Condo One

Condo One

Jesse Zimmerman

Jeff cursed himself in his thoughts. The freshly risen sun gleamed through the subway window, straight into his blurry eyes. The window was black again in seconds, the train once again zooming through a tunnel. He lowered his head, his lids shut hard, bracing himself for the next bout of overwhelming light, while in his hands he clasped a steaming cup of Tim's, the coffee vapours and the shaking of the train the only thing keeping him awake.

"Why did I need that much wine?" he asked himself as his head throbbed. "Got to stop drinking when there's work the next day."

And then he wondered when would be a good time to drink since every day now he had a shift the following day. He had not had a single day off in nearly two weeks, an arrangement he both liked and hated. What else was he going to do when he was just straight working every day for so long? The sunlight struck again, the insides of his eyelids going bright red for a moment before going black again. Today he was doing a trade escort shift. These were generally easy since all he had to do was knock on suite doors and then watch the tradesperson do some work in the unit. It was neat, seeing the inside of rich people's condos, getting a picture of what life could be like if he ever managed to escape the eight-hour grind, or if he had just been born in a wealthier family. He remembered when he was younger he always wanted to do a job like this, maybe be a cop or a firefighter, always wanting to make a difference. Security, especially this type of security, wasn't quite what he had been hoping for. He never got to have an adventure or be the hero like he always wanted to. Jeff realized maybe that was why he was drinking so much lately.

At his stop most of the passengers got out, the subway car emptying and the crowd making its way up to the stairs and escalators in a scene reminiscent of the Fall of Saigon. Within moments Jeff could breathe again as he stepped up into more sunlight and moved forward through the bustling streets in the shadows of the great concrete and glass behemoths of downtown. A few turns down the sidewalk and he came to the 50-story white tower he was assigned to for the day, the building called Condo One. Gazing upward before the turnstile glass door he caught a glint off the side of a scaffold held up from the roof, the metal platform positioned at about the midway point. Shading his brow, he tried to see if there was anybody on it, but couldn't tell, the sun reflected in the glass windows too strong to get a good look. Jeff shuddered, imagining having to work all the way up there. As he entered the lobby he felt first the chilled breeze of the AC, stepping onto a perfect gray carpet between two wooden pillars decorated with designs made to look like they were a hundred years older, as if the building were not constructed hastily by developers two years prior.

Jeff sipped his coffee, his headache starting to fade as he wandered over to the front desk, a white marble veneered barrier that separated the concierge from the rest of the open room. Seated behind it was Bobby, the head of security, a middle-aged man whose appearance and mannerisms reminded Jeff of Barack Obama.

"Mr. Jeff!" Bobby had called with the enthusiasm Jeff expected from him.

"Hey Bobby," replied Jeff, reaching the desk, placing his coffee on it.

"How are we doing this morning?" the head concierge asked, standing up in greeting, his near permanent wide grin struck upon his clean-shaven face.

"Okay, drank a bit too much wine last night," Jeff said with a low energy half smile, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Ah, what vintage? I find different regions have different effects!"

That was Bobby, he thought. He knew fine wines, as well as composers and operas, far too qualified for security, not unlike Jeff and so many other people. "I don't know," he shrugged in reply. "It was red and a cheap bottle. Wine is wine."

"I disagree. Anyway, are you ready to work today?" Bobby asked as he grabbed a clipboard from the desk. "Today sir, we have some plumbing, or at least some preliminary inspection—they need to check the pipes, the real work takes place next month."

Jeff managed a smile and said: "Oh, the efficiency of the private sector."

Bobby chuckled. "Well, your guy isn't here yet, go rest up in the lunch room."

Jeff took the clipboard and wandered to the right of the front desk to the wooden door that led to the staff room, immediately taking the nearest seat at the empty long table and placing his head and arms on the surface. He dozed off for a while, waking up to Bobby's enthusiastic calls from the door. Bobby promptly introduced him to the tradesman, a guy named Ray, a short statured man with a buzzcut of dark hair and a hint of a moustache. Jeff could not guess his age, for he had a babyface and could have been nineteen to forty for all he knew. Jeff, grateful for the snooze yet still hungover, walked over and shook hands with Ray and the two of them were in the elevator in a minute.

"Won't be too talkative until after lunch probably," Jeff muttered as politely as he could to him, clipboard in one hand, now cold coffee in the other.

"Hey no problem," said Ray, his tone friendly and reassuring. "What is it, were you drinking last night?"

"Yeah, how'd you guess?"

"I can tell," his new co-worker snickered. "No problem, I'm here to work. What do you drink?"

"Wine last night," said Jeff, glancing up to see they were near the penthouse floor. They were to start at the beginning and go downward. "But I usually am into beer." He listed some of his favourite beers, Ray in turn telling him about how much shooters he had done on the weekend.

The elevator car promptly stopped and the doors slid open when it had reached the top floor, revealing a gold coloured carpeted floor. Jeff stepped out first, noticing that there was just one set of doors at the end of the short hall. He looked at his clipboard and confirmed that this floor had just the one. The big wooden doors had a pair of gold lion-headed knockers. The two workers exchanged some astonished glances before Jeff knocked, the sound louder than he expected, causing his headache to worsen for a moment. When no one answered he counted to ten in his head before knocking again, slightly lighter this time, getting out the master suite key that Bobby had given him, ready to open it if no one was home.

"He must have this huge room to cross through," he whispered to Ray when ten more seconds passed. Hearing a doorknob turn on the other side, Jeff imagined coming face to face with some older man in a velvet robe or a Gulf sheikh, but instead was greeted by a middle-aged dark-haired woman in plain clothing. "Hi there!" Jeff greeted, putting on a fake smile. "We're here to check the pipe in your suite, may we come in?"

The woman did not understand judging by the confounded expression on her face. "She's a cleaner," Ray explained, and then spoke to her in Spanish. The woman perked up, smiled, and then nodded, opening up the door for them.

"Oh yeah, rich people don't clean their own homes," Jeff remarked. "How many languages do you speak?"

"Four," said Ray as the two of them entered. "English is still a work in progress."

The inside of the suite caused Jeff to forget that they were at the top of a building, the wide open space with high ceiling and crystalline chandeliers that dangled from it seemingly more reminiscent of some mansion in an affluent suburb. The only thing that reminded them of their location were the windows on the far end of the chamber that displayed the tops of other buildings across the street. The woman who answered turned down the first of two halls to the right, while Ray, reeling back from the sight, grabbed out his flashlight from his workbag and called out some questions to the cleaning lady.  After she answered him he led Jeff to the kitchen to the left of the rotunda, checked the pipes under the sink and then did the same in the three washrooms, one of which featured a large open window overlooking the city beside the toilet. Jeff pictured himself living here, rising each morning and doing his business while watching the streets nearly mile below. Once they left and Jeff had locked the door with the master suite key, they looked at one another.

"Think you'll ever get a place like that?" he asked Ray.

 "One day," he answered.

They then took the stairs to the lower penthouse, this hallway with two suites, both with no one home. Inside one of the suites it was clean, the walls undecorated, the few pairs of shoes at the front and the television set in the living room the only signs that someone lived there. In the other suite it was a different story; there were half eaten pizza crusts strewn about the kitchen counter, empty bottles of wine in the sink, and on the floor there were little bits of take-out food bags, plastic utensils, and Styrofoam containers of all shapes. Ray checked the pipes, made his notes, while Jeff crossed out the units on his sheet of paper, and they moved on. They got down to floor 43 after a few hours of venturing through mostly empty suites when Jeff realized how hungry he was.

"Lunch happening soon?" Jeff asked as they entered the stairwell. Ray wanted to get one more floor done first. They got through five empty suites, one with a yappy little dog that Jeff wanted to kick, before they got to the last suite before lunch.

Jeff knocked loudly three times, waited ten seconds, and then repeated the knocks, counting to ten one more time before retrieving the master key from his pocket, fitting it inside before opening the door with a soft creak. Inside was a small suite, like most of the units beneath the two top floors, a little hallway situated at the front, the kitchen opening up at the right, and a slightly longer hallway to the left. In front of them was a living room with a simple plaid patterned loveseat, an ugly beige armchair, a small old-school T.V., and a balcony filled with empty beer boxes piled on top of one another in numerous columns, barely a space to step between them.

"Man, I thought I drank too much," Jeff remarked as he noticed this, walking straight up to the glass sliding doors of the balcony, standing on his toes to see over the top of the boxes to the silver skyscraper across the street.

"I know eh?" Ray replied, going to the kitchen. Jeff heard the under-the-sink cabinet open up, Ray making a retching noise, prompting Jeff to speed back over to him.

"What is it?" he asked him, kneeling beside him in the kitchen, noticing the collection of stored butcher knives on the counter by the sink, some slabs of half cut raw meat further down from them.

"Gunk," Ray said, pointing his flashlight to the dark green slime that looked to be all over the pipes. He stood up, looking to the sink. "And it's clogged bad, look at all this water."

Jeff grimaced at the sight, still kneeling at Ray's side. "Ah, gunky," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Hey!"

The loud yell startled both of them, prompting Jeff to fling himself upward, banging his head against the ceiling of the cabinet. As he felt the fresh bump on the crown of his head, he turned about to see the source of the startling shout. The middle-aged man who stood at the archway of the hall was neatly dressed, wearing khaki pants with a tucked in purple dress shirt over a thin, near gaunt, torso. He had short thinning hair with tinges of gray and a clean-shaven face with strangely sunken cheeks and eyes. Hands on his hips in a challenging posture, the man's eyes went wild, marking his face in a look that Jeff could only describe as deranged. This must have been the resident.

"Oh hey," Jeff greeted awkwardly, nursing twin headaches now. The man's disposition made him apprehensive.

"What are you two doing in my home?" he demanded, his voice soft yet shrill at once.

"Oh, we are examining the pipes," Ray answered from Jeff's side.

"And you broke into my apartment?" the man then asked, taking a few small steps towards them. Jeff noticed the man's face was twitching slightly, while one of his eyebrows seemed raised slightly more than the other. His eyes, he noticed how odd they looked. There was something strange about his stare, as if his eyes were looking past him rather than at him. It made Jeff more uncomfortable.

"Oh, no disrespect sir, we didn't break in," replied Jeff, firm but polite as he tried his best to be when at work. "I knocked a few times but there was no answer."

"So that is why you broke into my property?"

Jeff raised his hands defensively, trying to appear non-threatening. "No sir, we are instructed to open up the doors if there's no answer. The building should have notified you ahead of time," he said, and then glanced about, looking to his left to the man's fridge, finding what he was looking for. 

"Ah," he said and pointed. "See here, you got on your fridge, the notice."

The man stormed past Jeff suddenly, grabbing the notice, the magnet that was holding it dropping to the floor with a clang. "Do not point at my fridge!" the man cried, his voice becoming harder, more aggressive. Jeff could tell his face had gone from a pale tone to a bright pink in that moment, and could smell alcohol on his breath.

Jeff held back his frustration, figuring the man to be drunk. "I apologize."

"We are only here to check your pipes, sir," said Ray.

"And why was he looking at my pipes then?" the man asked, crossing his arms in front of him, the paper notice still in his hand. "Why was security looking at my property?"

Jeff and Ray exchanged glances. "What the hell is with this guy?" Jeff asked himself in his aching head. Before he could muster out some professional sounding platitudes the man began shouting, this time more aggressively than ever. "Out! Out, both of you! Now!"

"Yes sir, but we need to check the pipes," Jeff tried to argue, but the man appeared more agitated. Jeff surged past him, grabbed the front door, and swung it open, Ray quickly moving through the doorway. The resident then charged towards the door as Jeff jumped through and shut it behind him.

In the hallway they looked at one another again, a perplexed look on Ray's face. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

Jeff shrugged, wiping a glob of sweat from his brow. "I don't know," he said. "We'll have to talk to Bobby when we get down there."

When they got to the front desk they both colourfully explained the incident that had just occurred. "Let me guess," said Bobby when they finished, a half smiled forming on his face. "4306?"

"Yes!" Jeff and Ray cried at the same time.

"Oh boy," Bobby grumbled. "I should've told you about Mr. Swick."

"Oh, he's been a problem before?" Jeff asked. As a security guard working in different buildings he had met his share of strange people, even though this man seemed to be taking it to an entirely different level.

"That's an understatement," said Bobby with a forced laugh. "Ah yeah, sorry! Hey, go for lunch guys, we'll chat when you get back!"

They parted the lobby, the two of them heading to a café across the street, the experience making them want to spend lunch together.

"What do you think is the deal with that man?" Ray asked once they sat down.

Jeff shrugged, sipping his second coffee, his hangover headache fully gone now, but the lump on his head still bugging him. "Some serious problem," he concluded. "Though I'm not a shrink or anything."

"Some people, man," Ray said, shaking his head. "They got problems."

"Maybe he's a psychopath or something."

"A psycho? You mean like a killer?"

"No," replied Jeff, thinking back to what he recalled reading about this subject. "Like, only a small number of psychopaths become murderers, although many murderers are psychopaths. They are just people with no conscience. I guess the proper term is anti-social personality disorder."

"Maybe that's it," said Ray, looking a bit spooked. "I hope we don't have to go back there."

Having calmed a bit, they moved on to some other conversations, talking about sports and music, and then the T.V. shows they liked, and finished off with some talk about the video games they used to play. Once they finished their food they made their way back to the building, the streets having become more crowded with cars and pedestrians since they had left for lunch.

"Psst, guys!" Bobby called in a near whisper as they entered the lobby again. In his hands he held a walkie-talkie. "Take this," he said, handing it to Jeff. "I saw Mr. Swick leave five minutes ago. When he leaves he's usually gone for at least an hour. Can you guys go in quickly?"

Ray looked to Jeff. "Oh boy," thought Jeff. "Like a covert operation."

On the ride up the elevator Ray looked apprehensive. Jeff asked him what he needed to check, and it turned out there was only one more set of pipes he had to check, the ones in the washroom. They should be able to get in and out in less than five minutes. Once on the 43^rd floor Jeff rushed to the door, opened it with the key, and then swiftly shut it behind them. Ray went straight down the small hall to the left and found the washroom, while Jeff stood outside another door across from it.

"Must be the bedroom," he thought and wondered what would be beyond the door. A potential psychopath's bedroom could be interesting, he thought, as his mind involuntarily conjured up disturbing images. Curiosity got the better of him, so he tapped on the door slightly, peering inside the room to find a normal looking clean bedroom, a twin sized bed at the end of one wall, a chestnut brown chest of drawers sitting across from it. At the far wall he noticed a glass door, the balcony, the same one accessible from the living room, beyond it, a little space between the far edge of the balcony and the columns of empty beer boxes.

"Jeff!" Bobby's tinny voice came through the radio clasped on Jeff's belt, loud static and whitenoise sounding before his next words. "You...is...get out!"

"Huh?" he said aloud, grabbing the radio, about to ask the concierge to repeat what he had just said.

And then Jeff smelled something. He wasn't sure what It was, but It was a bad scent, like something rotten. As the rancid smell travelled from his nostrils to his throat and mouth Jeff turned about from the doorway, surprised to find Ray at his side.

"You done?" he asked, noticing the strange look on Ray's face. His skin was pale, like he had been inside for a month in the span of a minute, his eyes wide, and his mouth contorted into what looked to be a fearful grimace.

"We need to leave," Ray stammered. "We need to leave! Need to leave!"

Jeff felt an intense dread wash over him, twice as strong as the feeling he had when the resident had been shouting at him before lunch. "What is it? What's in there?"

Ray gulped, beads of sweat washing down his forehead like a waterfall. "We need to leave!" he repeated.

Jeff just nodded, about to turn down the small hall to the front door when they both heard a twitch of the doorknob. Both of them froze in their steps. The doorknob turned. Without a further thought Jeff grabbed Ray's shoulder and pulled him into the bedroom, silently closing the door behind them as they heard the sound of the front door to the apartment swing open with a loud creak.

"Oh my god, oh my god!" Jeff's mind raced. "The butcher knives! We need to get out of here!"

"Balcony!" Ray whispered harshly, running across the tiny room to the glass door.

Jeff followed, sliding it open, the two of them squeezing in, the wall of beer boxes blocking their sight of the living room further down. With the bright sunlight in his eyes and the cold high altitude winds smacking against his face, Jeff, who was further towards the far edge of the balcony peered down the rail, suddenly dizzy as he caught a glance at the far distant street below. The cars were tiny, like toys from here, the people like ants. And then he saw it, the scaffold. It had to be maybe two floors beneath them, its catwalk empty. Jeff looked upward next, seeing the steel wires that were attached high above on the roof.

"Hey!" he said, tapping Ray's shoulder beside him in the tiny space. "Look, beneath us!"

Ray managed to squeeze into Jeff's side, looking down at the sight. "No way," he said under his breath. For a moment they both stared down, unsure of what to do. When enraged yelling emitted from beyond the glass the decision to jump was an easy one to make.

Jeff said nothing more, just flung his body over the side, his world whirling about as he fell, the shock of landing on his back reverberating throughout his body. When he found himself unharmed he leapt back onto his feet, motioning wildly with his arms for Ray to follow. Ray's eyes bulged in his head, but he jumped anyway, the shouting from Mr. Swick above getting louder. Jeff grabbed onto the rail of the scaffold as Ray landed beside him, the metallic floor shaking hardily.

"Now what?" Ray cried out between curses.

The security guard peered up at the balconies, and then covered his brow with a free hand as he took in the sight of the bases of balconies above him, the spire of the condominium jutting further up into a cloudless afternoon sky. He reached for his radio.

"Uh oh," he said in dread as he saw that he didn't have it on him. He must have left it in the unit, he quickly realized.

Ray began shaking, both of his hands gripping onto the rails, his feet stamping suddenly in panic. As Jeff was trying to figure out his next move he saw the steel wires suddenly break off from the top. That was when he realized that the scaffold was not properly secured. He swore in a whisper when the spire of the tower fell from his sight, the walls of the white building shooting past him as the platform fell. Jeff felt his body fall onto the hard floor, the sensation of dropping overwhelming him while he heard Ray screaming at his side, the tradesman too having lost his balance.

"Going to die!" a voice cried in Jeff's head. He shut his eyes, bracing himself for soon being a pile of slushy remains on the asphalt.

There was a sharp jolt, their bodies both flinging upwards for a second before landing hard again on the scaffold floor. The falling sensation ceased.

"Are we dead?" Ray asked plainly.

Jeff leaned up, looking down at his feet to the crumpled-up companion just past them. He then peered upward, sighting a helmeted man at the very top of the building, so small from this distant, yet he could see the man waving his hands frantically.

"What happened?" Ray asked.

Jeff shrugged. "Never look a horse in the gift mouth," he said, his panic causing him to fail to form a proper sentence. He turned his head, seeing another balcony at his side, his eyes meeting that of an old lady seated at a bistro-style table, a small cup of steaming tea in hand.

"Are you boys okay?" she asked.

Jeff and Ray stood up at once to take in their surroundings. They were hanging one floor above the street-level, a crowd of people having promptly formed beneath. "Hey there!" called Jeff to the people below, waving both hands before turning back to the elderly lady. "May we come in through here?"

Once securing her permission, the two of them vaulted over the balcony's edge and made their way hastily through the second-floor apartment to the front door, and from there through the hallway to the stairwell to the lobby. A panicked Bobby greeted them there, radio in hand, red-faced, he asked them what was happening.

"This is it," Jeff thought as he stood before him, Ray at his side. "This is your adventure, this is your chance to be a hero."

"Bobby!" he declared loudly. "Call the police!"

"The police? What happened?" the head concierge demanded.

"Call the police on Mr. Swick! Ray, tell him what you say in his washroom!" Jeff asked, turning to him, dreading to hear what he had seen in there.

"Oh yeah," said Ray with a shrug. "I saw it in his washroom! Mr. Swick took a big shit and didn't flush!"