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Coulson didn't provide much additional information. The most he had was that Wilson Fisk had recently purchased an oil painting titled *Rabbit in a Storm*, for which he had spent several tens of thousands of dollars. To Coulson, it looked like little more than a blank canvas.
The gallery where Fisk bought the painting was owned by Vanessa Marianna, a well-known figure in the art world who specialized in oil paintings. Her gallery was doing quite well, and she herself was a striking beauty with a refined air. Art purchases, as often as not, were less about the value of the artwork itself and more about the tax benefits they offered. Of course, the potential for the pieces to appreciate over time was also significant.
After a quick review of the situation, Link started wandering around his apartment. It lacked a certain decorative touch.
The interior of his apartment was mostly done in white, with the designer intentionally leaving plenty of blank spaces for personal customization. A few oil paintings would be an excellent way to fill that void, but Link realized he needed to put some thought into what kind of paintings he wanted.
His primary goal was to decorate his new apartment with some art pieces—that much was clear. While he didn't know much about art, he planned to pick up a few books on the subject. With his enhanced mind and super speed, he could master the basics in no time.
However, he knew not to overdo it. After all, his focus had always been on psychology, and any learning he did needed to be grounded in that context.
By day, the idea of visiting the gallery excited him, but Wilson Fisk was unlikely to make an appearance during daylight hours. Link would have to visit the gallery at night.
But timing that visit perfectly wasn't so simple. First, he'd need to confirm Fisk's whereabouts.
…
Link, now a professional gambler, didn't have games every night. When he did, they usually started around eight in the evening. He was pretty satisfied with his current job, as it allowed him plenty of free time.
In the morning, he drove to a bookstore to pick up a few books on oil paintings and other forms of art, focusing mainly on the basics—things like painting techniques and art movements. A special agent had to have a broad knowledge base, and as his missions piled up, he could continue to fill in those gaps.
Although he didn't have a dedicated study, his master bedroom was large enough to hold a bookcase and desk. Adding a few books would help him craft the persona of a well-read individual.
After buying the books, he stopped by a mid-range bar frequented mostly by nearby office workers. The place was quiet during the day.
He chose a seat by the window, ordered a bourbon, and pretended to read while biding his time.
The bar was close to the gallery, and Link was in no rush. He didn't have many chances to interact with Fisk, so he needed to make the most of each opportunity.
In truth, the books weren't a distraction. He had already read through all of them in the few moments it took him to park his car. Now, he was simply holding them on his lap, glancing down occasionally as if searching for something.
Ever since his recruitment as a special agent, Link had been constantly expanding his knowledge. What might seem like just over a month to others was actually the equivalent of several years of learning for him.
In a way, this was another one of his abilities—a super learning capability, fueled by his super brain and super speed.
A cigar didn't feel right in this setting, so he pulled out a cigarette instead, requested an ashtray, and slowly smoked. Occasionally, he turned a page in his book or took a sip of his drink.
…
As time passed, the bar gradually filled up. By five in the afternoon, it was lively again.
Link was seated near a small round table with three high stools. Two women occupied the stools, debating what to drink before one of them finally went to the bar.
She returned with two drinks, and the pair started chatting.
"What happened this time?" asked Woman A.
"He's a jerk," responded Woman B.
"Is this job sucking the soul out of you, like a printer?" asked Woman A again.
"No, that was my last job," Woman B replied, a note of exasperation in her voice.
Link found their conversation amusing. After spending most of the day sitting there, he welcomed the distraction and started mentally labeling the women as "A" and "B" while listening in.
"This job is like having my brain pummeled by an exhaust fan," Woman B added.
"You're bored because these jobs are a piece of cake for you," Woman A said in a tired tone.
"No, I'm not good at anything," Woman B replied definitively.
"Don't be ridiculous—you're great at lying!" Woman A shot back.
At that moment, a man in a suit approached the two women and attempted to flirt. "Hey, want to try a love test? I think we're a good match."
Woman A smiled apologetically. "I'd love to, but I'm a bit busy right now."
"Hey, I know you!" the man exclaimed, clearly excited. "You had red hair before, didn't you? I've seen your stand-up!"
The remark made Woman A visibly uncomfortable. "That was a long time ago," she muttered.
"Yeah, I was twelve then," the man said, his inebriation causing him to miss the awkwardness of the exchange.
Woman B seemed irritated by the man's persistence and chimed in. "I'll play with you."
"Alright!" the man responded eagerly.
"Jessica, you don't have to," Woman A called out to Woman B, now identified as Jessica.
"It's fine," Jessica replied, turning to the man. "But I'm not interested in love games. Let's test our strength instead."
The bar had a punching machine—nothing professional, but good enough to measure power.
"If I win, you'll cover our tab, apologize to my friend, and leave us alone."
The man, full of confidence, asked, "And if I win?"
Jessica smirked. "Then I'll take you out back and show you a good time."
Jessica and the man approached the machine. The man inserted a coin and gave it his all, punching the machine as hard as he could.
Link didn't pay much attention at first. Any woman who suggested such a challenge had to know what she was doing.
As expected, Jessica won, hitting the machine's maximum score.
Link turned his head, surprised, and just in time to meet Jessica's gaze as she returned to her seat.
She shot a glance at her companion, who nodded in approval, before whispering, "Check out the guy next to us. He's not bad."
Woman A turned to steal a glance at Link, who had already resumed reading, his profile turned toward them. She nodded slightly in agreement. "He's definitely not bad."
"You should try your luck. It's been a while since you dated, and with your job situation, why not?"
Jessica seemed to be considering it. She stole another look at Link, nodded to herself, and said, "Wait here."
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