Silver Linings

“No big deal? You get followed by some creep who might have intended anything from grabbing your purse to slitting your throat or rape? You don't call that a big deal?”
    “I probably overreacted. Maybe no one was following me. Maybe that man on the street behind me was innocently walking home, too.”
    “Hah. You say that now because you're all safe and sound and cozy and warm again. But that's not what you were saying twenty minutes ago when I found you in that damn bar. And while we're on the subject, why the hell did you have to pick that joint? It was a real dive. Every jerk in there was leering at you.”
    “It was the first place I saw when I decided to get off the street. Hugh, are you going to keep yelling like this or can we get something to eat? I'm hungry.”
    “I've got a right to be concerned here, Mattie.”
    “I know. But as I said, I'm just not used to it,” she explained softly.
    He eyed her for a long, thoughtful moment. “No, I guess you're not, are you? You're too accustomed to taking care of yourself.”
    She tried a tentative smile. “Just like you.”
    “Yeah. Sort of. Come on, let's eat. I'll finish chewing you out later.”
    Mattie started to get up off the couch. “I've got some buckwheat noodles and vegetables I can fix.”
    “Forget it. After all the excitement, I need something more substantial.” Hugh was already reaching for the phone. “I'm going to order in a pizza.”
    Mattie was horrified. “A pizza .”
    “I've had a hard day, Mattie. I need real nourishment. I'll tell you something. This business of being able to order up a pizza in the middle of the night and have it delivered is about the only really good thing about city living I've discovered yet. While we're waiting for it to get here, we'll have a drink. I think we both need one.”
    Forty-five minutes later Mattie had to admit the aroma of a fresh pizza was far more captivating than it ought to have been. She decided to forget about a well-balanced meal that evening and decided to enjoy herself. She deserved a break.
    “So how did it go with the guy in the computer lab at Vailcourt?” she asked around a dripping bite.
    “He didn't have a whole lot. Just a possible name to pin on whoever it is that seems to be running things behind the scenes on Purgatory.”
    “What name?”
    “McCormick. John McCormick. It doesn't mean anything. He seems to have come out of nowhere. There's no paper on him, no background, no history at all. Which means the name's an alias. Johnson is going to try to check deeper, but he says he probably won't find much. I called Silk and told him what I had. The name may mean more out there by now.”
    Mattie nodded. “Any sign of Gibbs yet?”
    “No. He definitely lit out for safer country. I'd sure as hell like to know what spooked him and who killed Rosey.”
    “This McCormick person?”
    “Looks like it, but why? Apparently, he's safely in power there on Purgatory. Why should he care if a couple of bit players learned his name? Hell, the name is showing up in the computers now. He can't hope to keep it a secret.”
    “But you said it doesn't mean anything,” Mattie said slowly. “Maybe Gibbs and Rosey found out it does mean something. Maybe they found out who he really is, and McCormick didn't like it.”
    “Or maybe they saw something they shouldn't have seen,” Hugh said thoughtfully. “A couple of bozos like those two could easily have stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time.”
    “Or Rosey's death might have nothing at all to do with this McCormick person,” Mattie pointed out. “It might all be a remarkable coincidence.”
    Hugh gave her a wry look. “Yeah. Remarkable.”
    “Coincidences do happen, you know.”
    “Not where I come from.”

    Mattie studied the three acrylic paintings Flynn had propped up in front of her desk. Ariel was hovering near the door in an uncharacteristically reticent fashion.
    The silence in the small room was laced with the peculiar tension that always exists at such moments between artist and dealer.
    Mattie smiled slowly. “I love them,” she said, enthralled. “I absolutely love them.”
    “You sure?” Flynn asked, breathless with relief.
    Mattie felt the delicious thrill of discovery. The paintings were vivid, evocative images that tapped Flynn's undeniably powerful inner vision. But they were not the dark, grotesque, unidentifiable scenes that had formerly characterized his work.
    These pictures were filled with