? If that's the way you feel, then why do you choose to live way out here?”
    “Used to it, I reckon. What you want with Silk?”
    “I just want to do a little business with Mr. Silk.”
    “Yeah? Funny. Wouldn't have pegged you right off for the type. Kinda thin for that sort o' work, ain't ya? But if that's your aim, I'd get the money up front if'n I was you. Silk don't like payin' for it after the fact, if you know what I mean.”
    “I'll keep your advice in mind,” Mattie said as she started toward the steps that led up to the street.
    The novelty of being mistaken for a professional prostitute had begun to wear thin, she reflected. Definitely time to go home.
    Just as soon as she had acquired some paintings from this Silk person .
    She did not want to have to label her Pacific trip a