The first change made to Toronto Maple Leaf Tower by Lou Lamoriello was the installation of a speaking tube connecting his office with the office of Kyle Dubas on the floor below. This, turn of the previous century, device was rarely used because Kyle was rarely in his office. However, with training camp only a few weeks away Kyle was working without pause.

At the moment, Kyle is catching up on a little sleep, so obviously the speaking tube booms into life.

“Ass!” Kyle is awake instantly, the pieces of his reality dropping into place with mechanical precision. By the time Lou bellows “ASS!” again he is ready. Kyle knows if he ignores the call Lou will contact the Toronto Fire Chief personally and have two ladder trucks sent over. He has only just replaced his door from the last time, and so decides on a prompt response.

“Yes Lou.” Kyle takes a swig from a stale cup of black coffee from some day before. The bitterness on his tongue helping to sooth the bitterness of his boss.

“Get up here. I fuckin need you. Fuckin fast.”

With Mark Hunter taking the scouting staff on a week long, LSD fuelled, corporate vision quest; and Brendan Shanahan paying his respects at the wake for Al Arbour; Kyle knew this was going to be a very long week. So far today Lou had demanded assistance with deciding between carrot and bran muffins, and locating Slovakia on a globe. None of those crises had gotten a ‘fast’ from Lou so Kyle knew something totally fucked was going on upstairs.

Pausing just before he opens the door, Kyle folds his hands together and bows his head. Alone he speaks as if the words were a spell. And maybe words do hold the power to create.

“Dear God and Lord Stanley, thank you for bringing us together here in Toronto, and please help Steven Stamkos find his way home.”

With his obsessive compulsion satisfied Kyle heads up to Lou, who is swearing before Kyle has even stepped into his office.

“Fuckin took you long enough ass. Fuck. I need your help with the fax scanning devicey thing here.” Lou has the remote for his cable box and is pointing it at his desktop screen, mashing his thumb on the buttons with the apparent goal of pushing as many as he possibly can at once.

“Just give me what you want to send, Lou, and I will take care of it.”

“I can’t. I want it to be a surprise for you guys, like a thanks for having me over gift you know.” Kyle says nothing. Lou says nothing. It takes every ounce of his training but Kyle does not crack. “Fuck. Alright. I’m trading Nylander to Florida with a third rounder for Dave Bolland.”

“No.”

“Fuck you. You’re my fuckin ass! Me and Dale figured it all out over a bukkake the other day. As soon as I can get this fuckin space trek faxiscanner to fuckin work the deal is done.”

“I can’t let you make that trade Lou.”

“What the fuck you gonna do about it ass?”

“Do I need to call Brendan?”

“Have some fuckin respect for the fuckin dead, pubic braid. Al Arbours wake is more important than any of this.” Lou waves dramatically around his office. “Al Arbour has taken shits that had more impact on the game than you ever will. I’m fuckin serious. He would leave a floater in the visitors change room before every game in the old Coliseum. Stank the room up so bad you could hardly think. I introduced him to pepperoni and sausage pizza before the season started in ’80, and you know how that year ended. Fuckin guy. You gonna help with this, shit ass?” He continues to grind his remote.

“No Lou”

“Your fuckin fired.”

“Okay.” Kyle pulls out his phone and dials. A voice picks up immediatley. “Hey Nancy, it’s Kyle. I need you to disconnect and isolate Lous office please. Yes again. I know it’s the second time this week. I know it’s only Tuesday.”

“It’s fuckin Lous’day.” Lou interjects.

“I’ll tell you what, just leave it dark until I tell you otherwise okay. Thanks. No you’re the best Nancy. Okay. Bye now.”

Lou hurls his remote at Kyles face but the nimble assistant easily dodges. “This is why everybody hates you.”

“Was that all Lou?”

“No. Something is wrong with my Netflix.” Kyle raises an eyebrow, always amazed at Lous ability to redirect. “Every once in a fuckin while I like to indulge in the classics. So I was searching for Mobsters, the 1991 smash hit, and the fuckin picture comes up on my Netflix but it says title unavailable. How the fuck can it not be there when they know what the fuck movie I’m fuckin talkin about?”

“It’s something to do with the Canadian Content Laws Lou. Always fucking us over.”

“The Law?! We are the fuckin Leafs!. You telling me that instead of Richard Grecos tour de force performance as Bugsy Siegel I gotta watch some fuckin documentary about Franco-Manitoban lesbian dog stylists? They never even show any bitch on bitch action. I thought I was watching doggy porn, but no! Richard Greco out acts that whole cast in Mobsters. Except maybe Dempsey, but no one tops Dempsey. Anyway, Grecos Bugsy is the only inspiration I have left ever since the Gottis went on reality T.V.”

“Sorry Lou. Even the Toronto Maple Leafs don’t have the power to conquer antiquated and ridiculous nonsense. If that was all, I am going for a break. I will have someone get Mobsters set up for you on blu-ray, alright big guy.”

Lou does not answer. Dejected he walks over to the full service bar along the East wall of his office and pours himself a pint of dark rum. Kyle leaves, quietly closing the door behind him. He pulls his phone out as he heads to the elevator and presses a button on the side.

“Jeff O’Niel,” he says. The phone dials. “O-Dog, whats good brother. You got time for Johnny? Get over here, see you in a minute.”