Hot Art

Computer screens on thousands of desks collectively snapped and popped sounding like a massive bowl of rice crispys freshly doused in milk. Their instant blackness was ominous as office workers looked at each other for the answer to “What just happened?” It took no more than a minute for the traffic on the street to become gridlocked without the guidance of the now blank traffic lights beginning what would be a vehicular aneurism in the city in the hours to come. Maintence and construction workers froze in place as their power saws and halogen lights stopped suddenly without warning. Hammers ceased their rhythmic motion mid swing.

Levi had just reached street level when the power went and froze as he knew a construction site is no place to walk in the dark, but a construction site is rarely without power? Production on a building site comes to a halt not just because of the obvious difficulties that come with working in the dark but the fact they cannot actually move about with all the hazards that exist literally within steps of every worker. Only a PM under undue pressure from above would think of leaving the safety of a site trailer in the dark. The likelihood of suddenly plunging down a pit where there was solid ground only hours earlier, and the possibility to be impaled by long stretches of protruding rebar that exist everywhere like a jungle pit designed to capture and kill a deadly tiger, was real. Why wasn’t the site running on our own power already? The main power must have been switched over at some point but if it wasn’t successful the diesel generators would have been back on in moments. A minute passed that felt like ten before Levi found a safe place to unload his burden of equipment where it wouldn’t be tripped over by someone else behind him and he made his way towards the foreman desk at the centre of the floor. The foreman desk was a simple plywood desk on wheels that was designed for building plans to be looked at and could be moved about and abused anywhere on site. The plans on top were usually in taters and stained from coffee but nonetheless were accessible when necessary. The desk also had underneath it a built in cupboard with a first aid kit and some extra hard hats and fluorescent vests incase anyone had lost or misplaced theirs or some client or otherwise with authority wanted to peruse the site unbeknownst to them, by law, they needed to don the safety ware- even if it was the Donald himself.
Levi’s eyes adjusted to the darkens and found his way through the pillars to the desk where he opened the cupboard to find a shiny new white hard hat and squeaky clean vest which he replaced with is own tattered vest and well worn and scratched, yellow hard hat. After he reached toward the back of the cupboard and dug beneath all the old drawings that were torn beyond recognition and dug out a long cardboard cylinder that opened on one end used for carrying large sets of drawings. With this Levi took a quick look around the floor and saw that no one had yet made an appearance which was sure to come with the power outage and the commencement of the rainy last day of the week. Alas, all were taking extra precautions due to the sudden darkness. Levis eyes had adjusted somewhat by now and he could make out the shapes of the pillars and the shadows on the concrete floor that were not riddled with debris. Heading for the gates where security guards are usually found Levi saw they had abandoned their posts likely to see if they could be of any assistance during the power outage. Of course their best assistance would have been to stay at their posts because not only were inexperienced construction workers and unfamiliar with the dangers of wondering around in the dark but that very moment was when the site was the most vulnerable is when they are most at need at the gates. Toronto is a city of 4.5 million people and at the epicenter during a blackout you really want your security at the gate. If any person off the street were to wander on site anytime the contractors would be libel for anything that might happen. It is their house until it’s turned over to the Donald which would be some time from now.
Levi left through the gates like he usually would when his workday ended shortly after five but when he checked his watch he saw it was four thirty three and there was no one in sight. He walked out the gates with the new work vest and white hard hat under his arm and the blueprints tube in his other hand and turned down the first street on the right. Narrow and smelling of garbage it was lined with steel man doors and large rolling garage doors but despite this it was busy with trucks moving in and out and workers and delivery personal as is typical in this busy district regardless of weather or power outages. Levi strode briskly with a stern look of purpose on his face and placed the shiny white hard hat on his head and slung the florescent vest over his shoulders, and among the chaotic atmosphere he managed to walk right in the shipping dock of the First Canadian Place. He continued without pause through the loading bay and started right up the stairs next to the loading elevators. It was pitch black- even the emergency exit signs which would normally be illuminated by a backup power, for just such an occasion, were non existent- such was the entire building- in complete darkness.
One floor up from the loading bay was the lobby- people were appearing in some numbers in the stairwell now- slowly, in the dark, they held on to the handrail and seemed little more than annoyed at the apparent inconvience of not having the elevator at their disposal or even bemused at having to finish their work unexpectedly early this Friday afternoon. No one seemed to notice that the emergency lights were not operating but rather cursed under their breath or giggled at their finding themselves in this completely darkened stairwell. Levi kept his look of concern and seriousness on his face along with his shiny white hard hat- designated for managers and supervisors only- his untarnished florescent vest and well worn work gear beneath made him look like a authority figure when it comes to building mishaps- he was there to solve the problem most people likely thought. An engineer or maybe the building supervisor? Either way, no one even gave him a second glance- on the contrary- his presence in the stairwell- not guiding simple minded residents to safety but surefooted, working his way against the crowd to solve the greater problem- seemed to cause a calming effect on those who passed him headed downward.
Panting and short winded, Levi reached the 52nd floor and entered on the west wing into a hallway that was pitch black. He pulled out of his pocket a small flashlight while slightly keeled over, catching his breath. The flash light was small, just a few inches in length and powered by only two small batteries the light still penetrated the darkness like a spotlight and he had no trouble finding his way like he had been there every day himself for the past four months.
Levi made his way sure footed and with soft steps through the doors that lead into the East Wing, sweat dripping from his forehead and still trying to slow down his quickened heart rate. The doors normally require a key card but instead opened effortlessly without as much as a noise from a catch releasing. When he stepped into the open area the grey skies from outside lit up the room and its contents from the giant glass windows so Levi turned off his own light not wanting to be seen from a neighboring building. He scanned his surroundings from where he stood and in a few seconds he spotted what he was looking for. Moving pasts the desks he carefully avoided bumping into any errant chairs as he approached the glass office at the South East corner of the building. The door to the largest corner office on the floor opened just as effortlessly as the one before and once again Levi stepped inside and looked at the view given to Mr. Xebio Chong, Managing Director of Manulife Financial International Swaps and Derivatives Department. The office was indeed impressive, even more so with the visual effects of the rain storm outside, grey skies and even greyer clouds passing with impressive speed making the tops of the surrounding towers invisible. The contents of the office were minimal yet combined, Levi was sure, was dearer than his annual salary. A collection of first edition books by Jung and Froid. A bronze statue of a woman and child just eight inches tall on the desk was an original by Herman Niche, the famed Scandinavian artist and valued at around $15,000. At the top of the ink blotter on his desk was an open case that held a Mont Blanc pen that costs $8,000 and on the walls were five paintings, all the same size, about 20 inches square, two on the North wall and three on the West. They were contemporary in style and the subjects seemed to be of geometric shapes and vertical and horizontal lines with rich, dramatic colours. They were bold and stood out in this office of precious goods, even in the shadowy grayness. Carefully Levi brought down one of the paintings and placed it face down on the desk next to the bronze statue. Out of his pocket he produced a well used utility knife that ejected a brand new, razor sharp blade when his pressed down and slid the catch on the steel handle with his calloused thumb and with the precision of a artist he cut the canvas along the inside of its wooden frame. Placing the empty frame on the floor he then spread the corners of the canvas down neatly then repeating the process with each of the other four paintings until a tidy stack of bare wooden frames were at his feet and the five canvases face down on the dark oak desk in front of him. Levi rolled the paintings up together and wrapped in a few sheets of wrinkled vellum paper he pulled from his inside jacket pocket. The rolled contents were now placed into the blueprints tube he had brought with him from his foreman’s desk and picking up the wooden frames he left the office and proceeded back down the stairs but not before depositing the frames in the trash bin that he knew would be collected in the morning.
He looked at his watch. It was 5:15. He made his way back down the stairs and left the building again through the loading bay, following the procession of blue and white collar workers leaving their respected work places for the weekend. No one recognized him or took notice of him as he walked the five short blocks back to his hotel where he went to his room. Levi placed the tube containing the 5 paintings on his bed then he stripped off his clothes and took a shower.

The Toronto Police Department on Queen Street just eight blocks from First Canadian Place was somewhat chaotic with the black out in the city centre. The scene was not yet a farce but, with the Captain away on holidays it was not quite under control. At least they had light but if they hadn’t they would have passed the hundred or so calls from distressed city residents to Unit 22 on Gerrard Street, about six kilometers away. For the time being Sergeant David Stephens had dispatched three quarters of the offercers from their department to patrol the area. Looting was a serious risk during such an event and the media would be all over it like stink on a monkey. Stephens sat at his desk after having shut the door to block out some of the noise but his phone rang relentlessly on every one of his twelve lines. He took a deep breath and thought back to the yoga session his wife made him go to with her last week. He hadn’t dared tell anyone at work about what he did that night for fear of denting his immaculate reputation of a testosterone fueled machine, surprisingly fitted with an impressive amount of functioning brain matter which allowed him to make it to the desk he sat at now, just next door to the Captain, in the few months he and his wife had moved to the city from Winnipeg. He had not however, incorporated the idea that a fucking black out would occur on a fucking Friday afternoon in the center of the Country’s biggest fucking city while his captain, whom had left him in charge, was fishing and drinking whisky 250 kilometers north of where they were.
He was thinking of the breathing the yogi giving him instructions while he was contorting his body such as it has never been before, in a room that was filled with ultra fit, twenty something girls wearing nearly nothing but small amount of lycra, next to his wife of eight years, that was 110 degrees Fahrenheit. Hot yoga was supposed to be the toughest of all yoga and David wasn’t going to have anything less. If his wife could do it, he, in his pinnacle of fitness and muscular form- he who ran no less than 60 kilometers a week and had not eaten crummy, rotten, delicious fast food for two years- would only do the most hard core of yoga training. No question about it. His confidence all but withered away the moment he walked into the silent studio, the heat had blown him away. “This cant be what they work out in?” He whispered to his wife. “No one can function in this heat.” One eyebrow raised in a questioning and slightly worried expression. His wife, Mary, elbowed him in the ribs lightly and put her finger to her lips looking at him with her serious eyes that said “You asked for it”.
By the time the instructor had approached him half way through the ninety minute session his view of the surrounding fit bodies had become a blur and his was wondering if he was going to be the only person to ever leave the room because they needed to vomit and pass out- he seriously hoped he didn’t do the reverse. The instructor did not actually partake in the positions that made up the session but faced the class and in clear, soothing voice dictated instructions orally that helped everyone move from position to position. She had clearly no need to commit to the exercise herself as it looked- and indeed was fact- that she had been doing the exercises for years and instead had committed to giving helpful directions to anyone in the class that required a tip to better flex or motivate someone whom was not putting in quite enough effort. When she approached David whom was in the most awkward of positions to be so close to a stranger, she said quietly between instructions to the class for him to focus on breathing in a deep and steady method. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat or perhaps his larynx was twisted shut but he felt that he may expire by asphyxiation right about then. “Breathing” she had repeated throughout the session, “is fundamental during your movements and thought out you poses that you focus on keeping you breathing steady.” She repeated this instruction to him personally, “David concentrate on breathing. OK?”
This is what he was doing in his office right now with his head back and his eyes closed. He took a few long, deep breaths and tried to concentrate on just that. Just when he felt the throbbing in his head start to subside the door to his office swung open and Sergeant Hicks walked in unannounced.
“Dave. I just got a call from the building super at First Canadian Place and- Dave?... Are you OK?” He shut the door behind him. “Dave.” He repeated snapping the Staff Sergeant out of his meditation. Hicks pressed on with the details of what he hoped was important and relevant information during such a crises. “He told me the building’s security systems were down along with their emergency power and phone lines.” Hicks paused a moment to let what he just reported sink in. “He called me from his cell.”
David had now leaned forward on his chair and with his elbows on his desk and a look on his face that said this had better be serious, he said “Really?” His eyebrows raised as he was indeed at the upper end of intelligence when it came to department personnel so he made the connection instantly; that every commercial building within the city had to be fitted out with emergency power and that phone lines were not in anyway connected with the power grid. They were and always have been since electricity and the telephone had been invented, entirely separate technology and infrastructure. What the hell was going on?


The Metropolitan Hotel had a large distinct awing jutting out onto Chestnut Street just a few steps south of Dundas Street, one of the major arteries that move traffic East and West through the city. It’s elegant yet unsusposing, dwarfed by the big players; Marriot, Hilton, Hyatt. The historic Fairmount, referred to affectionally by locals as The Royal York- the original name of the very dramatic building that sits front and center on Front Street is precisely the opposite of the Metropolitan Hotel. The Metro is largely unknown by international travelers and is filled by both out of towners and city residents looking for an escape and its mid range pricing and trendy décor makes its downtown location a gem for those whom know where to look leaving the chains for the rest. Notwithstanding its reasonable rates in the large city, underneath the glass and steel, curved awning displaying the hotel name was a well dressed concierge waiting studiously for guests and their thank you’s in the form of cash tips for his diligence. Herrick held open a large black umbrella ready to usher guests in and out or hail them a taxi in a moment if necessary which is exactly what he did when Levi walked out of the front doors.
It was 6:43 PM and Levi was now clean shaven, dressed in a long overcoat and white collared shirt that was starched to perfection. His charcoal coloured wool suit pants were exposed below his knee length coat and the hard wooden soles of his black shoes clicked on the wet sidewalk. He was pulling a black nylon luggage bag on wheels and had a matching black carry on bag hanging from his shoulder. A taxi was waiting for him right in front of where he exited the hotel. He had the front desk just before he left his room and Herrick had summoned one and had it waiting for his arrival not two minutes later. The driver put his larger bag in the trunk of the cab while Levi climbed into the back seat with the smaller bag. The taxi made its way slowly through the city streets still crammed with rush hour traffic made even worse by the rain that continued into the evening. Levi looked up at the buildings of the financial district, their glowing lights reflecting dramatically off the wet streets below that were like mirrors in the fading light. He arrived at Toronto Island Airport, home to the small, popular Porter airline that would see him off within the hour. Rising above the clouds he would leave the city and country behind and be in New York by 9:30 PM where he would stop for dinner in Manhattan before departing JFK airport for a much longer flight.

“You say it was a Sergeant Stephens that came by last night to check in on your situation?” Miss Baker questioned the building manager’s statement. She was standing in front of the security desk in the main lobby of First Canadian Place. It was 10:00 am Saturday morning and the building was mostly empty. Miss Baker was a diminutive, attractive woman in her early thirties- late twenties even- the large Italian manager, Mr. Lestari, guessed as she quite rudely began interrogating him over last nights ordeal. She wore her jet black hair up in a knot revealing her smooth, pale neck. “Mr. Lestari?” she repeated this time looking up at him for the first time from her notes.
“Yes it was Sergeant Stephens that came by last night but at that point nothing was reported unusual-“
“Except your power, back up power phone lines and security system were out.” She continued coldly without looking the building manager in the eyes but instead back down to her notes where she furiously added content. ‘God knows what’ thought Lestari. He was irritated by last nights and more so, this morning’s turn of events. This woman, whom probably flirted her way up some corporate ladder, was rubbing his face in dog shit after he has spent twenty years climbing- crawling up- the ladder in the property management industry- a monster of an industry in this city- finally having achieved the position he has now as the manager of the building that houses the most valuable blue chip companies in the country. He didn’t deserve this abuse now, on a Saturday morning, coming from this tart in her little outfit. Mr. Lestari’s mind began to wander; his eyes began to focus on Miss Baker’s black blouse, the top buttons undone just so a peak of cleavage was revealed. Her suit jacket was undone and fitted her torso perfectly to accentuate her breasts which she did purposely- it made her investigations so much easer. Her black skirt was of professional length but, still short enough to show off her toned legs- her heels brought out her calf muscles and gave her three more inches of height making her exactly five inches shorter than the robust Mr. Lestari.
She knew he was distracted when he began to retort: “Miss Baker was it?” He straightened his stance from behind the security desk, towering over Miss Baker. “What exactly is your business here? Mr. Tow has told me you from an insurance company.” Mr. Lestari gestured towards Tow, the small security guard in an oversized suit that seemed to hang off of him, sitting next to them. Mr. Tow did his best to look preoccupied with other work behind the desk and away from his large, irate boss. “The police have been informed of our recent situation and the building is covered for any such incidents so I don’t think your presence is necessary here today.” She didn’t look up from her pad, where she continued to write down notes for another ten seconds after Mr. Lestari had finished speaking. She then looked up at him with an expression that somehow made it seem as if she were actually looking down at him even though in reality that would require a step ladder.
“I work for Manulife Financial.” She said softly and matter of factly. “The same insurer whom covers this building, its contents, and it personnel. Whom leases forty percent of the building and of whose one senior executive’s office was burglarized last night.” She pulled her card from her inside jacket pocket and placed it on the desk in front of Mr. Lestari then continued in an even quieter voice as she leaned in toward him. “I also am the agent responsible for those particular items that were stolen last night out of your building.” She paused for a second and then continued. “And if you knew what they were worth you would be doing everything you can right now to assist me or else risk becoming the manager of a weather station on Baffin Island.” She was looking him right in the eyes now and he took a moment to comprehend what she just said. His eyes moved from hers to her breasts- both staring back at him as he decided to accept her position and he shifted into a conceded mode. “Alright Miss Baker. What do you suppose we do now?”