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

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  Noah masked the sudden nervous twitch of his hands. He hadn’t a clue as to whether this was a good deal or not but he wasn’t about to admit that. He answered enigmatically. “A worker deserves her wages, assuming she delivers. So let’s see if Queenie can deliver.”

  Alexei was fuming. Hassan hadn’t returned his phone called for over twelve hours. I knew I no should work with bastard. Stick to Russians.

  The brawny Russian had an urgent matter to discuss with the Iraqi. He wanted to visit Skyscape to impress a young female singer named Lena and her mother/manager who had flown in from Moscow. Alexei wanted to wow her with ‘his’ studio tomorrow night and wanted Hassan to pull out all stops to impress.

  Could she sing? Alexei couldn’t care less. With her ample creamy breasts overflowing her skimpy bikini top and curvaceous hips, tight butt and slim waist almost undulating out of her string bikini bottom in her sexually-charged music video, Alexei couldn’t wait for a private performance.

  And her mother? Well, she had been a B movie actress thirty years ago whose claim to fame was being a natural 38D who had no qualms about proving it, either onscreen or in private. Alexei never had a mother/daughter combination before and he salivated at the possibility.

  But that wasn’t the entire source of Alexei’s vexation.

  I never should have introduced Queenie to Hassan. I bet he’s doing her now.

  As he continued to brood, the Russian’s veins bulged from his neck. He and Hassan had put a ten-thousand-dollar bet on which of them would get to bed Queenie first. The Slovak boor’s ego went crazy at the thought that the Asian slut would prefer the Haji to him. He even went along with the idea of fronting the million dollars when Queenie approached him, thinking that it would give him an edge not only with her father but with her.

  Now he was getting bitten in the ass twice. Queenie hadn’t coughed up or put out and Hassan was not answering his calls.

  Someone was going to pay.

  Chapter 19

  Queenie booked a limo to take the entourage from Greenwich Village to Hell’s Kitchen. Hell’s Kitchen was an area unfamiliar to Noah or JJ. Even in the darkness, they noticed that much of the neighborhood suffered the “gentrification syndrome,” while a smaller portion maintained its eclectic ambience of artists and working class personality.

  When they arrived at the Vector Building, Queenie announced, “We’re here.” Noting the curious expressions on the faces of Noah, JJ, Olivia and Abby as they surveyed the old building, she explained, “Inside the building is something you’d never suspect—a world class recording studio on the top floor. Let’s go in.”

  Noah and JJ looked up to see the lights on the topmost floor. The light was enough to show that the building’s bricks, window frames and ledges were repaired, restored or replaced. Plastic tarps covering the windows of some floors showed the renovation was not yet complete.

  The Vector Building’s security guard recognized Queenie and waved her through. The rest of the party had to undergo the security check: the metal detector and a pat down in a security room.

  It was routine for all except JJ. The metal detector alarm went off. A frisk showed he carried three metal martial arts throwing stars.

  “I’m sorry, sir. You cannot enter with these,” said the guard.

  Noah stepped in with a straight-faced lie. “Forgive my friend. He is a monk and Shaolin monks require that these religious icons be with them at all times.”

  “You can kowtow or bow wow to any god you like but there is no way in heaven or in hell that those are coming through,” said the guard with dictatorial authority.

  Queenie stepped in and pressed a fifty into the guard’s hand. “Hey, Jerry, these are my friends. Please let them in. I will vouch for them myself.”

  “Only for you, Queenie.” The guard pocketed the cash and waved them through. Getting on the elevator, they whisked directly to the twelfth floor.

  Kenny was there to greet them. “Welcome, Olivia, Abby, Noah and JJ. Queenie’s told me about you. I’m Kenny Tsang, studio manager of Skyscape.” The affable Asian shook Noah and JJ’s hands and planted kisses on the women’s cheeks.

  “Kenny’s an example of the kind of person I could help,” stated Queenie. “Tell him your story.”

  Kenny grinned. “Sure thing. As you can tell from my accent, I’ve only been in the US for a few years. I’ve always wanted to be in the music biz as producer, manager, engineer… anything but as a poor immigrant, I didn’t have a chance. I started pushing broom at a studio, working sixty hours a week for almost nothing. I spend all my spare time watching the artists, producers and engineers. Every now and then, someone would be sick or hungover and I’d get a chance at working on a session. Not the fastest way, but it works.”

  “I’ve got an idea to shortcut the process but first, let’s take a tour,” said Queenie.

  Kenny led the group down the hall to Studio 1. They stepped inside to see Tim producing a vocal take with Richie Lake, the lead singer of YES BABE.

  Noah was stunned to see Abby and Olivia acting like pubescent teenage girls, shrieking when they saw Richie through the studio window. They immediately put their hands on their mouths, embarrassed at their schoolgirl response.

  “You know who this guy is?” asked the incredulous Noah.

  “Of course,” whispered Olivia. “Everyone knows who Richie Lake from YES BABE is.”

  Noah turned to JJ. We’re not everybody.

  Tim pressed his finger on the talkback switch on the mammoth control room console. “Listen to the others so you can get the cut-offs more in sync. Also, tighten your diaphragm to support the high note at the end of the last phrase. It’s pitchy.”

  “Fix it in the mix, Tim. I’m tired and I want to go home,” whined Richie.

  “Sorry, Bud. We ain’t leaving until you get it right. And do it all in one breath. Don’t split it.”

  “But I’m running out of air.”

  “Then don’t use it all up front. Save it for the end. And support the sound. Tuck it in. Okay. Coming at you again.”

  “I hate you, Tim,” snapped Richie. “I’m going home now.”

  As Richie began taking off his headphones, Tim pulled a Jekyll and Hyde and screamed, “Richie, you do that, then never come back again. You’re a damned piece of shit and nothing without me.”

  Noah, Abby and Olivia watched in rapt fascination as the pouting Richie stood tapping his foot for a dozen seconds before putting his headphones back on, “Run the tune, Tim.”

  The Svengali’s eyes twinkled as he said, “Get into the mood, Richie. You know I love you, kid. Come on. Smile for me. Come on, come on.”

  Richie’s icy glare melted into a slight upward curving of his lips.

  “Awesome.” Tim put the computer into RECORD.

  Richie popped in the vocal on the last two lines. Tim stopped recording and pressed the talkback button. “Not bad. Almost there. Let’s do it again.”

  As the tune started again, Queenie led the group out of the control room and back into the hall.

  “Tim was fabulous,” gushed Abby. “At first I didn’t know what he was talking about but the second take was amazing.”

  “What was amazing to me was how he handled that kid,” said Noah. “That was totally opposite to what most social workers would do.”

  “Tim’s got a knack for working with people,” agreed Queenie. That plus a couple hundred grams of coke to both Richie and Tim for putting on the show.

  As they walked down the empty hall, Tim rushed up from behind to join them. “Hi, Queenie. Sorry, my bad. I should have said hello.”

  “No worries. We saw you were busy. Hey, Tim. Meet my colleagues, Abby and Olivia. Their friends Noah and JJ flew in from China just to see them at Benjamin’s place.”

  Tim gave a quick wave. “Nice to meet you all. What brings you here tonight?”

  “I just wanted them to see Skyscape. They’ve never been in a world class studio so I thought I’d give them a tour,
” replied Queenie. “Thanks for letting us pop in and see a bit of your session. Now I’m going to take them to Studio 3.”

  “Nice. I love that room. Warm. Intimate. Oh, why don’t I show you? Richie’s done and gone so I got time. Come on.”

  Tim led them down the hall and opened the door to a recording room where a guitarist, bass player and drummer were waiting. Beside them was a microphone on a stand and a nine-foot concert grand piano.

  As Abby, Olivia, Noah and JJ looked on curiously, Queenie announced, “Abby and Olivia, three time Grammy-nominated producer Tim Martin is going to produce Forever I Will Love You. Abby, get behind the mic and Olivia, sit at the piano.”

  As gofers gave everyone their headphones, positioned Abby and had Olivia comfortably settled at the piano, Tim said, “When Queenie played your demo off her phone, I knew I had to do something. Got to work and made some calls. I don’t believe in rough demos so…” Tim pointed to the musicians. “Hey, guys, these wonderful ladies are Abby and Olivia and these scoundrels are Matt, the drummer; Pug, the bass player; and Stevie, our guitarist.”

  Introductions made, Abby and Olivia studied Tim’s arrangements and their eyes widened. Tim had some great ideas!

  Tim clapped his hands. “Okay, okay. Abby and Olivia, I know you wrote the song but we’re gonna change it from a song to a story. Got it?”

  Even Noah and JJ nodded with Abby and Olivia.

  “You’ve just spent the last half hour in bed with the hottest guy you’ve ever met. But that’s not what you’re thinking about. You’re thinking about who you’re going to be lying with in twenty years, when you’re more experienced and living life is more than just hot, crazy, out-of-your-mind sex for fifteen minutes. He may not be Tom Cruise, he may not be a super stud, but he’ll have been there with you through all the shit that is life… and you wouldn’t trade him for anything. He’s your man and will be forever. And that’s what you’re singing about. ‘Forever I Will Love You’ is your upbeat song of love…”

  Noah, Olivia, Abby and JJ were all thinking the same thing. That’s what I want.

  Tim grinned. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that about your song, did you?”

  Speechless, Abby and Olivia shook their heads.

  “Passion, fire, and depth was missing in the demo. You hit all the notes, phrased it correctly but it fell flat. Hey, check the two studs beside you. Noah and JJ, right?”

  The two men nodded.

  “I want you girls to sing and play this song to them. Forever. Forever. Forever. Me and all the guys here? We’ll help you along. But you gotta bring us there, emotionally… Okay. Let’s do it,” ordered Tim.

  “Um, Noah’s an ex,” said Olivia sheepishly.

  “And JJ is a never was,” added Abby.

  Fire was in Tim’s rolling eyes. “Forget the technicalities. This is the time to dream! As they used to say in the sixties, ‘Let it all hang out.’”

  Tim motioned for Queenie, Noah and JJ to follow him to the control room. While Tim sat behind the massive recording console, the other three chose to stand behind him. It was a great view to see the musicians rehearsing through the studio windows.

  Tim pressed the talkback button. “Hey, everybody there?”

  All the musicians nodded.

  “Great. Okay. So this is Olivia’s solo off the top. Matt will count it in when she’s done. Let’s rock and roll.” Tim released the talkback button and settled into his chair.

  Queenie saw Noah and JJ chuckling and pointing. They had never been inside any kind of studio so this was special for them, too. They saw Olivia inhale, then watched her hands caress the keyboard. When Abby joined in to sing, she injected a depth that no one knew she had.

  Coming to the end of the verse, Abby stretched out the final note. That was Matt’s cue to mouth, “One. Two. Three. Four.”

  The band kicked ass with its eight-bar intro. Abby made the song uniquely her own with influences from Adele, Alicia Keys and the svelte tones of her favorite Chinese singer, Teresa Teng. Tim’s arrangement was powerful—a contemporary version of what Quincy Jones had done for Michael Jackson’s Thriller.

  Noah couldn’t keep his eyes off Olivia and JJ’s never left Abby as they soaked in the three minutes and thirty seconds of musical magic.

  Abby finished the tune with a sassy little step and a twirl of her jet black hair.

  After the obligatory thirty seconds of silence, Noah and JJ applauded.

  “That was fantastic,” said Noah.

  Olivia shot Noah an irritated look through the studio window. “Noah, please don’t say anything. It’s not up to you.”

  Put in his place, Noah folded his arms and squeezed his fists.

  Tim chuckled, “No need for that, Olivia. I love hearing what non-musicians think. After all, they’re the ones who will shell out the dough… Okay, so that was not bad but not perfect.”

  Tim proceeded to destroy the take. Every person needed improvement. The bass player hit a wrong note in the chorus. The drummer started a fill too early. The guitarist took too long to get in the groove. Abby was pitchy in several areas. But the harshest criticism was for Olivia. Her playing was stiff.

  “But no worries. We’ll nail it down sooner or later.”

  For the next forty-five minutes, Tim ran through another half-dozen takes. As the hour progressed, Noah could see how his original comment was totally premature. Tim’s comments improved each subsequent take.

  After listening to the playback of take seven in the control room, Tim clapped lightly and gave the thumbs’ up. “I think that’s a wrap.” He turned to Noah, “But what did you think?”

  As Abby and Olivia came into the control room, Noah admitted honestly, “I can see I shouldn’t have opened my mouth at the beginning. I can’t believe the difference. It made me want to dance and I’ve got two left feet.”

  As the group in the room chuckled, Queenie turned to JJ. “What about you?”

  JJ pondered deeply. “I have been watching American Idol, British Idol, China Idol, Taiwan Idol and Korean Idol. Abby, you shone like a star, just like the winners in the Idols competition. And Olivia, you complemented Abby perfectly. It just felt so good, so comfortable.”

  Queenie looked to Olivia and Abby. “In that case, let’s talk turkey.”

  “Fantastic,” said the bright-eyed Abby. Olivia froze.

  Olivia whispered to Noah, “Noah, I thought I could handle negotiations by myself but I realize I can’t. I know this is unexpected but will you help us?”

  Noah, noting the unexpected insecurity in Olivia’s voice, nodded. “You don’t even need to ask. Give me a fast update.”

  “Thank you,” said Olivia, relieved. She couldn’t tell Noah but there was a reason for her anxiety. She knew that her performance was still subpar. Even if Noah and JJ couldn’t hear it, there was no way that Tim, Queenie and Abby missed that.

  Chapter 20

  “That’s what I wanted to show you,” said Queenie to Olivia, Abby, Kenny, JJ, Tim and Noah, lounging in the Skyscape control room. “If I decide to do something, you get a hundred and ten percent of me. I don’t do things half-assed, which is why I’m worth what I asked for.”

  “I asked Noah to speak for us,” said Olivia. “When Benjamin said I shouldn’t represent Abby and myself, of course, that is right. There isn’t anyone else I trust more than Noah.”

  “Sure,” agreed Queenie. “So, shall we do it, Noah? Twenty percent of the gross on live and a hundred percent of publishing?”

  Noah put his cell phone down where he had been mining the internet for any info he could on music management and their fees. “Your terms are too high. I think it’s great what you’re planning to do but you haven’t proved yourself as a manager yet. If things go sour, you would still have Abby and Olivia’s publishing locked up. I think Olivia’s idea back at the club of ten on the live and half of the publishing is pretty fair.”

  Queenie swallowed. “I can’t do that. Not now. It doesn’t fit with my p
lans.”

  Noah looked at his watch. “Look, it’s late and no time to start a discussion that could go on for hours. Why don’t we sleep on this and meet back at ten in the morning for breakfast?”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that either,” said Queenie. “I’m not going to sleep. I have a really important 8:00 a.m. meeting to prep for.”

  “And this deal with Olivia and Abby isn’t important?” questioned Noah.

  Queenie shocked the group. “Not as important as this one… Really… I don’t want to be corny but I believe everybody deserves a chance. I’m just trying to make sure that more of us get one. If this meeting goes the way I hope it will, it could potentially change thousands of lives.”

  “Excuse my French, but what the hell does that mean?” asked Noah.

  Queenie stated simply, “You see this studio here? You saw the building and where we are? Well, I want to build an arts center and music complex for kids, especially underprivileged ones right here. The New Amsterdam Arts Center. I’ve been talking with the managers of Skyscape about using their facility.”

  Kenny took over. “There are some great schools out there already but we want to take it a step further.” He turned to Tim. “Tell them about your career path,”

  Tim snorted, “Talk about paying your dues. I couldn’t afford a fancy recording school and nobody wanted to give me a chance. So I swept broom, washed toilets, kept stoner musicians happy in exchange for learning by doing. Even though everyone said I had talent, I started at the bottom and worked my way up.”

  Tim glanced at Queenie to take over. “The three of us met here at Skyscape when it opened a year ago. No, I haven’t turned a band or artist into a hit yet but, just from being here, being part of a totally professional environment with some of the top musicians, producers and industry pros, has supercharged my experience. That’s what I want to with the kids. Working, hanging and studying with world-class engineers, equipment and musicians instead of high school garage bands and old Windows PCs. Give the needy a chance to work with the best because that’s what will bring out the best and if it doesn’t? Who cares? They’ll have been kept off the streets and bring that positive experience to their next phase of life. That costs money, money I don’t have. Abby and Olivia? If they don’t want to do it, I’ll find someone else. But I got to make sure I’m totally ready when I pitch to the Manhattan Investors Syndicate for a hundred and fifty million bucks tomorrow morning.”