It was seven feet tall, bright orange, and aesthetically unpleasant. Whoever did it put it halfway between the entrances to the A & B concourses. Whoever did it had never bothered to burden his or her talents with anything as inconvenient as an art class.
Slater looked at Asher. “When I find out who did it, I’ll have them flogged.”
Asher asked, “Do you think you ever will?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
They turned away from the spray-painted Z and headed toward the office in the base of the control tower. By a week later, they were saluting it every time they entered the terminal. It just seemed like the right thing to do.