Past Meets Future Chapter 11

The Chanin Building is a something of an oddity by todays standards, perhaps a little over-done in a world that has moved toward minimalism and industrial starkness, a legacy of another age. Kind of like when your grandmother wears her gaudy costume jewelry for a trip to the Walmart; once beautiful, but now out of place and out of time. The Parisian Worlds fair, known as the International Exposition of Modern Industrial and Decorative Arts (where we get the name Art Deco) drew artists, engineers and designers to post World War I France in 1925. Jazz clubs abounded with writers like Hemmingway and Fitzgerald and artists like Dali. At thirty-four, Irwin was hardly a world traveler. With his brother he had managed to scrape together a few dollars and started a business building modest homes in New York. By 1920 he was building some of the most notable Broadway theaters, frequently rubbing shoulders with the New York elite from both the worlds of finance and entertainment. Those connections were also often connected with the least desirable elements of New York, the mob. Irwins trip to Paris was partially to see the new elegant design creations combining cubism and abstracts and partially to escape the sometimes violent pressures to hire union labor for his projects back in the city. On two occasions he had been tossed around by some hired thugs and warned about his anti-union business dealings. After receiving several threatening letters, one wrapped around a large rock thrown through a picture window, he decided a vacation in Europe was just what he needed. Paris in the roaring twenties was like no place on earth. While art and literature was flourishing, so was an anti war anarchist sentiment. Communists, socialists and anti-capitalists preached their philosophies on every corner and in every club to anyone who would listen. And unlike home, morals were loose and alcohol flowed freely. A young man could easily become lost in such an environment. The rue de la Gait in Montparnasse was a favorite as there were several music halls where Irwin could enjoy the night life of Paris, the closeness to the theater and the young women that frequented it. It was there; at the Bobino that Irwin would meet Gerwulf Sandalius, a patron of the arts and a man that Irwin would later describe as seasoned with depth and wisdom beyond the confines of our time. In Gerwulf, Irwin found a kindred soul that appreciated the passion of the new art styles and the permanence of brick and mortar. Gerwulf, though older than Irwin, shared his goals for a renaissance in American architecture and had the financial

means to assist his young friend in making his vision a reality. Over the next two months, Irwin and Gerry (as Irwin called him) combed the studios of the rue de la Gait. At the La Rotonde they purchased works of art by yet unknowns like Edgar Degas and Andre Breton. From these inspirations they would return to New York and build a structure like nothing seen before. Gerry, toasting Irwin the night before their departure, raised his glass and proclaimed we shall call it the Chanin Building. Your designs and my finances shall change the face of New York. Irwin Chanin quickly chimed in with and you shall have the office next to mine forever! He had no idea how prophetic his words were. ********** Lori entered the art deco styled lobby, picked up her security badge and key card at the desk from Carl the security guard and headed for the bank of elevators. It seemed every security desk had a guy named Carl, stationed there. They even looked the same. Late sixties, maybe early seventy, probably a retired cop with closely cropped white hair. This Carl was a little different though. He didnt wear the compulsory bi-focal glasses, his hair had a slightly reddish tint and she thought the frumpy grey and black uniform was hiding a rather muscular frame. Of course that would be silly. Still Lori glanced back at Carl and somehow he seemed a little meeker and smaller than she had thought. Just the mind playing tricks on me, as the elevator doors opened. The elevator doors, as was nearly every surface in the lobby, a gleaming bronze, had a relief of geese in flight, similar to the one above the entrance on the outside of the building. She recalled from her architecture class at NYU, that the same sculptor that had done most of the Chanin building also had work on display at Rockefeller Center. What did they say? The building was the mise en scne or something like that. She had forgotten what it meant exactly. Leaving Smith, Hennessy and Fairfield was not what Lori had planned. She had worked for them for nearly ten years when Danny, then her ex of eighteen months, told her there was some kind of securities investigation going on and they were the prime target. Two days after that the Times reported that Jack Hennessy was under a federal indictment for money laundering. Nearly two billion dollars had passed through their firm over the last five years from accounts in Turkey, Russia and several former Soviet republics. Six months later all three partners died in a private aircraft accident outside of Chicago and that was the end of the investigation and the end or her job. There was no trace of the money. Lori had been under surveillance in the early months of the investigation, but was quickly cleared and just a quickly quit the firm. Without a steady income she moved in with her sister in Queens and started looking for a new job. The problem was that the name Lori Tanner was inextricably linked to Smith, Hennessy and

Fairfield and no one would give her the time of day. That was up until two weeks ago. It was starting to look like there was no hope at finding a job and Lori was feeling that the next stop was a drive through window somewhere asking do you want fries with that, when the phone rang. May I speak to Lori Tanner please, came a pleasant older womans voice. This is Lori, whos this? Hello, Ms. Tanner. My name is Helen Campbell, with Campbell and Associates. Perhaps you have heard of us? Sorry, no I havent Thats OK; we are a very specialized placement organization. One of our clients is seeking someone with your skills and as it turns out one of our affiliate agencies forwarded your CV. Are you still available? Yes! Well, I mean I am if the position is right. Lori could barely contain her excitement. The position is for an executive assistant to the President and the salary is $120,000 with the standard benefit package and some special perks that will be discussed after your first two weeks. This was incredible. Double her salary? What would she wear to the interview? What would they ask? Where is the job? What is the company? She was starting to be light headed. Hello? Ms. Tanner, are you still there? The pause was longer than anticipated and Helen was beginning to think she had lost her connection. Yes, Im still here, Lori responded. When and where is the interview? Im sorry Ms. Tanner, you miss understood my call. This is an offer, there is no interview. You have come highly recommended. If you accept, you may start as soon as you like. The position is with Sandalius Investments, top floor of the Chanin Building. Shall I take this as an acceptance? Yes! But, can I start on Wednesday? I have some personal items to take care of first. Of course Ms. Tanner; Mr. Sandalius shall expect you at nine on Wednesday morning. A courier will drop off your employment documents later today. And that was that.

********

The elevators motion was imperceptible as it headed for the 52 th floor. Technically not the top floor, this is where Irwin and Gerry had their offices. The 50 th and 51st floors had once held a theater for the buildings tenants and the 54 th floor had been an open air observatory. It was closed due to risk and the often unpredictable winds. Floors 55 and 56 did not appear on the number board of the elevator. Lori suspected that they were for building management things like electrical systems, HVAC and maintenance. Carl had to show Lori how to use the special key card to access the upper floors. Floors numbered 50 and up were limited access. Only those with a special key card could access them and as far as 54 went, there was no access, the elevator would just end its assent at 52, or at least thats what Carl said. The elevator stopped at 30 and several people entered riding to 48 and disembarking. At 48, three Eurasian men stepped in. At first glance, Lori thought they could be triplets or even clones. They all dressed the same, were the same height and weight, probably the same age and all very fit. Like the characters from a Jackie Chan movie that always get in a fight and then wind up losing or running away from the much more agile Chan. Each inserted their own black key card into the slot, tapped 52 and waited for the doors to close. The three men exited on the 52nd floor as did Lori, but they turned to the left and disappeared into a small archway, presumably offices. Lori stepped forward as the elevator doors slowly whooshed closed behind her. Lori felt as if she had been here before, perhaps in a dream, no dinging bells or buzzers, no phones ringing, no one talking; just a quite calm, like a mist over a pond in the early morning. Duh, like Yogi Berra said, Deja vu all over again, Lori said to herself, must be the nerves again. You must be Ms. Tanner, the sound interrupted Loris thoughts. Im Mr. Sandalius, but you can just call me Gerry, everyone else doesand we are not very formal here. Well, Ok, Lori replied, somewhat embarrassed that she was daydreaming when he walked up, Im just plain old Lori. If I may say so Lori, you are neither plain nor old. Welcome to my firm, let me show you to your office. Lori flushed a complementary shade of pink at the comment but found it quite charming. Though Gerwulf Sandalius appeared to be twenty or thirty years older, he was still a very handsome man. Or maybe distinguished would be a better

description. Although not much taller than she was, in heels, Gerrys slim but sinewy build made him appear taller. His skin with its slightly olive tint appeared to be at times Italian, but at others more Middle Eastern and the blacker than grey hairs actually made him look younger rather than older. Then again, Lori mused, what man doesnt look good in a $5000 suit? The main office area was large and well apportioned with walnut paneling, plush carpet and art adorning the walls. Every twenty feet or so there was a sculpture anchoring a group of low cubicles where young men and women of several nationalities were working. Lori supposed that each was working on some major investment project, perhaps stocks or hedge funds or maybe even trading in gold or precious metals. Here we are Lori, Gerry waived entrance through the doorway. This will be your office as mine is just next door. Lori could not believe it. This was not an office, it was a suite complete with a sitting area, kitchenette, enclosed conference room and twenty by twenty work space for her desk and files that looked like a CEOs office. The mahogany desk and Persian rug were, as she would later tell Shu, to die for. I think this will be just fine Mr. Sandalius, more than what I will need, Lori stammered slightly as she tried to keep from screaming this is AWSOME I am pleased you like it. Should you desire to change the decoration, which is of course your prerogative, fell free to do so. Many of our younger associates have different tastes than mine so they can locate the appropriate art you require to satisfy your personal preferences. After all, we want you to feel like home here. Gerwulf smiled slightly. Thank you so very much, but Im sure this will be fine. However, if I were looking for something else, who would I want to discuss this with? It seems everyone in the office is young. Which ones would have knowledge of art? All of them. Gerwulf turned to look at the pool of workers. Everyone here has at least a masters degree in art, art history or some related field. Some of our curators are PHDs and artists in their own right. Then of course we have the restoration and preservation section, the appraisal and sales departments and a few others I dont remember. I thought this was an investment firm, Lori asked, slightly confused. Why it is, Lori. We invest in art. More stable than gold, more marketable than jewels, more portable than land and not subject to currency fluctuations or government stabilities. Sandalius walked toward a sculpture on the table in the adjoining conference that was a cowboy on a bronze horse. Do you recognize this artist?

Yes, that is a reproduction of a Remington, Lori was quite proud of herself recognizing the sculptor from an art class she took a few years prior. Frederic Remington only did 22 of them, most in the Remington Museum and all larger than this one. Excellent, Gerwulf clapped his hands together. What is largely unknown was that Remington made working castings before the final full scale casting was produced. Each destroyed once the final casting was complete; except this one. This one was given to a prince of India in 1885. It is called Cheyenne. Are you telling me that this is the original before the originals were cast? Lori was partially holding her hand over her mouth. Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. I came across it while in Napal and through some thoughtful negotiation was able to procure it for my personal collection. Gerry smiled wryly at his recollection of the negotiations culminating in the previous owner suffering a terminal separation of his head from his shoulders. This must be worth thousands and you have it sitting on a conference room table? Lori was astonished. Art that is not appreciated is worthless Lori. And besides it is not worth thousands, it is worth millions, Gerwulf smiling and walking out of the office door way. Settle in and well talk after lunch. Gerry returned to his office leaving Lori to take in the wonder that was Sandalius investments. Gerry reclined in his Armani office chair, pushed the button under the desks edge that closed the blackout drapes and dimmed the lights. He closed his eyes. Relax, he thought. Remember son, it is about the huntnot just the kill, he could hear grandmothers voice. A voice you heard even though she did not speak. The grey wolf of the east regarded as a legend beyond legends by the Turic, and yet as true as the sun rising and setting. She was his fathers mother, the mother of Asena and grandmother of Ashina, Gerrys true name. He had avenged her death by the walkers a thousand times a thousand and he would not be satisfied until he had ended the life of her murder. Huli would pay, not just with his life. Not just death, but suffering such that Huli would welcome death rather than see the pain of his loved ones. Time and distance had separated them. For a century Gerry thought Huli, once Wu Chang the hunter and murderer, had died because he could not feel his presence. Yet he knew, or he was assured that Wu Chang had tasted the Panteo fruit and would live forever. That is if Ashina did not take his chi by cutting off his head; the chi of an immortal. Ashina and his brothers kept the way of Asena and his grandmother. Gods of a sort who were both men and wolves, changing form at will. But the sons of Ashina were drawn away by the allure of human women. Eidu, his first born and only son, left the way of Ashina to become human. In a few generations, the old ways were

nothing more than fairy tales. Hunted and killed, Ashinas brothers were slain by walkers so he migrated to northern Mongolia and later to Eastern Europe with the few of his clan. But now, even those of his clan were gone, AshinaGerryGurwulf was the last of his kind. Alone, and aging at a quicker rate than before, Gerry brushed his hand across his head, noting the strands of reddish brown hair sticking to his fingers. Much to be done before I sleep the sleep of the ancients, he whispered to himself. Much to be done.

********** The shadows were long as Marcus exited the morgue and stepped into the late afternoon sunlight sweeping across the cracked asphalt of the rear parking lot. Only two cars left on the lot now; Nicks Volvo and Marcus Geo Metro. Once considered a piece of junk, the venerable Metro now was considered something of a desirable car. Marcus version of the economy motorcar was the famous three cylinder EFI. Though not sure about what the EFI stood for, Marcus was sure of one thing, with the five speed transmission is flew through the streets and gave him forty miles per gallon of gas. Not bad for a car he bought used for eight hundred dollars. Slipping on his seatbelt, he reached for the object hanging from the mirror. Few would understand the significance of the carved monkey and rooter hanging from a necklace of apple seed, but Marcus knew. His grandmother was a high priest, perhaps the most famous ever. Certainly the most powerful New Orleans had ever seen; Marie Laveau. She had given him the amulet as a child and told him never to be without it. As a teenager he had cast it into a drawer and forgotten about it until a girlfriend mentioned how odd and beautiful it was. Marcus thought about giving it to her, but every time he took it out, he could not bring himself to part with it. As he rolled it around in his fingers he almost took it off the mirror and put it around his neck. No grandmother, he said looking up to the sky through the cracked sunroof. I cannon wear this because I am not a superstitious man. Still, Marcus lifted the charm to his lips and kissed it. Keep me safe grandmother for I fear there are things of another world about me even now. Marcus rolled up the window, engaged the gears and moved slowly out of the lot taking care to avoid the old Chinese man standing at the edge of the drive. Ten seconds later, at the stop sign on the corner it occurred to Marcus that the old man looked too feeble to walk far and might need a ride. When he turned back the man was gone.

Nick exited the building in time to see Marcus turning right and the corner and drive off in a cloud of blue gray oil exhaust. He may get forty miles to the gallon of gas, Nick said to himself, but he only gets 10 miles to the quart of oil. Nick smiled at his own joke and decided he would need to remember that and tell it to Marcus next time he saw him. The Volvo as chirped as Nick approached, unlocking the doors and turning on the exterior and interior lights like a pet welcomes their master home at the door. As always, the Bluetooth device in the cars audio system synchronized with the similar device in his IPhone and anticipated his call home, the same call he made every evening before he left the lot. But before he could make the call the audio system of the car spoke to him in a very male voice; Hello Dr. Miller. What the hell is this some kind of joke? Nick began to look around the seat; in the console and pulled down the visor searching for the source of the broadcast. Without warning the doors locked and the engine started. Just relax Dr., this wont hurt a bit. Isnt that what they always say? The voice seemed to echo in the small space. Suddenly the Volvo shifted into drive and accelerated full speed at the block wall that made up the back of the morgue. Thirty feet to go, Nick was standing on the brake with both feet: twenty feet to go Nick was feverishly pulling the steering wheel left, then right with no response from the car. Ten feet left as Nick pulled hard on the emergency brake with both hands, sweat rolling down his face. Finally he screamed as the safest car on the road struck the back wall. Air bags exploded, glass shattered and metal merged with cinderblock as Nick was thrown hard back into the plush leather seats. His face burned from the expanding gas of the air bag. He could feel his wrist and collar bone break simultaneously as one struck the other under the pressure of the expanding air bag. The pain was searing as he lost consciousness. It seemed hours until Nick came to, fully expecting to be in the emergency room if things were good or in his own morgue if things were bad. But neither was true. There he was, sitting in his undamaged Volvo with his phone dialing home. No air bag deployment, no burns, no broken bonesnothing had happened. Was it a dream: an illusion: maybe even a stroke or a brain aneurysm; he couldnt be sure? But it all seemed so real. Hello? Hello? Its me dear, Nick replied, on my way home. Had Nick turned around, he might have caught sight of an old man slipping into the rear of the morgue.