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

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  The thrill-seeking crowd chanted, “Kill him! Kill him!” inciting the troublemaker to squeeze even harder.

  JJ could see Noah’s eyes glazing over and stepped in to save his weakening friend.

  “No, JJ!” shouted Noah as his eyes locked with the gorilla’s. He butted his head on his foe’s nose.

  It wasn’t the big man’s first broken nose. He growled, “Cockroach! You die!” His vise-like hold increased.

  “Speak for yourself.” Noah landed a second head butt with as much force as he could muster, this time impacting beyond the goon’s forehead and into the frontal lobe. The blood vessels behind the forehead were disrupted, resulting in unseen interior bleeding and potential brain damage.

  Noah’s assailant was stunned for a moment, allowing Noah to break free.

  Noah lifted the three-hundred-pound man over his head and rotated like a helicopter propeller. The bloodthirsty crowd yelled, “Finish him off! Kill him!”

  After a dozen dizzying twirls, Noah tossed the bully to the feet of the crowd. Scanning their crazed faces, he said simply, “Even a cockroach deserves to live.” He then made the Shaolin hand sign to them, and to his defeated opponent.

  The furious and humiliated big man got up and charged at Noah. Noah straightened his arm and balled his fist. Unable to stop his momentum, gorilla’s head met fist and he was knocked unconscious.

  That was too easy. Noah shouted, “Call a doctor. He needs to be checked out.”

  The crowd ignored him; they wanted to celebrate their new hero. Noah was flocked by cab drivers, teenage girls, twenty-something guys, cougars, Wall Street types, gigolos.

  Rebuffing the unwanted adulation, Noah’s gaze turned to the gorilla and saw a Good Samaritan tending to him.

  Satisfied that his victim was in good care, Noah glanced at JJ and nodded. “Thanks, everybody!” shouted Noah and with that, he broke away from the flock to join JJ in full flight down the block, weaving in and around all the pedestrians, street musicians and hawkers.

  Two blocks later, Noah shot an over-the-shoulder check and stopped. He and JJ had lost the fan club.

  JJ admonished Noah, “He gave you a hard time because of what I was wearing? I thought freedom of expression was important in America.”

  “That’s the theory, but theoretically Heaven should have been a sanctuary,” replied Noah.

  “But, Noah, this is America, the land of the free. Americans worship freedom, but I am not free to be who I am. I can’t dress the way I want, can’t be who I want to be.”

  “Get off the pedestal, JJ. No one ever said this was the land of the perfect,” chided Noah.

  A young girl with a barely budding chest stumbled into JJ. Dull, lifeless eyes and fresh needle marks in her arms told Noah and JJ she needed a life change fast. “Hey, Mr. Karate Man, twenty bucks. Do with me whatever for ten minutes.”

  JJ reached into his uniform, pulled out twenty dollars and gave it to her.

  Stuffing it into her bra, she slurred, “So what’s your pleasure? Remember. Ten minutes. Or give me another ten and I’ll do you both.”

  JJ lifted her up with one hand over his head, positioning her head so she had a clear view of his stern face. “Go home to your family. This is not a place for you. You will die here.” He let her down.

  “Screw you.” Angrily, she pulled a dirty used needle from her pocket. She lunged at JJ, trying to stab him.

  Clueless to her motives, JJ didn’t know what she was trying to do but Noah did. He gripped her hand and swiped the needle from it.

  “Losers,” she screamed. She broke away from Noah’s grip and staggered down the street.

  Noah and JJ kept watching until she disappeared into the crowd. JJ said softly, “Freedom requires responsibility... Noah, I think New York needs us.”

  Noah nodded. “Maybe, but before we save the world...”

  “Yes, Noah?”

  “We are going to get you some normal clothes. No more pajamas on the street.”

  Chapter 17

  Clothing had never been important to Noah, but he remembered the arguments he and Olivia had about his dress. Noah had never worn anything that wasn’t purchased from a discount clothing market and he hadn’t changed, even though he now ran a multi-billion-dollar enterprise.

  In contrast, Noah always admired how good Olivia looked no matter what she was wearing (or not wearing.) It was rare that her coordinated outfits cost less than a month’s salary for the average worker, even if it was just jeans and a top.

  So, before they made an appearance at Café du Music, Noah decided that he and JJ would get new manly make-overs from an extravagant, designer flagship store, of which New York’s Fifth Avenue had no lack.

  It was an excruciatingly painful exercise. They had no interest in the free booze or food, Italian marble floors, which presidents or Fortune 500 execs shopped there, or how many hundreds of colors their shirts had… all they wanted was clean, uncomplicated elegance.

  For hours, they suffered through half a dozen shops before discovering that simplicity costs money. If they had opted for haute couture or runway zigzag stripes or avant garde stylings, they could have spent a third or less than the ten thousand dollars each that it cost to outfit them.

  It was almost ten in the evening before they were finally satisfied with their outfits and style.

  Insisting on an American designer, JJ opted for a black dinner suit with traditional smooth satin details. Two-button jacket, no vents, straight shoulders and a jetted breast pocket.

  Noah chose an Italian grey tuxedo. One button jacket and charcoal satin lapels without a breast pocket.

  The dress of both men was understated, but did not hide their athletic builds. If Noah were ten years older, he would have been an ideal candidate to play James Bond. If JJ were ten years older, he would be a perfect candidate to be a “Chinese James Bond.”

  Bystanders gawked like monks in a nudist camp at the handsome sophisticated studs as they strode from Times Square’s buzzing electricity to the diverse mix of rapid gentrification and rough-and-tumble working-class Irish American history of Hell’s Kitchen.

  Noah and JJ fit right into the gayborhood. Noah pointed to a red neon sign announcing the iconic Café du Music, nestled in a block that was home to a mom-and-pop eatery, classic dive bars, a trendy club, and brick walk-up apartments. “We’re here.”

  Entering the lobby of the jazz club, Noah and JJ turned the eyes of the other patrons, even eliciting an approving smile from Olivia as she and Abby exited the lounge and approached them.

  As JJ made his eye-catching customary head-to-floor bow, Noah’s cool almost evaporated when a knot of nerves attacked. How do you greet someone who’s dumped you and then a few weeks later asked you to fly to New York to see her to discuss a business project you couldn’t care less about?

  Olivia solved the problem by giving Noah a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “Noah, you look fabulous.”

  She’s talking and acting like a phony socialite already. I knew I shouldn’t have come.

  “And who’s this handsome beast with you?” continued Olivia.

  It took every ounce of self-control Noah had to keep from screaming, “Shut the f- up.” Instead, Noah’s plastic smile matched his former girlfriend’s. “Olivia, Abby, I’d like you to meet JJ. He is the new VP of martial arts training at the Foundation. He comes from the same Shaolin heritage as Master Wu and your fathers.”

  “Cool,” replied Olivia. “Hung Gar. Right?”

  “Yes. The Tiger and Crane.”

  “Well, we don’t have much need for that in New York. If someone’s got a problem, they’ll just shoot you,” said Olivia.

  “Right,” said Noah. Shoot me first. Please. Or put me back on the next plane to Hong Kong.

  Eminently polite and civilized, JJ spoke with soothing tones, “I am so looking forward to hearing the two of you perform. Noah has told me so much about you.”

  “Don’t believe him. They’re all lies,” sa
id Olivia.

  “What kind of music do you like, JJ?” asked Abby.

  “I’m a Bob Dylan fan. ‘The Times, they are a Changin’ is my favorite song.”

  Abby’s eyebrows piqued with curiosity. “Really? Why’s that?”

  “It reflects my life’s situation. Less than a week ago, I was a Shaolin Buddhist monk in an isolated monastery in China’s Huangshan Mountain range, thinking it would be home for the rest of my life.”

  “What happened?”

  JJ smiled broadly. “I met Noah Reid.”

  That broke the ice. Awkwardness disappearing, Olivia whispered to Abby as the group stepped into the lounge, “He’s got a sense of humor. I like that… and so should you.”

  “Just play the piano, girlfriend.”

  Chapter 18

  Noah and JJ glanced around the room, feeling out of place. No one else was dressed as well as they were, and the orange juice and Perrier water they ordered were the only non-alcoholic beverages in sight. Still, the joint was packed to the gills with people enjoying themselves.

  JJ said to the girls, “You must be very popular. There are so many people here.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, but it’s nothing to do with us,” replied Olivia. “This is Showcase Monday and it’s always jammed.”

  “But a thirty-dollar cover and two-drink minimum is pretty steep,” said Noah as he perused the menu.

  “Actually, for most here, it’s chump change. They all want to see a star before it shoots off. Most of the acts are so so but, every now and then, one of them takes off… and you want to be able to say, ‘I was there,’” interjected a smiling Queenie as she joined the table.

  Tossing her boa over her shoulder in a move that threw her perfumed scent across the table, Noah and JJ were struck by the sight of the lithe, sensuous Eurasian whose aura communicated potential pleasures.

  “Noah, JJ, meet our friend and hopefully manager, Queenie,” announced Olivia.

  Noah grinned and offered his hand. “Are you the reason I hopped onto a plane with one day’s notice to get here?”

  “I plead guilty. Thanks for making the time.”

  “Not a problem. This is my associate, JJ. He’s a Shaolin monk.”

  Queenie watched intently as JJ stood, folded his hands and bowed. She turned to Abby and Olivia. “That’s an angle. Something ordinary turned into something special.”

  Turning back to JJ, Queenie commented, “You don’t seem like a monk to me. You look more like, well... a movie star.”

  JJ chuckled, embarrassed. “I had never even seen a movie until I took my first plane ride a couple of weeks ago. We were rather isolated in Heaven.”

  “Heaven?” said Queenie with surprise.

  “That was the name of the monastery because ‘Heaven on Earth’ was the original vision. But, sad to say, there was a lot more earthly influence than anyone wanted to admit.”

  Their attention shifted to the stage where Benjamin announced, “Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Monday Showcase at the Café. For those of you that are new, be prepared to be dazzled… or disappointed. The showcase rules are strict. I personally pre-screen everyone and, if you’re fortunate or talented enough to get through that, you get fifteen minutes and no more.”

  “Shut up, Benjamin. Let’s get it on,” heckled one patron.

  “I love you too, Hamish,” said Benjamin, giving the thumbs’ up. “Let’s give it up for violinist Angie. If you liked Stéphane Grappelli, you’re gonna love her.”

  Queenie hid her nervousness. As much as she wanted to buy out the joint, Benjamin still couldn’t stop his paying regulars from showing up. It was a nail-biting ninety minutes of watching as the knowledgeable, packed lounge gave their verdicts with derisive hoots or enthusiastic clapping.

  After a Sinatra-style crooner finished demolishing, “My Way,” Benjamin hopped back onstage. “Well, you can’t win them all. But I promise the last act will make up for the bad judgment on my part.”

  In truth, Queenie got Benjamin to showcase the turkey so that Abby and Olivia would be more than welcome relief.

  Noah and JJ joined in the whistles, hoots and applause.

  Benjamin held his hands up to stem the commotion. “Listen. My family has had this place for close to a century and, in that time, we’ve had more than twenty thousand new artists strut their stuff for Monday Night Showcase. Some of it has been bad, some of it so so…”

  “You ain’t said shit, Benjamin,” called a back row customer.

  “But once or twice a year, someone comes along that makes slogging through the crap worthwhile. Will our last act be like that, or are they gonna make you want to leave before last call? Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give it up for Abby Sung and Olivia Southam, direct from Hong Kong.”

  Noah and JJ jumped up to give a standing ovation, the only ones in the crowd to do so as Abby and Olivia joined the drummer and string bass player onstage.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Abby and Olivia had the crowd eating out of their hands as they took the audience on a tour of the Gershwin classics, “Summertime” from the opera Porgy and Bess, songs from An American in Paris, the classics, “Our Love is Here to Stay,” and “I’ve Got Rhythm.”

  No one could ask for anything more. Finishing off, Abby did a handspring on the piano lid and landed beside Olivia on the piano bench. She swooped her hand over the ivories with a glissando, then jumped up, ran a couple of steps, leaped into the air and somersaulted onto the table where Noah, JJ and Queenie sat.

  As the room stood and shouted, “Bravo,” Abby pointed at Olivia to take her bows.

  Noah leaned to Queenie, “I think they got your message about finding an angle.”

  Queenie gave Abby and Olivia a thumbs’ up as Benjamin jumped back onstage, clapping enthusiastically as he stepped back to the microphone. “Eye candy, ear candy and a circus at the end. What a treat! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for A & B, Abby and Olivia, Alpha and Beta, East and West, Yin and Yang.”

  Abby and Olivia soaked in the accolades. They may not have conquered New York yet, but they made a damned good impression with a hundred and seventy-five of the most knowledgeable jazz patrons in the world. Did life get better than this?

  Queenie was ecstatic. Even though she was prepared to paper the place with friends and colleagues, she only had to fork out for half the patrons. The rest were genuine customers who gave genuine approval with their own cold hard cash.

  The happiest clam, though, was Benjamin. Fifteen thousand of the money Queenie borrowed had come back to him right away. And she still owed the full hundred and fifty.

  Olivia glanced at Noah. Even though his face shone exuberance as he applauded, she saw a faraway bittersweet look in his eyes. She knew because she felt exactly the same.

  After the crowd of well-wishers finished asking about their next gigs, where they could pick up their albums, and the gutsier trying to get their phone numbers, Abby and Olivia made their way back to their table where a celebratory bottle of champagne awaited.

  “That was totally awesome,” said Noah, pouring the bubbly into the glasses. He intoned seriously, “You made the right choice, Olivia. This is where you belong.” He gazed over at Abby. “I guess Hong Kong is not going to be seeing much of either of you anymore. It hasn’t been a month and I can’t believe how much your act has changed. So what are the plans?”

  “I guess that depends on Queenie,” replied Olivia.

  Noah’s eyes returned to the crane woman. “Really? What is it you do, Queenie? Olivia’s hinted but not really said anything I can get a handle on.”

  Queenie plucked a long feather from her boa and held it like Audrey Hepburn holding a long cigarette holder. “I work in the entertainment industry. Specialize in music. These days you must do a bit of everything. I find artists, manage them, put together record deals, and go on the road with them.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “Excitement lasts for thirty seconds. After that, it’s wo
rk. To find the cream, you got to scrape through a lot of scum.”

  Benjamin popped by, plopping another bottle of champagne on the table. “You girls were fabulous. Queenie, you better sign them up fast or I’m gonna lock them up!”

  “Yeah, what are you going to offer them, Benjamin?” taunted Queenie.

  “Ten percent better than whatever you’re offering,” joked the club owner as he popped the cork on the champagne.

  Interest piqued, Olivia ventured cautiously, “What is your offer?”

  Queenie’s response was instantaneous. “Twenty percent of the gross on live performances and one hundred percent of the publishing.”

  Olivia’s feet pressed hard at the floor. She knew nothing about entertainment law but thought Queenie’s offer was robbery. “That seems high. I can do the legals to bring costs down…”

  “Are you crazy?” interjected Benjamin. “Entertainment law is not corporate or real estate law. Like the saying goes, ‘Any lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client.’”

  “How about ten percent gross on live and half the publishing?” returned Olivia.

  “This isn’t Shark Tank, Olivia. You want to haggle for a handbag, go back to Hong Kong.” Queenie took the feather from her mouth and put it back into the boa. “I know what I’m worth and that’s my price.”

  Abby leaned into Olivia’s ear. “It sounds good to me, Olivia. We should take it.”

  Olivia spoke into Abby’s ear. “Never take an opening offer. First rule of negotiation.”

  “Greedy people wind up with nothing,” replied Abby, consternation spreading on her face. “I don’t want to blow this.”

  Queenie sensed the conflict between Abby and Olivia. It was healthy as it made her offer feel more real but, at the same time, she didn’t want the situation to go south. “Tell you what. I want to show you a little something. After that, you can decide whether we get in bed with each other,” offered Queenie.

  Still uncertain, Olivia turned to the only person in the room she trusted. “What do you think, Noah?”