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It was only the third day of the exhibition. Gregg was trying to appear nonchalant as he walked up to the ticket desk and paid his ten dollar entrance fee. He told himself that he was there because he was interested in Heron, but he knew the reason that he was really there. He was trying to work out how he might steal the emerald. But then he thought, “I’m not planning to steal it, simply to return it to its rightful owner, the heir to the Swami’s world. Me.”
The exhibition was one that Gregg would have steered well clear of before his purchase. The museum had tried to make the collection interesting but the truth was that Heron had collected an awful lot of very dull things. The culmination of the show was, though another matter.
In a room that had been decorated to make it appear like the inside of a Maharajah’s palace, the walls hung with velvet drapes, tied back with great loops of silken cords. There was a sunken area behind a barrier designed to stop visitors from falling into it. In the centre of the pit a slim pillar held aloft a green jewel that was, as far as Gregg could tell, the twin of his own red one. For the discouragement of those that might seek to inspect it closer, around the base of the column a dozen or more snakes slithered across the floor of the pit. “Viperidae : Crotalinae : Gloydius : Himalayanus (Himalayan Pit Viper)”, a sign on the barrier rail said. “Loaned by City Zoological Society. Warning – Snakes Are dangerous”
They certainly looked dangerous, Gregg thought, a bit like a Copperhead but not as colourful. It was as Gregg was looking at them that he was suddenly aware of them looking back at him. All of them were peering directly at him. Gregg looked around himself. There was no one else in the room apart from a bored looking security guard lolling on a chair beneath one of the displays. Gregg looked back into the pit. The snakes were still looking back at him. As he stared back at them they formed themselves into two groups and slid off to either side leaving a clear path between Gregg and the jewel. Gregg astonished by the behaviour of the snakes could only look on dumbly. The guard coughed and stirred in his chair. Gregg knew that this wasn’t the time to do anything. He hadn’t thought about how he was going to steal the jewel but it did look as if the snakes weren’t going to be the obstacle. He stared at the jewel for a few minutes more before turning away. As he did so and as two other people entered the room, remarking loudly on the ostentation of the architecture, the snakes resumed their patrol of the base of the pillar, leaving Gregg once again puzzled by the powers he seemed to have acquired.
The rest of Gregg’s visit combined the pursuit of his quest for knowledge about Hiram B. Heron and his desire to decide on a way to rob the museum of the jewel. There was CCTV, of course, and the guard but the museum seemed to be putting most of its faith in the dissuasive powers of a dozen pit vipers. The other thing in his favour was that exhibition didn’t seem to be the hit that seemed to be Aaron Rodwell had intended. Gregg overheard the guard talking into his radio, “If my relief is late again, I’m going to be pissed. She’s supposed to be here at five thirty. She’s been five – ten minutes late every day.”
“Thanks,” Gregg thought to himself. “It’s nice to know there’s a routine.”
Gregg found it hard to leave. Almost as though the emerald was holding him back, keeping him in the museum. He finally broke away. As he approached the exit, a woman burst through the revolving doors, practically falling into his arms. She was about thirty, he guessed, with long dark hair that she had tied back in a pony tail, studious looking wearing small glasses.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said.
“That’s all right,” Gregg responded politely, not sorry to have been thrown against her and trying to fight off the waves of Swami triggered lust that he could feel rising. “My fault.” He was anxious to get away in case she noticed his boner and remembered him when it came to the aftermath of the robbery that he was well into planning in his mind. He untangled himself from the woman and dived for the revolving doors.
“What a polite, young man,” Maxine thought as she watched Gregg disappear down the museums front steps. “Nice buns too!” she caught herself muttering before reminding herself that she had work to do and that idle speculation about the sexual attractiveness of museum visitors was almost certainly not part of her job description. “I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere before though.”
© Freddie Clegg 2010
Email: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Web group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission
All characters fictitious
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