Thomas secretly wrote the signature on the plastic counter in ballpoint before climbing down from the tall stool to venture out into the drab, chilly Tuesday afternoon. He wandered about the town center, marking each of his triumphs. His signature was on the bronze buttock of a water nymph in the district fountain. There was another one right across the center of a cough syrup advertisement, complete with a snaky mustache on the little girl whose mother was administering the soothing dose. Then there was the one that adorned the Town Hall steps, a letter upon each stair. They had removed it twice, but he had resprayed it each time. Nobody could catch the Phantom Snake. Thomas had thought of cryptically changing his logo to the drawing of a snake with the letter P at its head and an S at its tail. He rejected the idea — It would be lost on the stolid, unimaginative adults of Middlechester. Quietly, unobtrusively, he was sidling toward a large limousine parked outside the King’s Head Hotel. It was white. Pure white!
Thomas looked like any enthusiastic schoolboy admiring a new Rolls Royce. He peered in the tinted windows at the walnut dashboard and morocco upholstery, before sidling round to the farside of the hood. Nobody was watching. He leaned over, as if inspecting the flying lady symbol on top of the radiator grille. Popping off the top of his broad red luggage marker, he executed a swift Phantom Snake signature on the gleaming white bodywork. The deed was done!
He slipped quickly away and sat on a bench outside the library, from where he could review the results of his handiwork. A man emerged from the hotel and, without noticing the signature, got straight into the Rolls and drove off. Thomas laughed inwardly. Short-sighted idiot! He’d soon realize that the Phantom Snake had struck again.
The library bench was no fun, his signature had long ago been carved deeply into its woodwork with a sharp craft knife. Thomas strolled about feeling slightly ill at ease. It was getting all too easy, and he had covered the most prominent and important sites in town. Riding up the escalator in the shopping mall, he listened to the conversation of two women in front of him.
“Just look at this, Lil, ‘Phantom Snake’ done in white all the way round the banister rail. It’s disgraceful, if you ask me.”
“Right, you’d wonder what his parents are thinking about. I’d Phantom Snake him. I’d tan his hide if he were one of mine!”
“Me too. Mark it and destroy it, the young hooligan. It was never like that in our day. We were well behaved. Of course it was different then.”
Thomas followed them, licking one of his ready-made stickers. As soon as the chance presented itself he bumped cleverly into the back of the one called Lil.
“Oops! Sorry. Excuse me.”
They hustled awkwardly around each other, Lil smiling indulgently at the polite young man as he extricated himself and walked off. Lil and her friend carried on, still gossiping, unaware that one of them had a Phantom Snake sticker prominently displayed on her back.
Thomas turned to watch them, shaking his head knowingly. It was indeed all becoming too easy, the number of signatures dotted about the mall was clear evidence of this.
Thomas was halfway through completing a large and elaborate signature on a January Sale sign posted on a boutique window, when the assistant’s hand descended upon his shoulder.
“Gotcha, young fell—!”
Instinctively he relaxed and fell to the floor before the woman’s hand could find a firm grip. Wriggling free, he scrambled away into the crowds of shoppers, the woman running behind him shouting, “You’ll clean that off! Come back here!”
She was yelling and pointing at Thomas; a security man ran toward him from another direction; people were turning to stare at him. With his heart pounding wildly Thomas dashed onto an escalator—it was coming up, not going down! Disregarding the astonished folk on the moving staircase, he battled his way down, leaping clumsily against the rising stairs. The security man pulled out a two-way intercom; pushing buttons, he began speaking instructions to his colleagues.
Thomas made it to the ground-floor level, where he stumbled and fell. Adults stood open mouthed as he sprang to his feet, twisting and weaving among the bargain hunters through the brightly lit welter of arcades and shops. He took a right, then a quick left and another right turn, suddenly diving into a self-service cafeteria. Immediately slowing his breakneck pace he casually picked up a tray and joined the line of customers, regulating his breathing so that it sounded normal, though his chest still heaved and his hands trembled. Choosing a cream doughnut and a glass of orange juice, Thomas seated himself at a table with a family group. All the tables were fairly crowded, so he went unnoticed.
Licking cream from his fingers, Thomas watched the security guard outside the window. He was joined by another one. They looked this way and that, conversed with each other, pressed more buttons on their intercoms, then went off in opposite directions.
The moment of danger had passed; Thomas relaxed. Finishing his orange juice he got up and carried two grocery bags for a young mother who was encumbered by an infant in a stroller. Together they walked out to the car park, and he helped her to fold up the stroller, stowing it with the groceries on the backseat of her car, a small hatchback. Thomas walked off in complete safety, her thank yous ringing in his ears. Nobody could catch the Phantom Snake!
A strange excitement began tingling through Thomas. Instead of discouraging him, his narrow escape had had the opposite effect. He felt reckless and daring, ready for more adventure. But where, and how? A nearby billboard with posters of local events provided the answer.
MIDDLECHESTER MUSEUM
EGYPTIAN EXHIBITION.
9:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
Mon to Fri throughout January. Admission free.
Of course! “Thomas hurried to meet the new challenge. Many times he had dashed off his logo only seconds ahead of his favorite adversary, the watchful old attendant.
From the edge of the lawn in front of the museum Thomas watched a group being shepherded inside by the grey-haired, swarthy complexioned Bausin. Then he began his own preparations. Like a bullfighter before the corrida Thomas went through the ritual of readying himself. Giving his spray can a good shake he stowed it in the inside pocket of his baggy zip jacket. Next he undid the red and blue luggage markers. Working swiftly, he rolled back his jacket sleeves, wedging each marker up into the elasticized wristbands, taking care to roll the sleeves slightly downwards to disguise them. Two felt-tip pens, one green, the other black, went with the ballpoint into his back jeans pockets, together with his signed adhesive stickers. Thomas P. Kanne was ready. Things were certainly heating up for a dull post-Christmas Tuesday!
Mr. Bausin noticed the youth who tacked on to the back of the group he was conducting into the Egyptian Exhibition. Their eyes met briefly; each looked away with a secret smile. The attendant coughed importantly and began his commentary, “Many reliable experts say that life began in the East, and certainly there is ample documented evidence that for thousands of years before the birth of Christ, a large civilization flourished in Egypt, land of the Kings. …”