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  Olivia’s face scrunched into a question. “What’s the deal about Hoboken?”

  “Duh. It’s where Frank Sinatra was born.”

  Olivia slapped her head in mock castigation. “Old blue eyes. Of course.”

  “It’s been a great day…a great day,” exhaled Abby with joy, relief and anticipation. “I was worried nobody would ever rent to us and now we got this great place…”

  “Yeah, and Queenie’s going to be a great manager. Just the kind of chutzpah we need and that neither of us have,” agreed Olivia.

  “God, that lady moves at warp speed. Got us a showcase at a club and then the world’s our oyster. Wonder what kind of deal she’ll offer?”

  “The deal’s not done until the fat lady sings,” replied Olivia with cautious optimism. “And right now, she’s only stepped up to the mic.”

  “Can you stop being a lawyer and just let me enjoy the moment. I’ve dreamed about this all my life,” said Abby, voice brimming with emotion. “Carnegie Hall. Fat record contract.”

  “Yes, but I…I think we should wait for Noah to get here and hear his opinion.”

  “Have you gone out of your mind, girlfriend? Noah couldn’t care less about fame or fortune. Poverty is in his genes. He’s running a charity. The guy hasn’t got a business bone in his entire body.”

  When Olivia remained silent, Abby turned to face Olivia and used her hand to twist her trying-to-be-a-concrete-slab face to meet hers. She understood immediately what Olivia was thinking. She inquired in a near-whisper, “What do you plan to do with Noah when he comes?”

  “He’s coming to see you sing and me play. And he knows that I’m going to introduce him to someone.”

  Abby pinched Olivia’s cheek and held it. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Olivia was silent for a full five seconds before uttering, “There is no one else in the world that I would rather spend the rest of my life with.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “I just can’t shake the feeling that, as long as I’m with him, his life is in danger. Your mom and mine died in a plane crash, Chin killed our fathers… I just can’t shake the thought that it’s because…because of us or me or…”

  “That’s paranoia. Karma’s agnostic. It doesn’t work that way,” said Abby, trying to qualm her own growing unease. “Chin is dead. We saw him burn up.”

  “He’s a tiger. Cats have nine lives. Abby, I know you too well. I can hear the worry in your voice. You didn’t come to New York just for the music. You ran away from Hong Kong just like I did. Do you remember? You were going to stay until your dad was killed. Immediately after you wanted to leave. It just took you time to pull the trigger.”

  “I have no one there,” said Abby with a hollow voice. “And I have always loved New York.” As if trying to convince herself as well as Olivia, she continued, “Who knows? Maybe Noah’s found someone else so you’re giving yourself a migraine for no reason.”

  “Remind me never to call you if I ever get really depressed. You are so reassuring.”

  “Just part of my overall optimistic view of life.” Abby lowered her voice. “Why not give it a chance when he comes. He’s making an effort. So should you.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Same difference.”

  Abby bit her tongue. There weren’t any words that would be useful.

  Olivia pulled her head away from Abby’s grasp and turned back to face the ceiling. As Abby looked to her best friend since childhood, she saw tears in her eyes.

  14

  Pain

  Somewhere over the Atlantic

  Sitting in their reverse-herringbone business class seats on the Boeing jetliner, Noah glanced over to see JJ sleeping soundly. Seeing this new bro reminded him of his former best friend…

  Hong Kong―Fifteen Years Ago

  Fourteen-year-old Chad Huang stuck his leg out in front of Noah as he drove for an easy layup on the neighborhood basketball court. Noah tripped over Chad’s knee and went sprawling headfirst on the cracked asphalt.

  Arms scraped and forehead bleeding, Noah leapt up and started wailing on the smaller Chad. “I’ve had enough! You elbowed me in the throat, you punched me in the nuts, and now this!”

  “Go ahead, little man!” mocked Chad, as he raised his arms in self-defense. “And why don’t you use some of your kung fu on me, too!”

  “You’ll never be a Magic Johnson. You’re too short and you completely suck.”

  “Shut up!” Magic was Chad’s hero and Noah’s taunt changed his taunting to fury. Chad pulled out and opened a pocket folding knife, then jammed its surgical blade into Noah’s thigh.

  “Stop!” Master Wu, who had been watching the boys play, quickly applied pressure to Noah’s wound and carried him to his friend and doctor of Chinese Medicine, Dr. Tang who immediately ceased seeing his other patients to care for Noah.

  To the disbelief of the boys, Sarah and her husband George, did not get angry with Chad.

  Nor did they report him to the authorities. They discovered that Chad had been living on the streets for the past three months with no idea where his parents were or even if they were still alive.

  “Chad, would you be willing to stay with us? If it’s all right, Noah can be your roommate,” said George.

  You got to be kidding. He tried to kill me. Noah mouthed silently.

  “If it’s okay with Noah, sure,” mumbled Chad.

  “For sure, bro,” replied Noah, knowing he had no choice in the matter.

  Hong Kong - Ten Years Ago

  When Noah’s parents were murdered by a drug addict they had tried to help, there were two people that kept him from sinking completely into the abyss. One was Master Wu; the other was Chad.

  Noah was drinking enough to kill all his brain cells and make him a prime candidate for early liver cirrhosis. Only the foul-tasting Chinese herbal medicines that Master Wu forced into his mouth prevented the complete disintegration of his health.

  Chad, like Noah, was tanking, but instead of trying to blot out reality with extreme substance abuse, he dealt with the bleakness in a much healthier manner.

  He dove into helping kids. He was counselor, basketball coach, mother superior, babysitter…he did anything he could to help save them from lives of despair. He forced Noah to help him, being patient when his bro refused to smarten up. When Chad got a job offer to be a live-in counselor at a foster home, he initially refused, insisting that he wanted to stay with Noah.

  In a rare moment of lucidity, Noah blasted Chad for two hours until he changed his mind.

  Seeing Chad’s change and Master Wu’s constant guidance and nurturing brought Noah back from the living dead. Master Wu encouraged Noah to study and to keep up his martial arts.

  Eventually this regimen paid off with Noah getting scholarships to an American university and further financial assistance by teaching martial arts. Every chance he got, and there weren’t a ton of them for the financially strapped student, he went back to Hong Kong to shoot hoops with Chad and the kids.

  Los Angeles, Hong Kong & Shanghai―Earlier This Year

  These visits became less frequent and, in Noah’s final year of law school, Noah decided to stay there for the Christmas break. After all, he had pretty well decided to stay in America to practice once he graduated so there was little point in going back to Hong Kong. He didn’t realize that this was the one holiday that everyone went home and, on Christmas day, Noah found himself eating fish and chips by himself in an almost-deserted Denny’s.

  Noah was about to console himself with an extra-large portion of tartare sauce on a piece of deep-fried fish when Chad walked in through the door.

  Noah almost broke down and cried. As the two chatted for the next three hours, Noah realized how much he missed home. He was just like the forefathers of missionaries to China: great grandfather, grandfather, and father. White on the outside, Chinese on the inside.

&
nbsp; Noah extinguished all thoughts of staying in California. With Chad, they schemed and planned how they would help at-risk youth like their prior selves in Hong Kong when Noah returned. With sport being a universal attraction for young boys, basketball would be a key attraction.

  That dream didn’t last six months.

  Chad was killed by legendary Triad Leader Chin Chee Fok’s men, less than three days after Noah started his new job at a Hong Kong mega-law firm.

  When Chin’s billions came under his control, Noah decided that he would help achieve the goal that he and Chad fantasized about.

  The Chad Huang Foundation was birthed with Noah as president.

  As Noah’s face ticked over to JJ, he realized how much Chad and JJ were alike.

  Like Chad, JJ had crazy idiosyncrasies that drove Noah bananas.

  Like Chad, JJ had this manic obsession with a sport that drove his life. Basketball for Chad, Shaolin martial arts for JJ.

  Like Chad, JJ was willing to sacrifice himself to save Noah.

  Like Chad, JJ was a brother from another mother and the two would do anything for each other.

  15

  Skyscape

  New York

  Queenie got up from the large wooden desk and tucked her cell back into her bag. “We’re going to make a ton of money together, Benji.”

  “Stop calling me that. I’m not a dog,” snapped Queenie’s latest sucker.

  “Bow wow,” snickered Queenie as she left the office and made her way out onto the street,

  With one hundred fifty thousand in cash hidden there and inside her feathered vest, Queenie paid no attention to any of her surroundings as she strode to her next destination six blocks away. Alexei’s one-week extension would be meaningless if any part of her fragile plan failed to execute in the next three days. The part she hated most was that, to achieve success, she had to rely on others. Even though she pulled in top-notch talent, too many variables could screw things up.

  Fifteen minutes later, Queenie arrived at the one-hundred-twenty-year-old, twelve-story Vector Building in Hell’s Kitchen, an unremarkable building that had the invisibility of the commonplace. The Vector rarely had much traffic coming or going, but its visitors and occupants covered a huge demographic. Mobsters, music superstars and the mundane, wearing clothes from Goodwill to Gucci. Queenie was as typical as one could be of the Vector’s very select group of customers, clients and tenants.

  Even though Queenie was a regular visitor, she still had to pass through the Vector’s security, which was even more onerous than an airport’s. She had to go through a metal detector, her bag went through an X-ray machine, and she was patted down from head to toe. The difference was that, at the Vector, the guards were serious because the threats were all too real, unlike a regular airport where TSA inspectors confiscated glass jars of jam from grannies or prided themselves for protecting the public from a seven-year-old who dared try to sneak in his life-threatening plastic water gun for the swimming pool.

  Queenie smiled to herself. Her peckers were more dangerous than a loaded Sig Sauer but, because they were completely organic, she’d never been flagged. Accepting that she had no guns, knives, or grenades on her person, a guard accompanied her to the elevator. After letting her inside, he tapped in a code, a move that he didn’t know was unnecessary.

  Queenie paid attention to everything and, a few months ago, an errant guard didn’t properly cover the electronic lock and Queenie noted the numbers he entered them in. It was information she used on occasion.

  The elevator zoomed directly to the top floor. When the doors opened, a large red neon sign announcing the existence of Skyscape Recording Studios greeted her.

  Queenie loved this place. In its short existence, Skyscape had become one of the most desired spaces anywhere for musicians to record. Its spectacular views, its exceptional equipment, its world-class in-house engineers, and its client relations took service to a whole new level. Nothing was too kinky or too absurd to demand and get.

  Who hung out at Skyscape? Grammy award-winning producers and artists, rich wannabes who had more money than talent, groupies who would do anything to be close to stardom, all who added a certain undefinable mystique to the studio’s ambience.

  But there was more. An intangible but genuinely felt dark undercurrent.

  What was it?

  The answer was easy. While most of Skyscape’s guests or employees had a connection to the music business, there was an even greater attraction for those who needed special banking services that Citibank or Goldman Sachs were not going to provide. Their presence was tied to a dirty little secret: Skyscape had a background much like many other mysterious tenants in the Vector Building. The studio didn’t need to make money and the owners, anonymous big fish in the crime industry, couldn’t care less about the music industry.

  Skyscape had fake clients being charged for hundreds of hours of studio usage when all the while the studio sat empty or was used for an engineer’s or producer’s own projects. At the same time, legit artists were given enticing rates to record there, advancing the studio’s reputation and making its falsified claims of expenses appear legitimate to any potential auditor that might someday be assigned to the studio file.

  Because of this, the studio did a booming business. Skyscape had exercised the option to take over the space on the floor below and plans were to step up the renovation to have it ready in six months.

  Alexei was one of Skyscape’s minority owners. He brought Queenie there when it first opened, hoping she would put in a good word to her father about business potential. That only provided further proof to Queenie of Alexei’s stupidity. If he was as close to doing business with her father as Alexei thought, the Russian would have known that Chin had no need for Alexei to launder money.

  Olivia’s father, Garret Southam, with his mega-law firm, had performed that cleaning service exquisitely.

  When Queenie got off the elevator, Kenny Tsang, a muscular Chinese guard, greeted her. Theirs was no ordinary relationship. No love, no commitments, not even a hint of lust. Kenny would just do whatever Queenie wanted. While he was an illegal, he was not a typical indentured slave under snakehead control, working for less-than-minimum wages in a restaurant or sweatshop.

  Before he came to New York, Kenny worked for Chin as martial arts muscle. However, the ambitious Kenny had stars in his eyes—he wanted to move to America and get into the music biz. He cut a deal with Chin several years ago to get him to New York. In exchange, he provided enforcement services as required.

  When Skyscape opened, Queenie got him a job in the security detail, but he was a fast learner. When Queenie revealed her interest to open a label focusing on Asian artists, bringing singers from China to record at Skyscape, he spent every spare moment he could learning and experimenting.

  Even though he was now ready for prime time, and Queenie didn’t have the real connections to advance his career, there was zero need to worry about Kenny’s loyalty. She knew where his family in Chinatown lived and what restaurant they worked at. Even though King was gone, she could easily locate where Kenny’s other family members in China were.

  “Hey, Kenny. I’m ready to see Hassan.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Kenny escorted Queenie directly to the gleaming glass-walled office of Hassan, Skyscape’s Moroccan manager and another of the studio’s owners.

  Kenny stood guard outside the door as Queenie slid herself onto the sleek burgundy leather office chair in front of the arms dealer turned studio exec. Having introduced two recording artists whose albums went platinum, Hassan had to give some leeway when he dealt with the arrogant crane maven.

  “Have you considered my proposal?” inquired Queenie.

  Hassan threw up his hands. “Queenie, Queenie, I love you, but you don’t know a damned thing about running a studio, a music production company or a record label.”

  “As far as I remember, your sole claim to musical fame was pimping drugs to X Link jus
t before he died.” X Link was a rap artist who, like so many, got caught up in the image of being a gangsta rappa.

  Queenie placed $100,000 of Benjamin’s money on the desk. “Down payment. This is your last chance. I will kill you if you don’t sell out to me.”

  The meeting hadn’t been thirty seconds but Hassan had had enough. “You insult me with this? Get out and take your peanuts with you. And your threats? The metal detector shows you have no weapons. And, even if you did, you think you can do anything to me?” Hassan prided himself on being able to kill anybody with one hand, a quality lacking in probably every other studio owner in the world.

  Queenie’s eyes were on fire. “Deal or no deal?”

  I’m done with this bitch. With a lightning fast motion, Hassan reached for the gun in his belt.

  But Queenie was faster. She pulled a sharpened crane’s beak from her bag and thrust it hard at Hassan’s chest.

  Hassan roared as he launched his famed killer left hand at her head, but years of sharpened reflexes through martial arts training made danger avoidance easy for Queenie.

  She leapt up and delivered a kick to Hassan’s head. He turned to the side, avoiding the full brunt of her stiletto boots. He pulled the pecker out of his chest and lunged at Queenie.

  She smirked—this was her territory. Sidestepping, she gripped his hand. With precisely the right angle and pressure, she squeezed and the pecker sliced Hassan’s hand to the bone. She followed with a karate chop and the pecker sliced off several of the studio owner’s fingers.

  A snarling elbow from Hassan’s good arm landed on Queenie’s jaw, sending her reeling. He followed with a swift power kick to her mid-section. As she buckled, Hassan raised both arms and brought them down hard, but Queenie dropped and rolled out of the way. She pulled off her feather boa, jumped behind the Moroccan, and quickly wrapped it around his thick neck.