The Noah Reid Series: Books 1-3: The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series Boxset

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  Abby and Olivia know exactly what he means. They can’t escape their private school, upper class upbringing.

  “You got to get roughed up. I don’t mean you get punched out or anything ...” Tim slaps his chest. “But you got to feel it here. Not some ‘oh I’m sorry things didn’t work out but we can always be friends’ kinda hurt. You gotta go to the edge. Where your soul is on fire. Where the hurt is so bad, you can’t breathe, you can’t think. It’s ram-it-in-your-face kind of feeling. You understand?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” says Queenie looking at Abby and Olivia.

  Tim shrugs. “Hey, it’s only my opinion.”

  Queenie turns to Wangdan and Noah. “The rest of us here are jaded pros. We want to know what J.Q. Public thinks. What did you like, what didn’t you like?”

  “No offense Tim, but I liked it,” says Noah approvingly. “If I wanted to dance, I’d go with version 2. If I wanted to sit by the fireplace, then it’s definitely version 1. Seeing that most of the time I’m on the road going a zillion miles an hour, I’d say version 1.”

  Noah turns to the ex-sentry from Heaven. “What do you think, Wangdan?”

  Wangdan ponders deeply. “I have been watching American Idol, British Idol, China Idol, Taiwan Idol and Korean Idol. All the performers are incredible just like you are. But you are doing something different and that’s what all the winners have—they’re not only different, they are special. I know nothing about piano so I think any piano player would have been fine with me. But singing is something different. I hear it, I see it, I feel it. And Abby, you shone like a star in the fast version.”

  It hasn’t gone unnoticed by Olivia that her contribution is hardly a ringing endorsement by anybody. But then again, it’s always the singers that get the chicks—or in this case, the guys.

  “Thanks, Wangdan, but I’m not doing anything without Olivia,” states Abby firmly.

  “Yeah, Olivia adds a special touch,” says Tim, recognizing where the winds are blowing. He looks at the pianist. “Maybe you could be the musical director as well as the piano player. They’re gonna need someone to conduct the band, orchestra and singers.”

  Olivia exhales. Her New York dream is shattering as her friend’s star is rising. “I couldn’t do that. I don’t have the chops or the training.”

  Seeing Abby shaking her head, Olivia says, “Having me as part of your package holds your career back as a singer, Abby. You were going to come here by yourself before I said I was coming. I just tagged along because ...” I couldn’t figure what else to say to Noah. She turns to Queenie. “What do you think?”

  “There’s no rules in the biz. What works is what works. Personally, I like the duo—it’s different and it gives me an angle. And then there’s the Chinese Caucasian Yin Yang spin. I would keep it.” Besides, Noah isn’t likely to pony up anything if you aren’t part of the package.

  “Listen, this is part of a longer discussion that Wangdan and I aren’t really part of,” says Noah.

  “Your opinion is important to me,” says Olivia.

  “And me,” says Abby.

  “Then I suggest we break for the night. I’m about ready to collapse after running on a treadmill for what seems like months now non-stop. We can meet for breakfast at 9:00.”

  “Sorry, I can’t make that,” says Queenie. “For me, I’m not going to sleep. I have an 8:00 a.m. meeting to prep for.

  “You mean you’re not ready yet?” asks a dismayed Jonny. “What else is there to go through?”

  “There are details upon details upon details. It all falls apart if I can’t deliver tomorrow. You’re never ready enough.”

  “What kind of meeting are you talking about?” asks Olivia.

  Queenie hushes. “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.”

  “That sounds ... cryptic. Enigmatic. A tease,” says Noah. “What aren’t you telling us about this meeting tomorrow?”

  Queenie looks around the table then states simply, “You see this studio here? You saw the building and where we are? Well, I want to build an art center and music complex for kids—especially the underprivileged ones right here. The New Amsterdam Arts Center. This studio is the one I want to get.”

  “Whoa, isn’t that kinda expensive?” asks Tim.

  “Listen, Tim. Think about how hard you’ve had to work. Wouldn’t your career have gone a whole lot smoother and quicker if you had your training here, had world class engineers and musicians to train with instead of high school garage bands and an old Windows PC recording your stuff? That’s what I want to do. 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 had an experience that will be with them for a lifetime.”

  Suddenly, the president of the Chad Huang Foundation is no longer tired.

  “Do you mind if I sit in on the meeting?” asks Noah.

  “Hey, this is not the Queenie Amateur Hour where I bring along anybody who wants to tag along. Of course I mind. This is business, and it’s my life’s dream we’re talking about. I’ve worked too hard and care too much to have any schmo come along for the ride.”

  “Some schmoes control a three billion dollar charity,” says Olivia. “Like Noah. He’s the president of the Chad Huang Foundation.”

  Queenie feigns surprise.

  “You? I’ve been trying to get ahold of someone to speak to but nobody at your office ever returns my calls.”

  It’s a calculated lie. Queenie’s never phoned anyone at the foundation but it’s not uncommon for calls to be unanswered if people think you’re trying to get something out of them.

  “Sorry about that. I’ll have to speak to the staff about that ... I don’t know much about music but I do know that the best way to give kids a chance is to provide them with the best tools you can give them. I’d like to hear more about what you’ve got in mind when you give the presentation.”

  “Um, do you mind if I join you too?” asks Olivia.

  Queenie shakes her head. “Two is company, three’s a crowd.”

  “What if I come in as an example of the kind of artist you are trying to promote?”

  Queenie laughs. “Rich Harvard Law School grad. Spoiled rich kid who wants to play in a new sandbox because she doesn’t want to write wills and handle divorces so she decides to play the piano?”

  “How about if I come as the new President of the New Amsterdam Arts Center, formerly VP of the Chad Huang Foundation, an organization that is involved with a very similar target demographic that you are proposing?”

  “Why on earth would you do that?” asks Queenie. This is even better than I hoped for.

  Exactly the same question is running through Noah’s mind. Yeah, why on Earth would you do that?

  “I am not going to hold Abby back, and as much as I love to play the piano and am her best friend, that’s all I would do in the long run if she and I were tied together. If I’m part of this deal you’re putting together, I can still be involved in the arts ... and play that very nice piano in Studio 5.”

  “I don’t know, Olivia. You’ll always be wondering what would have happened if you’d stuck to music,” says Queenie.

  This girl’s no dummy. There’s an almost imperceptible nod of Noah’s head in agreement.

  “I speak the language of business. That Harvard Law school degree you were mocking me about? Well, that will open just about any door in the world.”

  “I’m used to working solo. You will just get in the way,” says Queenie.

  “Which is a fatal flaw. Everybody in the world has a great idea to flog. Very few have the knowledge and support team to make it happen. I may not be the greatest piano player in the world, but I do have one hell of a Rolodex.”

  “How much are you looking for, Queenie?” asks Noah simply.

  “Be at the presentation. You’ll find out then.” Queenie looks at Noah, then Olivia
. “The Park Hotel. Devonshire Room. 8:00 a.m. Don’t be late. Either of you. Now, excuse me but I’ve got a meeting to prepare for.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Noah, Wangdan, Abby and Olivia get off the Vector Building’s elevator and walk to the entrance. As they walk out of the front revolving doors, Noah asks Olivia quietly, “We haven’t had a chance to talk yet. I was wondering, how’s it going?”

  Before she has a chance to answer, a dark panel truck races quickly around the corner and screeches to a halt in front of them. Eight small men wielding baseball-bats and wearing balaclavas leap out and grab Abby and Olivia. With their martial arts training, both women would normally put up a fight, but in tight dresses and heels, they are easy pickings.

  “No, no,” scream the girls.

  “Shut up, bitch. You’re crazy. Yes, yes, yes,” taunt the various attackers. From their voices, it’s doubtful any of them are older than fifteen.

  Wangdan and Noah swing at the young assailants, but two badly outnumbered unarmed men—even if they are Shaolin Grandmasters—are no match for angry drug-fueled teenage hoods swinging baseball bats.

  Wangdan catches one bat aimed at his head. A flying kick gets rid of one thug but he can’t avoid the two-handed club directed at his chest that was coming at the same time his leg was moving.

  Wangdan backs off quickly and avoids getting his ribs crushed but can’t completely avoid a switchblade that was aimed at his head. He jerks his head out of the way but a thin line of blood rolling down his cheek shows how close the call is.

  What he can’t stop is the convergence of three thugs swinging lumber at him like wild men. He’s unable to avoid being hit and when he buckles, a kick to his head knocks him out.

  Noah does a handspring and lands on to two of the teens holding Olivia. While he knocks them down, sending Olivia free, he can’t avoid a swat across the knees from another young hoodlum.

  Only by falling backwards does Noah miss the full impact of the blow. But now he’s on the ground and several of the attackers rush and start kicking. Noah uses both arms to swing out and both legs to kick out to defend himself. He knocks one of the assailants down, who falls on one of his comrades.

  This gives Noah a moment to scramble up, but another of the young thugs leaps and lands an uppercut, sending Noah crumpling to the ground, winded.

  Gasping for air, he tries to crawl and is rewarded with a crack to the head.

  Abby and Olivia watch the attacks on Wangdan and Noah with horror. Better to be a live chicken than a dead duck. The girls offer no resistance and their assailants grab their purses.

  Quick searches of Noah and Wangdan’s wallets hit the jackpot—these guys have three thousand bucks in cash on them. The girls’ purses net another five hundred. Not bad for five minutes’ work.

  The hoodlums hop back in the truck and take off. Fifteen minutes later, the truck will be abandoned. Gasoline will be poured all over it and it will be set on fire along with the baseball bats, gloves and masks. In a perfect world, someone would spend the time on forensics looking for traces that will allow law enforcement to track down and convict the criminals, but real life is hardly anything like TV or the movies ... no one will ever know. Nobody died, these rich foreigners aren’t going to lose any sleep over thirty-five hundred bucks ... too much hassle to chase down some kids. So they’ll do it again and again.

  The city that never sleeps isn’t sleeping now either. Half a dozen bystanders looked the other way while Noah and Wangdan were getting hurt. Abby and Olivia screamed for help but funny thing—no one heard them even though there were people just fifty feet away.

  In a few minutes, Noah and Wangdan are going to wake up. Abby and Olivia will want to take them to the ER but they will absolutely refuse to go—they’ve suffered much worse in their martial arts training. All in all, Wangdan’s comment is re-enforced tenfold. Noah, I think New York needs us here.

  Noah and Wangdan haven’t been in New York for twenty-four hours and already they’ve been attacked, visited a cool jazz club, seen a recording session in a world class studio and then been mugged and robbed.

  What Noah and Wangdan don’t know is that these are not randomly connected events. The tentacles of darkness are inter-connected and wide. All orchestrated by one very determined young woman.

  In his current condition, Noah would be crazy to go an 8 a.m. meeting.

  With what he has to offer, he’d be crazy if he didn’t go.

  Welcome to the Big Apple.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Queenie stands at the entrance to the private room she’s booked at the Devonshire Hotel, greeting three grey-haired and dark-suited men at the door.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought two guests along with me.” She points to Olivia and Noah. Olivia is none the worse for wear after last night’s activities and looks consummately professional in her business suit. Noah? Well, even after Olivia spent half an hour on him, it’s hard to hide the fact that there’s a shiner under the thick make-up. Not exactly the way to make a good impression.

  “... Honestly, I would have preferred to meet with just you,” interrupts Leonard Styles, the youngest of the three old guys.

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted you ... “ says Queenie.

  “... This is a business meeting, not a schmooze fest,” says Jeff Garry, the suit on Leonard’s right.

  “No problem. We understand,” says Olivia. “Noah and I will make our way out.”

  She and Noah rise.

  “Sorry about that, Olivia. My very bad,” apologizes Queenie.

  “Noah as in Noah Reid?” asks Byron Field, the most senior of the three and most distinguished looking.

  “Guilty as charged,” says Noah as they begin making their way to the door. “We’ll see you later.”

  “Wait a moment. Are you Noah Reid from the Chad Huang Foundation and Olivia Southam, the foundation’s Vice President?”

  Noah’s about to tell them to screw off but Olivia says quickly, “Yes we are, but in my case, I’m the foundation’s former VP. I am now with the New Amsterdam Arts Center.”

  “Please stay. Both of you. I’m sorry my colleagues were so rude,” says Byron. “We’ve heard about your foundation’s generosity to New York youth. Three new centers with operational funding for five years. Most generous. I’m Byron Field, President of the Manhattan Investors Syndicate. My associate Jeff Garry is on my right. The junior of us…” Byron glares. “…is Leonard Styles. We are most happy to have you sit in.”

  “Thank you. Promise, we won’t interrupt or say anything,” says Olivia.

  Noah, on the other hand, simply glares as the three men take their seats. So if I have money you’ll demean yourselves to have a meeting with us, but if I’ve got no dough, I’m chopped liver?

  ***

  For the next hour Queenie makes her impassioned pitch to the group, about her concept of combining the arts, education and professionalism ... She tells how she has visited the Manchester Bidwell Corporation in Pittsburgh and was so inspired by the vision of founder Bill Strickland, to provide a place for people to be in the best possible environment to learn, which will bring out the best in them. But Queenie’s idea goes beyond that. How wonderful could it be for a new graduate from her center to be able to put on his/her resume that they worked with some of the best recording artists in putting out chart-topping music?

  During Queenie’s presentation, Noah occasionally nods in agreement. Funny how during those times, the suits nod as well. Throughout the same period, Olivia doesn’t give any indication of her thoughts.

  For Queenie, it’s the third time she’s given this pitch in the last three hours. She got together early with Byron, Leonard and Jeff to rehearse in front of them.

  The prematurely white-haired Byron is the key actor for the real Manhattan Investors’ Syndicate, which is a much more sinister outfit than the fabricated one they are presenting here to Noah. Queenie more often uses him as “American muscle,” a white man s
ent in to “discipline” the Chinese illegals when they threaten to leave or refuse to pay. Ten minutes with Byron is enough to scare them back to Queenie. Leonard and Jeff are bit players here. They’ve been briefed on the job, and like most actors, just want to collect a paycheck.

  “And that, gentlemen, concludes my presentation. $150,000,000 will buy all the equipment and five floors in the Vector Building. The studio on the fifteenth floor is presently operational and to change the fourteenth floor into classrooms and labs will take less than six months,” says Queenie. “The other three floors will take a year to develop.”

  Byron inhales deeply as he taps his fingers on the table, first rapidly, then slowing to a stop. “Your proposal is very good, Queenie. However, there are several problems. Firstly, you have no track record at all in delivering what you promise. Secondly, we do not fund start-up charities. There’s got to be a track record of donor support and operational ability.”

  “But we just need a chance. The kids need a chance.”

  “I realize that, but you must understand our position. There are already many fine organizations and schools that are providing outstanding musical training to young people. I started business when the state-of-the-art was an IBM Selectric typewriter, and I think you’d have to admit that I have done just fine. You don’t always need to give the best. But for argument’s sake, let’s say we do as you suggest. You are a musical entrepreneur, Queenie. I have no doubt that you could be a very fine one some day, but what you are proposing needs someone to run an enterprise of more than a hundred people, let alone deal with organizations and fill out forms, in order to try and keep the vision going.”

  “Excuse me, but may I say something?” says Olivia. She continues without awaiting a reply. “I understand your positions very clearly and they are most reasonable. I was very happy at the Chad Huang Foundation, and the only reason I left was to accept the Presidential position at the New Amsterdam. Yes, it is a startup and I left a dream position to be here. Why? Well, mainly to be back in the United States with an organization that shares the same goals as the Chad Huang Foundation but has a focus on the arts. Basketball and martial arts and sports in general are their core outreach methods, and I must admit that I am not a jock. The arts are my passion and that’s where I want to spend my energies. As for track record, well it’s short but I did manage to place or invest close to three billion dollars in the last three months. Not to mention that I was tutored by my late father, Garret Southam, one of Asia’s most prominent lawyers. I’ve got a pretty good idea of financial management, so that should not be a worry.”