The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series: Books 1-3 (plus special bonuses)

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  She hated this room. It reeked of stale cigarette smoke, body odor and leftover booze. Some of it was ingrained in the walls, but most of the stench came from Alexei.

  “I need more time,” began Queenie, hiding behind a machismo that concealed her fear. “The shipment is temporarily delayed.”

  The Russian mobster growled in accented broken English, “I give you cash prepayment for guaranteed shipment and delivery. This not good, Queenie.”

  “This is the first time this has ever happened,” Queenie said, trying to read his eyes through the dark lenses of his aviator sunglasses.

  “This was first time I give million bucks up front. I never do that for nobody.”

  “I’ll get it to you. Don’t worry.”

  “I always worry and you should worry even more. Just because your father and I are friends does not mean business is not business,” replied Alexei sternly.

  Queenie gripped the chair. She couldn’t let up on her act now. It would be disastrous if he suspected how thin the ice she was treading on was. “You want to do business with my father, you better start thinking like him. He makes big money because he takes big gambles. This is your test and it’s not even a gamble. Just a slight delay.”

  She knew how much Alexei wanted to get in on Chinese business. He’d heard how much the Asians threw money around and he’d been working on establishing a relationship with Chin for years. So far, Chin didn’t do business with him but the Russian figured if he proved himself through Queenie, he would prove to Chin that he could be an asset. That potential was keeping Queenie alive right now.

  “Anyone else treat me like you, I throw them with the other cheats, betrayers and backstabbers at the bottom of the Hudson River.”

  She snapped, “Are you trying to tell me that everything you do goes according to schedule? Do you not watch CNN and see the monster storms that have hit the Pacific?”

  “If there was delay, why you not tell me?”

  “Because we thought we could make up the time. Unfortunately, we couldn’t,” said Queenie with ice in her veins. “The boat is being repaired and we’re back on track.”

  Alexei removed his shades, revealing a nasty scar around his right eye socket and a left glass eye, courtesy of a captured Chechen who stabbed a hidden knife into Alexei’s iris, just before the then-young soldier took the rebel’s life. “What you gonna do for me if I give you the week?”

  Queenie noticed the veins in Alexei’s neck beginning to bulge, his heavy breathing and his face flushing with scarlet.

  He’s taking my clothes off. Good. Queenie knew that Alexei had wanted her to Kim Kardashian him ever since he saw her with an aging rock star in a video gone viral three years ago. It was time to step things up. She tossed her boa over her shoulder, allowing Alexei a perfect view of her pointed nipples on top of her perfectly formed breasts through her transparently thin blouse.

  Watching Alexei’s good eye virtually popping out of his head, Queenie answered smoothly, “I promise that I won’t kill you.” Then she vaulted at him from her chair and wrapped her boa around Alexei’s thick neck. She pulled on it like a garrote. Unlike ordinary flimsier boas that would snap easily, Queenie’s boa was strung together with nylon cord with a tensile strength of over a thousand pounds.

  The Russian gangster tried to free himself but Queenie was deceptively powerful. Alexei’s eye bulged and his hands waved in the air. He struggled to speak but the words choked in his throat. As Raoul whipped out his gun and aimed it at her forehead, Queenie snapped, “Make a move and I’ll strangle him.”

  Instead of obeying, Raoul cocked the trigger. Queenie quickly stepped behind Alexei, using him as a human shield. She started pulling tighter on the Russian mobster’s throat.

  Watching his boss’ face turn bluish red, the marksman threw his gun in front of Queenie. “Don’t kill him.”

  The one-hundred-and-fifteen-pound Queenie knew she’d never get out alive with another half a dozen of Alexei’s men behind the door. It didn’t matter. She’d made her point. She relaxed her hold. “He’s no good to me dead.”

  Alexei gasped. The rancid odor of his office had never smelled this good.

  Queenie glared at him. “Never forget I am my father’s daughter.”

  “You got yourself another week to deliver merchandise,” panted the Russian, with an attitude puffed with bluster.

  Queenie sneered. “We will remember that you threatened me. Don’t you ever do that again.”

  She strode out like a confident bitch that knew she had her man by the balls.

  Stepping out into the Manhattan sunshine, Queenie blew out a long, slow breath of air—she’d dodged a large-caliber bullet. She was still shaking when she made a phone call.

  “Did you take my advice?” asked Chin.

  “Yes, but it’s only a matter of time before he finds out about you, King and me,” worried Queenie. “But I still have his million dollar problem. And all the other debts I have.”

  “So if you want to save yourself, go after Noah Reid. Go for his hot spot and pressure it until he has no choice but to give up.”

  “What’s that?” asked Queenie.

  “Not what, but who. Olivia Southam, my old lawyer’s daughter. They broke up and he’s still broken up about it. To get to my money, it will be easier to go through her but don’t be greedy. Don’t go after all of it at once. Go after two hundred and fifty.”

  Queenie knew her father was worth billions. That’s why she and King were so pissed when he rejected them for a measly twenty million. “So you want me to do your dirty work for you.”

  “I have enough money stashed away to disappear. But you? That’s another story.”

  “Why two fifty? Why not more? Why not less?”

  “It’s as much work to go after a million as half a billion so you have to make it worth your while. But it has to be a number that Noah will be willing to lose.”

  It was hard to argue with her father’s logic. “So how do I get to Olivia? Where do I go to get to her?”

  “You don’t have to go anywhere. She’s in New York with Abby, Tommy’s daughter.”

  “Why and what’s the angle?”

  “They think they’re musicians. They’ve gone to New York to play in the big leagues.”

  Queenie spat her tongue in disgust. “Oh, brother, not no-talent dreamers. They all think they’re coming to conquer the Big Apple. Musicians are all insecure, gullible and trusting. Always waiting for a break that never comes. Chasing dreams that never get caught.”

  “Use that to your advantage.”

  “Of course. You’re talking about my turf.” Queenie hung up.

  As she paced thoughtfully down the street, Queenie ran through her list of contacts, formulating a plan. Her eyes flashed as the pieces started coming together. She punched a number into her cell.

  There was an almost immediate response. “Queenie, how good to hear from you. What’s happening with my favorite piece of ass that I still have yet to taste?”

  Biting her lip to keep from lashing out, she cooed, “I want to give you some business, Benjamin.”

  “Am I doing you or are you doing me?”

  Queenie shook her head and put the cell phone away from her ear for a moment. She hated these stupid games. “I want to use the Café to hold some auditions.”

  “When, for how long and how much will you pay?”

  “I want to start in three hours and we’ll go as long as we need. Not too long.”

  “The pay, Queenie. The pay.”

  “Do me this favor and I’ll make it worth your while. I’m coming to discuss the details.”

  “Exciting!”

  “Yeah? Like how?”

  “By wanting to see me in person. Anything but sex we can do over the phone, and we can even try that if you like. One of these days you’re going to surprise me and say yes.”

  That’s the same day hell freezes over. “I’ll be there in an hour. Expect some calls and line them up.�
��

  “You are so demanding for a freebie.”

  “Love you too, Benjamin.”

  She hung up and started googling Olivia on her phone. The scant info was pretty boring. Mainly info about her old law firm Pittman Saunders. Lawyer, Harvard Law School, private boarding school. And a picture that made her look like she needed to drink a jug of prune juice to loosen up. She shook her head and started browsing for info about Abby. Same deal as Olivia. Studied music at Juilliard. Head shot that looked like she was a nun. “This is bullshit. Can’t use any of this.”

  She started digging into their info on Facebook and smiled. FB is where people revealed themselves, especially when they thought it was just for their friends or close associates. But Queenie was a social media expert. She could hack into almost anything. This was better. Abby singing, accompanied by Olivia on the piano. Performing old jazz standards at low-level clubs. Selfies outside recording studios.

  Queenie knew the angle to take. She was going to help make their dream come alive.

  Chapter 6

  “I’m going to grab a bite outside. Want anything when I come back?” asked Noah.

  It was a rhetorical question. Sam was conked out from the barrage of painkillers and JJ, slumped in the chair beside Sam’s bed, was just plain worn out from exhaustion.

  Noah was glad for the solitude as he stepped out of the hospital room. He had had hardly any time to himself since Olivia told him she was leaving just a few weeks ago. Not in the mood for hospital food, he took the elevator to the main floor.

  He had barely stepped outside before a smelly, hunchbacked woman in dirty clothes accosted him. She took Noah’s arm and pleaded, “Money, sir. Money.”

  Much as his heart reached out to her desperate situation, Noah knew that giving her anything was inviting trouble. He would be swarmed by beggars hoping for a handout from the soft white man if he gave to one of them.

  Ignoring her pleas, he kept his eyes focused straight ahead and continued walking.

  Then, at the street corner, a sight stopped him cold. A little girl, maybe six years old, was unsuccessfully trying to convince every passerby to buy her wilted red roses. To the casual observer, she was just another street beggar but something about the tone of her voice reminded him of… Olivia. As the little girl made her pitch, he could hear Olivia’s voice saying, “I love roses. What’s wrong with roses? My mother loved roses and so do I.”

  He approached her and stooped. “Hey, what’s your name?”

  “Li Min.”

  “So, Li Min, you have a lot of flowers. How much for all of them?”

  “Ten dollars,” replied the urchin.

  “So much?” exclaimed Noah.

  “Okay, okay. Can you give me one dollar?”

  Without letting anyone else nearby see, Noah pressed ten dollars into her hand.

  Li Min’s eyes opened wide. She had never seen so much money in her life and she balled her fist to hide it.

  Noah held his index finger to his mouth, indicating he didn’t want her to let anyone know. Thinking of how he might help her, he thought of the foundation. She would be a candidate to join. “Do you like basketball?”

  She shook her head. “I’m too short.”

  “How about kung fu?”

  “I hate fighting… I like to sing.” She broke into a traditional Chinese song 世上只有妈妈好 (In the world, Mother is best)

  There is no one like a mother

  A child with a mother is truly blessed

  Covered with a mother’s arms

  Happiness will never end

  There is no one like a mother

  Without a mother is like grass without roots

  How can one find happiness?

  As she sang, Noah tried hard to keep his emotions from erupting. Ten years ago, he had lost his mother and father to a drug addict they had taken in. Noah had drowned himself in alcohol to mask his grief and only Master Wu’s patient care took him out of it. “That was beautiful.”

  “It’s okay, but I heard someone in the hospital play it on the piano and it sounds so much better,” said Li Min.

  “Why were you in the hospital? You don’t look very sick to me.”

  “Not me. My mother. She works there washing dishes so sometimes I have to stay outside and sell flowers.”

  Noah glanced at the hospital. “Maybe someday I can start a singing group and we can sing together.”

  The little girl giggled. “I’d like that. Can you sing?”

  “Me? I’m terrible. But I have friends who love music. I’ll try to get some of them to come.”

  “Mama!” cried Li Min as a haggard woman in her thirties approached. Pointing to Noah, Li Min cried out, “He bought all the flowers and someday he’s going to start a music group for us.

  The mother’s eyes glowed with appreciation. “Xie xie ni. Thank you. We all need music.”

  Chapter 7

  When they got into New York, Abby and Olivia’s full-time job was to find a place to rent. There was something about the words “piano” and “singer” that was poison to potential landlords, so when one building manager expressed a willingness to consider them, they dropped everything to look.

  Ten minutes on the subway, another eight minutes of walking, one minute on the elevator, five minutes to check it out and ten seconds to sign the deal. Another eight minutes to do a credit check, thirty seconds to hand the apartment manager three thousand bucks cash “incentive,” and Abby and Olivia had a New York apartment just about all to themselves, save for the hopefully musically appreciative cockroaches.

  “How are we going to get our stuff in here?” groaned Olivia. There was the double bed she and Abby would have to share, a table, two chairs, and a baby grand piano that needed to be crammed into the studio.

  “Five thousand bucks for five hundred and forty-seven square feet. They are bandits. Bandits!” complained Abby.

  “I should have been in the real estate business,” grumbled Olivia as she stood looking out the window onto the bustling New York street.

  “My dear, you were in the real estate business at your father’s law firm, and you hated it,” reminded Abby. “But at least you liked Noah.”

  “Liked, as in past tense, is the operative word. How about you? I saw that building manager giving you goo goo eyes.”

  “Ugh. No Asian men,” gagged Abby as she started cruising the net on her iPad. “Did you see him trying to show off his Rolex? As if that meant anything.”

  “He rented the space to us. That’s all that counts.”

  Abby peered up from her iPad. “Hey, check this out. ‘Established jazz lounge looking for female musicians to showcase on Monday night. No pay but great exposure.’”

  “Oh, wow,” replied Olivia sarcastically. “Let’s expose ourselves. That sounds sketchy. Why would they specify ‘female’? Maybe it’s some lech trying to trick girls with stars in their eyes into bed. I am so not into being a musical porn star. Pay me and play me. Ugh.”

  “Or maybe there’s some astute club owner or record executive that recognizes women are a fast-growing demographic that is under-represented. Don’t be so skeptical, Olivia.”

  “It’s my lawyer nature to be skeptical. And another question, if this place is so ‘established,’ then why do they need to advertise? And why isn’t there any pay?”

  “It doesn’t have to pay, Olivia. This is New York. The place is crawling with musicians wanting to get exposure.”

  “Abby, something smells. No established jazz club in New York advertises. We can just pay our dues and work our way up.”

  “We have been paying our dues for years, Olivia. We’ve played all the dives, attic clubs, and after-hours jazz places. We’re on a first name basis with every bouncer in town... At any rate, it doesn’t hurt to call.”

  “Be my guest,” shrugged Abby.

  Olivia pasted a smile on her face as she punched the number into her cell.

  “Hello. Café du Music,” answered
a brusque male voice.

  Olivia forced a cheery voice and asked, “Hi, you’re looking for female acts for showcasing?”

  “Yup. What do you do?”

  “I play the piano and my girlfriend sings. We just blew back into town.”

  Olivia heard grumbled murmurs before the voice resumed.

  “So where you from?”

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “Listen, there are more than eight million people in New York City and almost every one of them is either a writer, actress or musician. I need to find an angle I can promote.”

  “We’re from Hong Kong. You want an angle? I’m Caucasian. My friend’s Chinese. East meets West. Yin meets Yang. Angle enough for you?”

  There were a few moments of unbearable silence. “Can you come in two hours for an audition?”

  “Audition for a job that doesn’t pay?”

  “Hey, you called me.”

  With Olivia’s impatience starting to come through, Abby grabbed the phone. “We’ll be there. Who should we ask for?”

  “Queenie. I’m just taking her calls to set things up. You get five minutes to impress her.”

  “Okay, we’ll be there.” Abby hung up.

  Olivia turned to Abby with disdain. “Café du Music? What kind of random made-up name is that?”

  Unlike Olivia, Abby’s face hummed with excitement. “That’s the latest name of Le Chat Noir. Same family of owners for a hundred years. They just open, then close. Open under a new name, run it for a while, then close again.”

  “They close because they don’t pay their bills. Right?” said Olivia.

  “At least they’re honest. They’re already telling us they’re not going to pay.”

  “I hate honesty.”

  “Shut up and let’s go.”

  Chapter 8

  In its various incarnations over the decades, Café du Music survived recessions, wars, and changes in musical taste. It remained true to the original vision of Benjamin’s great-grandfather Abraham when he opened “Le Chat Noir,” naming it after the nineteenth century Bohemian cabaret in Paris.