Hot Art

The air was thick outside of the cool airport and Levi did not waste any time garnering a taxi to take him to his hotel on Hong Kong Island about a 40 minute drive away. He had taken off his suit jacket while on the 15 hour flight from New York which was now slung over his carry bag, not having left his side for 20 hours now. He was now wearing a slim black tie that was considered a more important accessory here than back in North America. The taxi was without air conditioning and, Levi noticed immediately, without seatbelts, but it was far cheaper than the alternative black town car preferred by the torrent of business class that make the JFK-HYK trip regularly. Besides he was in no need to impress anyone at this point and was savoring the heavy humid air that he had become so accustomed to during the last few years. So exotic compared to the temperate climate of the North Eastern Seaboard where his had spent the first eighteen years of his life. With the taxi window down all the way Levi listened to the soft jazz piano playing on the radio and smiled to himself when the taxi took off after been given his destination. The warm wind blew into his face, the passing scenery reflecting in his dark sunglasses. Levi pulled his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed his lawyer.
“Hello Phillip. How are you?” Levi smiled as his greeted his long time associate over the phone.
“Levi! Bloody hell! How are you? Where are you??” Phillip was caught off guard which is why Levi was grinning. He loved to surprise his clients with good news. Phillip Voltaire wasn’t actually Levi’s lawyer despite their having been acquaintances for a few years now and repeatedly asking if he would like to be his client, No- Mr. Voltaire was actually a client of Levi’s.
“I’m in town and I’d like to make an appointment with you- when it’s convenient of course.” Levi cut off the counselor’s next question which tended to be endless. “I was successful with my recent acquisition so let me know when you’re available and find somewhere quiet where you can have a look through, alright?”
“Yes- of course.” Phillip replied with something of a surprised tone. “That will be fine then. I’ll have my assistant Bhang call you with a time and place then?” Phil’s English accent hurt Levi’s ears. It was not a soothing form of the Queen’s English.
“That will be fine Phil.”
“Well it’s certainly good to hear from you again. I was getting worried-“
“That’s good Phil- you should worry about me- but in the mean time all is well. I’m just on my way to my hotel to have a long sleep so tell Bhang to leave a message with the details alright? We’ll get caught up later ok?”
“That sounds fine Levi” Levi swore it was like talking to a rugby player missing most of his teeth.
“Cheers.”
With that Levi ended the call and went back to his breezy window and took in the city was beginning to make it appearance in the distance.

The Bishop Lei International House is a towering skyscraper of a hotel that overlooks Victoria Harbor that separates mainland China and Kowloon City from Hong Kong Island. Its blue glass façade reflected the morning sun in blinding fashion as the un supposing taxi pulled up to its front doors. An exhausted passenger exited the back door bringing with him his black carry bag and a black jacket folded over it. The driver quickly exited his side and ran to the trunk where he lifted out his passenger’s single piece of luggage that matched his small carry on bag. Levi left the driver with $300 HKD and a $20 HKD tip, about $60 American and a $5 tip, thanking him in Cantonese before entering the lobby to check in. Ten minutes later he was asleep in his room on the 45th floor.

Xi Lee was watching his ten year old daughter riding around the equestrian centre when his phone rang. It was Councilor Voltaire. He hated to be interrupted during such an occasion but was pleased deep down. Since he had stepped down from the board of ChinaSnoPec- one of many state energy companies working to build the New Capitalist China- he was pleased that this annoying phone call was to be perhaps the peak of his working day. His investments needed minding regardless of his retirement and that was what was keeping him going- that, and seeing his daughter finish her lessen safely, for if that horse so much as startles her, his next investment was going to be manufacturing $1000 thoroughbred glue sticks.
Xi knew who it was that was calling from his mobile phone display but refused to acknowledge immediately upon answering “Hello?”
“Hello! Mr. Lee. It’s Phillip Voltaire calling. How are you?” Xi winced. It was like listening to a used car salesman.
“Fine counselor.” Eliminating small talk impressed to whomever he was talking to it was time to get to the point. In fact the counselor should be so lucky he answered at all.
“I have a seller for the painting you were interested in- your still interested yes? Xi’s expression changed to this unsuspecting news. He warmed up immediately to the salesman as if he had spotted a rare classic hidden away in the corner of the lot. He did not want to pay too dearly though and meant to express that with his tone witch was cold. “The Forg’s? So the seller has more than one?” He was doing math calculations and visualizing contemporary art in his head at the same time which is an extraordinary talent.
“Yes- more than one. Er, I haven’t been informed how many he is prepared to separate with, but I believe it’s likely, er, possibly three?” Phil was clueless he was dealing with an artist’s series. The value of which is compounded when the series is complete which is almost never when your dealing in valuable paintings.

On Monday morning at 10:30 AM, Unit 12 of the Montreal Police Department was in its usual element of chaos given its proximity to the city’s party district. The previous weekend’s usual roundabout of Rue Sainte Catherine had characters of all shapes and sizes and colours entering and exiting with their constable escort, not to mention the crowds in the holding cells that usually took until Wednesday to bring down to normal capacity. The theft division existed in the open office space where all the action was on display and they despised this rowdy lot whom were left to the newest of officers to deal with, only just haven been promoted themselves into their first real department after working the streets for a few years. They have since earned bragging rights and gained much larger egos, but deep down they missed the newbie years of ridiculous stories and characters and the events that led to their short incarcerations. The private offices that lined the wall- more like fish bowls with just a glass wall and door between them and ‘the pit’ as it is known- is where the lead inspectors and detectives of narcotics, larceny, homicide, etc. reside. Down a corridor and more importantly further away from the pit was the ‘Special Units’ office and finally the Chief. Among the dozens of desks in ‘the pit’ were two situated across from each other belonging to a division known as the ‘Stolen Art and Antiquities Section’. The desks belonged to Francis and David whom have been the division’s only members since its incarnation six years earlier. They were utterly devoted to their given roles and made some surprising arrests since the division was created despite their very, very limited budget.
Luckily over the past year Francis and David have made some arrests that also led to convictions and more importantly- in this division at least- the recovery of the lost piece. Stolen art is not as you might think something that is pursued very often or with much enthusiasm or interest. In fact there are only four similar departments devoted solely to the recovery of stolen art in the world.
Scotland Yard in London had a far better funded department but considering most of the art in the world is sold there or New York it isn’t much. New York actually doesn’t have any department for stolen art at all and, it is believed that most of the world’s stolen art ends up there, with an estimated market of $200 billion annually. Europe’s collective police force, Interpol, also has a division and it is quite possible the most sophisticated in the world as Europe is where most stolen art either comes from first hand, or is passed through, sometimes stopping off for decades before reappearing at an auction house long after having lost any record of ¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬provenance. World War II alone had been the cause of tens of thousands of priceless pieces looted from all over Western Europe possibly valued today in some billions of dollars. In the nineteen eighties stolen art on the black market was behind only drugs, money laundering and weapons in terms of value. In Los Angles, California, there exists the only other art theft department in North America, similar to Montreal, consisting of just two detectives. They have led the charge in recovering countless pieces of extremely valuable art and have returned many to their original owners and often to their next of kin, and in return they have an even direr department budget and one of their two sole investigators is planning to retire soon. In whole the international policing of lost and stolen antiquities is a weak limb.
Both David and Francis were at their desks making occasional phone calls to contacts and leads. They were both making slow headway on a network of break-ins in Vancouver and were trying to connect them with some from a few years ago in Montreal. Unlike most crimes, when it comes to art theft, it is often conducted by professionals. Entry level thieves may make desperate thefts, unknowingly getting their hands on something valuable, or perhaps if their lucky, manage to avoid getting caught ripping off a relatively unprotected gallery- and not damaging the works too much. It does happen, and the rewards can be substantial if, again they are lucky enough to know to whom to unload them. Stolen art actually has no value unless you want to hang it on you own wall. In order to turn a stolen piece into cash you must have a buyer whom wants to invest in stolen art and that list of clients is not easy to come by. Indeed paintings worth hundreds of millions of dollars have been recovered simply because the thieves couldn’t find a fence or an ‘agent’ that would trade it for cash. More often however is the upgrade from petty thief whom can earn a few thousand for breaking into the same unsuspecting gallery, belonging to an unsuspecting owner, if he/she knows the market well enough and has perhaps a handful of dirty auctioneers which are easily enough to come by or even a trusty fence that will find the buyers for you- at a cost. This happens more often than you might think.
David was glossing over the Globe and Mail news and arts sections as was his custom when his phone rang which was not very customary. “Bonjour?” He answered without emotion. “Vole department artistique. Oui, uh, speaking. The Toronto Police Department?” David’s eyebrows rose up and looked at Francois who looked up from his Sotheby’s catalogue. His eyebrows were both up and down.
“Oui- er, yes of course. Ow long ago? Oui. Froig? Cinq?!” Both David’s and Francis’ eyebrows rose even more and with eyes wide they looked at each other. David continued with the call. “Oui, today? Er, this afternoon I suspect, agent Fracois and I shall arrive. Oui.” He hung up and without looking back to his partner his dialed the Chief’s extension. Avoiding Francis’ shocked gaze he looked up at the ceiling. “Chef, bonjour. Nous avons besoin d’aller a Toronto… Oui, aujord’hui. Merci.” And he hung up again and returned his partners surprised glance with that of a determined and cheerful detective- a rare site indeed. David filled Francis in with the details of the stolen Froig’s while he booked flights for them to Toronto. By 3 PM they were in Mr. Chong’ office on the 52nd floor of First Canadian Place. Mr. Chong was there with them along with a short, pale, yet extremely attractive woman dressed in an expensive suit whom never introduced herself. She made little notice of them but acted rather like a parental escort to the prom, patiently listening to both sides speak. Somewhat distracted by the silent women standing between Mr. Chong and them the French detectives made it clear to the high powered executive that they were not only there to investigate the theft but that they both knew of the paintings that used to hang on his office walls and their value and that they were, indeed well learned in their vocation.

Levi woke up around noon. He showered and put on his favorite cotton tee shirt, a pair of cargo shorts and white sneakers and left his hotel heading for the harbor. Kowloon was the city on the main land- a quick ten cent ferry ride away- always bustling with commerce and commotion seemingly twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. The rustic ferries are crowded and look ancient or at least like old refurbished fishing boats which he was sure they were. Looking back from the rocking junk boat the towering glass building of Hong Kong almost disappeared near the tops, climbing the incredibly steep hills that make up the small island. The historic, yet ultra modern metropolis becomes clouded in fog and smog and yet at their bases the buildings still glimmered in the sunshine.
Once on the mainland Levi headed to Tsim Sha Tsui- a square of large unsuspecting buildings made up of housing estates with retail shops on the lower floors and basement levels. He entered a small shop on the ground floor of the Mirador Mansion- its main area no larger then an average bedroom. The sign outside the entrance said ‘Century Fashions- Ladies and Gents Hong Kong Custom Tailors’. The charming brothers, Farhad and Jamal, whom own the shop chat with Levi, show off some of their latest fabrics and laugh constantly. Fifteen minutes later Levi leaves the shop and heads across the busy road entering another, nearly identical arcade. Throngs of people shop, sell, and compete for customers for everything from watches and cell phones to hair clips and chop sticks. Levi moved through the commerce gauntlet and went down a wide set of stairs that led to a wide open underground mall housing hundreds of retail shops. He perused the area in no rush, looking into shop front windows and towards the back through the doors of any that peaked his interest; he politely let shop workers pushing their merchandise relentlessly know in Cantonese that he wasn’t interested. Levi knew what it was he wanted to buy which was a digital radio scanner and the software necessary to clone IMEI and SimCard ID- the necessary tools to listen in on other phone conversations in a close proximity- but it wasn’t the technology that was hard to come by- it was figuring out which electronic shop was selling the authentic product and which ones were pawning crap.
He was aware of the technology he needed and how it worked for telecommunication engineering was quite simple in a complex, nerdy kind of way. Let just say it doesn’t make entertaining dinner conversation but it did peak Levi interest when he picked up a book on the subject from a used book store years ago. He bought three different scanners from different shops and two software CD’s that he would upload onto the scanners from his computer. They looked just like different brands of smart phones.
At the same time as Levi had made his final purchase, Farhad was cutting the pieces of fabric he had carefully measured and marked out that Levi had had commissioned. By the time he had gotten back to his hotel room to try out his new toys, the pieces of fabric were being sewn together with a finely tuned precision rarely seen outside of the fashion center of Milan.


It was 6 PM and time for dinner but first he had to make a stop at his meeting destination with the barrister at a posh restaurant near the harbor in Wan Chai- this time on the Hong Kong side where the prices were considerably higher and the patrons very touristy or up their own arse. The restaurant the Councilor has chosen was Bombay Dreams complete with porcelain china found cheaply in any wholesale shop around the world, poor prints dressed in corny frames and oversized matting splattered on the walls- dark oak laminate bar and tables and feaux leather upholstery on the chairs and booths. All this is typically completed with an expansive view of the harbor and/or city through large, neumours windows based in a building that charges an outrageous amount for leasing such a unit ergo; the ridiculously expensive food. Levi walked in the door and while being greeted by the hostess, scanned the room for a section that was not visible from the surrounding buildings. ‘Christ.’ Levi thought to himself. There was so much glass any person given a reason, with a boat on the harbor, could read their lips with a pair of binoculars or take their glamour shots with a decent zoom lens from the boardwalk. Phil sure can pick them. He pointed to the back towards the toilets and asked the hostess in Cantonese if he could have a quiet booth in the back. She smiled cheerfully and brought him to a dimly lit round booth that could seat eight. At least the lighting was right Levi thought and smiled and thanked the hostess for showing him to his seat. He would be difficult to recognize from most of the rest of the restaurant but it was still bright enough to reveal the copyright insignia in small print at the bottom right hand corner of each of the three framed Christo posters- clearly supposed to be actual prints by the famous painter. Phil arrived late and greeted Levi with a wide smile as he shook his hand and sat down ungracefully on the other side of the large table.
“Bloody hell Levi it’s good to see you again. How’s things?” he inquired in his thick Bristol accent. They had indeed known each other for a few years although only meeting in person very occasionally in various watering holes around the island. They did a brief catch up since their last visit but Levi revealed only curious hints of where he had been during the last few years. He knew would have the barrister wild with speculation but to keep him on track, he removed from his shoulder bag an unsealed envelope and pulled out its contents which were a dozen or so Polorids of the paintings he had taken earlier that day before putting the originals into a safety deposit box belonging to one of the city’s more private banks.
“This is fantastic Levi.” Phil’s eyes scanning the revealing photographs. “How many are there exactly?” As if Levi was just going to ball park the quantity of paintings he had stolen and was now looking to sell to this man.
“There are five Phil. It’s the complete set.” The barrister’s jaw fell slightly ajar and Levi thought he might start to drool on the pictures. “Keep the photos Phil.” He scanned the dining crowd and the service staff- anyone he could see really- while continuing the conversation. “Give them to your client.” The photos were supreme evidence of a major crime and Levi wanted them as far from his as possible. Phil was still pouring over the photographs and Levi was afraid he wasn’t listening anymore. He must have been thinking of the commission. Individually the Forg’s could be sold at auction- legitimately- for around $15,000 each. Two of the series of five would fetch around $40,000 for the pair. Three together or four together would go for $90,000 and $200,000 respectively- the value compounded by the more complete the series.
No auction house has ever published a valuation on the complete set as it was assumed they would never be together due to their mystique. Two of the paintings have traded hands three times in six different auctions, all by Sotheby’s Auction House, in the past 35 years, since their creation. Two were stolen from their owner’s home in New York City in 1992 and haven’t been seen since. One was given by the artist to a close friend whom supposedly lost it because it has never been seen since Forg displayed the series for the first time in 1977. Sotheby’s would have a lot of explaining to do if it ever did reveal the existence of the missing paintings but considering its being the most prestigious art auction house in the world and it history of suddenly revealing long lost pieces- many of which lost by nefarious reasons- Levi placed the complete set of five’s value at half a million… He was not Sotheby’s though and was in possession of some very hot art that needed to be turned into cash and had only a single, dodgy, agent.
Phil on the other hand, who was rather clueless about art, knew people who did, and they had the financial liquidity to put up for it. Levi wanted two hundred and fifty. He knew Phil was wanting at least ten percent but was getting wet with the idea of selling all five for a couple hundred grand and giving Levi perhaps half thinking to himself ‘job well done’ but Levi had other plans and a slightly different percentage of compensation in mind for his clients role as his broker.
With a smile of naiveté Levi drained his whisky getting up to leave. “I leave it in your capable hands Phil.”
“Right. Of course.” Phil was still staring at the photos like he held a royal flush at a casino and there was a mountain of chips in the pot. He hadn’t gotten past the first sip of his single malt.
When Levi noticed Phil was still looking at the photos he ducked into the restaurant washrooms and found an empty stall that he went into and shut and locked the door behind him. He pulled out his digital receiver and some headphones that he plugged into the device when he switched it on. After a few minutes of listening in to bits and pieces of various conversations he dialed into the one he was looking for.