Chapter One: How Soon is Now? by Paul Carnahan

Title: How Soon Is Now?
Author: Paul Carnahan
Publication Date: June 10, 2024
Pages: 462
Genre: Contemporary Fantasy/Time Travel

A troubled ex-journalist launches a perilous mission into his own past after being recruited by a mysterious group of time travelers.

Luke Seymour uncovers the secrets of the eccentric Nostalgia Club as he battles to solve the riddle of their missing leader, honing his newly discovered – and dangerously addictive – talent for time travel and plunging ever deeper into his own time stream … where the terrible mistake that scarred his life is waiting.

Set in Glasgow and Edinburgh in the 1980s, 1990s and near-present, ‘How Soon Is Now?’ is a gripping new novel loaded with unforgettable characters, intricate storytelling, dark humour and a unique twist on the mechanics of time travel – all moving towards a powerful and emotional climax.

Available at:

Amazon U.S.: https://www.amazon.com/How-Soon-Now-powerful-travel-ebook/dp/B0D1RG2GL5 

Amazon U.K.: https://www.amazon.co.uk/How-Soon-Now-powerful-travel-ebook/dp/B0D1RG2GL5

First Chapter: 

Time tidies up after itself better than most of us realise, so I’ll be brief. I want to get everything down while I can still remember how it happened.

It started with a note: Blue ink on a slip of paper you might mistake for a Christmas cracker joke, with these words written in a plain and precise hand: ‘We know. We can help. Come to the Thrawn Laddie, Edinburgh, 7.30pm Wednesday.’

I was at the off-licence, digging for change in the outside pocket of my suit jacket, when I found the note. I was down to one suit that still fitted and wore it most days – I was, more or less, still keeping up appearances – so the note might have been curled up there for hours, days or even months. I glanced at it without really reading it and stuffed it back into my pocket, where it stayed until I made it back to the flat with the evening’s beer supply.

Once the bottles were safely in the fridge, I emptied my pockets, throwing a fistful of old train tickets and crumpled till receipts into the bin. The note nearly joined them, but something about the neatness of the script caught my eye, and I read it properly for the first time. ‘We can help’. Who could help? How could they help? Where had it come from? I left it on the kitchen table for the rest of the week; a minor mystery pinned under a beer bottle.

It was a long week. Alison still wasn’t talking to me after The Incident at our college reunion, and even Malcolm wouldn’t return my calls. I eyed the note every time I passed the kitchen table on my way to the fridge and, by Wednesday evening, had convinced myself a minor mystery might be just the distraction I needed. One Glasgow-to-Edinburgh train and a 20-minute cab ride later – an extravagance, considering I was trying to make my redundancy money last – I was standing on Morningside Road, outside the Thrawn Laddie.

That October night was cold and crisp, and a wall of heat hit me as I opened the door. The pub – a dusty jumble of antique clutter and old-world charm – had changed so little in the 30-plus years since it had been one of our preferred student haunts that I half-expected to spot the old gang huddled in our favourite corner, but the place was now a near-empty refuge for elderly locals and a few wine-sipping post-work professionals. The students had moved on.

I checked the clock above the bar: 7.10pm. I could fit in a couple of pints, if I was quick. I ordered a Guinness and settled at a single table with a clear view of the door. By 7.30, the only new arrivals had been a pair of old gents who went straight to their friends at the end of the bar without looking in my direction. I finished my drink, ordered another and took it to my table. My second glass was nearly empty when the bored young barman, a skinny youth labouring under a misjudged haircut, loomed over me.

‘Mind if I give your table a wipe?’ he said. I lifted my pint glass and drained the remnants.

He ran a damp cloth over the table, gathered my empties and asked: ‘Another Guinness?’

‘No, thanks.’ I slipped my hand into my pocket, and my thumb and forefinger pinched the little note. ‘Maybe you can help me with something, though. Has anyone been asking for me? I’m supposed to be meeting someone.’

He stared at me, waiting for something. He cocked an eyebrow – the one pierced by a silver stud – and I added: ‘Seymour. My name’s Luke Seymour.’

He shook his head. ‘No one’s been looking for you, as far as I know,’ he said. ‘Who are you meeting?’

‘I’m not sure.’ He looked puzzled, so I added: ‘It might not be a person. It could be a group.’

The barman stuffed the cloth into his back pocket. ‘Might be the crowd back in the function suite, then. Are you one of them?’

‘One of them?’

‘The good old days mob,’ he said. ‘They rent the back room on a Wednesday night. Had an early start this week for some reason. You could try giving them a knock.’

‘I might,’ I said. ‘Who are they?’

‘The Nostalgia Club, they call themselves. They might be who you’re after. Past the toilets and turn right. You can’t miss it. Follow your nose.’ He pointed towards a corridor leading off the end of the bar.

I thanked him, left my table and followed my nose. As I turned the corner, the barman gave a soft cough.

‘Word of advice,’ he said. ‘I’d knock first. Good luck.’

After a brief stop at the gents, I followed the corridor off to the right. At the end was a dark oak door bearing a brass plaque: ‘Function Suite’. Below that, stuck to the door with a strip of sticky tape, was a sheet of A4 on which was written, in the same precise hand as the note in my pocket: ‘NOSTALGIA CLUB. PRIVATE.’

There was muffled conversation on the other side of the door, submerged under the thin, scratchy strains of a wartime ballad. With my ear to the door, I could just about hear the voices, one male, one female, over the music.

‘—try again,’ said the woman. ‘What if he doesn’t —’

The man spoke over her in an even tone with traces of an accent I couldn’t place. ‘He will. We have to be—’

The ballad hit a crescendo of horns, strings and syrupy vocals, drowning out the voices.

I raised my hand, about to rap on the door, then let it fall to my side again, struck by sudden self-consciousness. What kind of help was I expecting to find in the back room of a Morningside pub? Things hadn’t been quite right for a while and the fits, as I thought of them, seemed to be increasing in frequency and intensity, but I hadn’t mentioned them to anyone – not even Alison. Especially not Alison. I suddenly felt foolish for travelling all that way hoping to solve a problem I couldn’t even admit existed, and was about to turn and leave when my fingers tightened into a fist. I rapped on the door, surprising myself with four sharp, firm knocks.

Before I could retreat, the music behind the door stopped. Voices – the man and woman now joined by others – overlapped. There was a thud, the sound of wood scraping on wood, then approaching footsteps. The door opened just enough for the long nose of a short, bald man to protrude into the hall. The nose’s owner peered up at me through jam-jar-thick spectacles and, with practised politeness, said: ‘This is a private gathering. You’ll find the toilets back along the corridor. Enjoy your evening.’

A faint smell of liquorice snaked through the gap and into the corridor. The bald man stretched his mouth into a tight smile and began to close the door. ‘Goodbye,’ he said. I grabbed the handle and pushed back. ‘No, sorry,’ I said. ‘I think I’m meant to be here. I found this note.’

I pressed my shoulder against the door while I reached into my pocket with my free hand, fished the note from my pocket and waved it in front of his nose. ‘Seven-thirty, Wednesday. That’s today.’

‘It is,’ he said, with a sniff. An expression of uncertainty passed across his face, and he looked over his shoulder.

‘Who is it, Marcus?’ the husky voice of the woman I’d heard from the other side of the door grew louder. Her head bobbed into view above his, her curious hazel eyes fixed on me. She placed her hands on the small man’s shoulders and steered him away from the door. ‘No need to be rude to our guest, Marcus,’ she said, pushing a tangle of hair, rich copper with a streak of grey, from her eyes. She had one of those faces – handsome and strong-jawed – that seemed immediately familiar, though I was sure we had never met. She opened the door wide, stepped aside to give me a clear view of the room, and there they were: The Nostalgia Club.

There were six of them in the function suite – a grand title for a spartan, parquet-floored room no bigger than 20 feet square and decorated in that queasy colour which can pass for either burnt ochre or decades of gathered nicotine. Marcus adjusted his spectacles and retreated to a small table, on which neat rows of glass vials, oil burners, incense sticks and tealight candles waited in front of a cardboard cigar box. A candle guttered, sending a ribbon of smoke across the room as he settled into his seat.

At another table to his left, a ginger-haired and heavily-bearded young man dressed in camouflage trousers and a black T-shirt winked at Marcus from behind an outsized laptop connected to a pair of speakers. ‘Thought you said he wasn’t coming?’ said the younger man.

‘I said he might not,’ grumbled Marcus.

A tiny, owlish old woman perched on one of the chairs lined up against the wall lifted the grizzled Cairn Terrier resting in her lap, took the dog’s paw in her hand and waggled it at me in a welcoming wave. ‘We knew he was coming, didn’t we, Biscuit?’ she said, bending to kiss the dog’s head.

Beside her, an impassive woman in her early 50s, smartly dressed, immaculately made-up and without a single blonde hair out of place, surveyed me silently.

At the centre of the room, hands gripping the metal frame of an incongruous sun lounger in an eye-watering floral pattern, stood an elegant man of about 35, slim and dapper in jeans, tweed jacket and herringbone waistcoat. His close-cropped hair and neat goatee framed a face dominated by large, inquisitive brown eyes that flicked between me and the woman who had opened the door. ‘Now, Ruth, aren’t you going to invite our guest in?’ he said. His voice was musical, lightly accented and tinged with a touch of World Service RP.

The red-haired woman held out a hand in welcome. ‘Of course. Come in, please,’ she said. ‘I’m Ruth. Welcome to the Nostalgia Club. Would you like to join us?’

As I hesitated in the doorway, Ruth placed a hand on my waist and guided me into the room, nudging the door shut with her foot. She was tall and walked with a slight stoop, as if trying to disguise her height. Spotting the slip of paper in my hand, she said: ‘I’m glad you got our note. We were starting to worry you weren’t going to find it.’

‘Or wouldn’t be mental enough to come all this way even if you did,’ grinned the man with the ginger beard.

I dropped the note back into my pocket. ‘I’m in the right place, then?’

The man with the goatee almost danced towards me, arms outstretched. ‘You most certainly are,’ he said, shaking my hand vigorously. ‘We’re delighted to see you at last. You must have a lot of questions.’

‘A few,’ I said.

‘Excellent! We’ll answer as many as we can, as soon as you’re settled.’

Ruth patted my arm, took a spare chair from the row along the wall and placed it beside the gaudy sun lounger to face the group. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Make yourself comfortable. Can I take your jacket?’

I shook my head, but I sat. The goateed man studied me with undisguised delight while Ruth stood at his side. ‘This is Mahdi,’ she said. ‘He can probably explain better than any of us what this is all about.’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as that, but I’ll do my best,’ said Mahdi. ‘How can we help you?’

That was a bigger question than he knew, but I kept my voice steady and restricted myself, for the time being, to the basics. ‘You could tell me who you are and what this note means,’ I said. ‘And if you can let me know how it ended up in my pocket, that’d be great, too.’

Mahdi laughed and clapped his hands. ‘That should give us enough to begin with, Mr Seymour.’

‘You know who I am, then?’

‘To an extent,’ said Mahdi.

‘Why don’t we start with the note?’ said Ruth. ‘It ended up in your pocket because we put it there.’

‘You could’ve just handed it to me – or introduced yourselves and said whatever you wanted to say, like normal people.’

Mahdi and Ruth exchanged a glance, and Mahdi said: ‘That didn’t seem like a good idea at the time.’

‘Why not?’

‘You didn’t seem to be in the mood for introductions,’ said Ruth.

‘Or for standing upright or walking in a straight line,’ said Mahdi. Ruth gave his hand a sharp tap and said: ‘We decided, under the circumstances, it might be better to leave the note with you and hope to meet you properly when you were in a better frame of mind.’

‘When was this, exactly?’ I asked.

‘Three weeks ago,’ said Ruth.

The reunion was the last time I’d been in Edinburgh. ‘Benson’s?’

‘Bingo,’ she said.

The few clear memories I had of that night were enough to leave me cringing over whatever other horrors I might have forgotten. No wonder Alison and Malcolm weren’t talking to me.

‘You weren’t there the whole night, were you?’ I asked, my cheeks reddening.

‘Oh, no,’ said Mahdi, shaking his head. ‘Just long enough to deliver our message.’

My fingers reached to toy with the note in my pocket. ‘How many of these notes did you hand out?’

‘Only one,’ said Mahdi. ‘We’re very careful about who we invite.’

‘You can’t be that picky if you invited me.’

‘No need to be modest,’ said Mahdi. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’

‘Why?’ I said. The room was uncomfortably warm, their attention made me uneasy, and my voice rose in irritation and discomfort. ‘You still haven’t told me who you are.’

‘We’re the Nostalgia Club.’

‘Then you’ve been waiting for the wrong guy. Nostalgia’s not my thing.’

Mahdi bent forward, hands on his calves, his eyes fixed on mine. ‘Are you sure, Mr Seymour? We’re all partial to an occasional wander down memory lane, aren’t we?’

‘I try to avoid it.’

‘You do?’ he said, sounding surprised. Ruth stepped in front of him and said: ‘We’ll explain everything, I promise, but perhaps you should meet everyone first.’

I checked my watch. ‘And then you’ll tell me what this is all about?’

‘We will,’ said Ruth. ‘You’ve come this far. Hear us out?’

I folded my arms and leaned back in the chair. ‘I’ll try.’

‘Splendid,’ said Mahdi, stepping away and raising his arm with a flourish, like a ringmaster about to present the next incredible act. ‘Allow me to introduce you to our little group. The charming gentleman you met at the door is Marcus Millar, doyen of the olfactory arts, and beside him is our master of music and sound, Mr Duncan Creighton.’

Marcus harumphed from behind his spectacles, while Duncan gave me a salute.

Mahdi dodged around the sun lounger to the two women seated against the wall. ‘No meeting of the Nostalgia Club would be complete without Margaret Boyle and her charming friend Biscuit,’ he said, tickling the terrier’s chin. ‘And beside them, we have Miss Barbara Kinsella.’

Barbara gave a curt nod, while Margaret offered a puckish smile: ‘Nice to meet you, son,’ she said. ‘We hope you’ll stay a while.’

‘Finally,’ said Mahdi, ‘we have Ruth Temple and myself, Mahdi Azmeh. We are the Nostalgia Club.’

‘Hello,’ I said, crossing my legs. ‘Nice to meet you all. Why am I here?’

Mahdi sat in the spare seat beside Barbara and, for a moment, stared at me in silence. ‘You really don’t know?’

‘I really, genuinely and absolutely haven’t a clue. I’m not even sure why I came.’ I stopped and waited for his response, but he continued to stare at me. ‘Maybe I was just bored,’ I said.

‘Maybe,’ mused Mahdi. ‘Or perhaps something compelled you. An impulse, possibly? An idea that seemed to arrive from out of nowhere?’

He was closer to the truth than I was ready to admit. ‘The note says you can help me.’

‘I certainly hope we can.’

‘With what?’

His foot tapped against the hard floor. ‘How would you like us to help you?’

Duncan sighed loudly and stretched out his long legs. ‘Cut the cryptic shite, Mahdi,’ he said. ‘You can see the guy’s not into it.’

Mahdi turned to him and dipped his head in lieu of a bow. ‘Thank you, Mr Creighton. Direct as always.’ To me, he added: ‘What if I said we can help you make sense of a few things and set you on an interesting new path? Would that clarify matters?’

‘Not much,’ I said. ‘I’m quite happy with the path I’m on, thanks.’

‘Are you, though?’

That was enough to ignite the irritation that had been building since I had entered the room. I pushed back my chair, rose and marched to the door. I was reaching for the handle when Ruth called out behind me: ‘We can help you. We really can.’

I turned the handle.

‘You feel like your life isn’t quite your own, don’t you?’ she said. ‘That you’ve ended up somewhere you’re not supposed to be.’

I kept my fingers on the handle, my back to her.

‘Sometimes you feel like you’re not really here at all. And sometimes you go back, don’t you?’

‘We can help,’ the note had said. Perhaps they could.

I turned to face her. ‘I haven’t been feeling right lately. There’s been a lot going on.’ My hand clasped and unclasped the door handle. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

In just a few paces, Mahdi was at my side. ‘You did the right thing. We’re here to help.’ He gently eased my fingers from the handle and ushered me back into the room. ‘Please, sit.’

I sat, and he settled into the chair opposite. ‘Forgive me – we seem to have been talking at cross purposes. I assumed you were at least somewhat familiar with our activities. I’ll try to explain.’

‘Properly,’ said Ruth.

‘Of course,’ said Mahdi. ‘A few things first.’

Marcus took off his glasses, laid them on the table and rubbed his eyes: ‘Can we do it without the theatrics?’ he said. ‘He’ll stay, or he won’t stay. Just tell him, and we’ll find out which it’s to be.’

‘I’m with Marcus on that one,’ said Duncan. ‘Just this once.’

Mahdi ignored them. ‘Some people are born with talents,’ he said. ‘Some are gifted artists, some have a beautiful voice, some are extraordinary athletes. Others might have a gift for persuasion, for mimicry, for knitting, for mathematics, or poetry, or—’

Ruth stood behind my chair and leaned to half-whisper in my ear, loud enough for Mahdi to hear: ‘He’s going to get to the point any minute now.’

‘Of course I am,’ said Mahdi. ‘Many gifted individuals discover their talents early. Others bloom later in life, thanks to a chance encounter or a helping hand. Some talents are so rare, so specialised that, without careful nurturing, a person might never even realise—’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Duncan. ‘This could take all night. Cut to the chase: We’re time travellers. That’s what this is. We’re time travellers.’

I laughed, but no one else did. ‘Time travellers?’

‘Yes,’ said Mahdi with more than a hint of pride. ‘We travel—’

‘—in time,’ I interrupted. ‘I get it.’ I waited for the laugh, the wink, the smirk, but it never came. They stared at me in rapt expectation. ‘Like some kind of role-playing game?’ I said.

‘No. It’s not a game,’ said Mahdi.

‘Definitely not,’ said Ruth.

‘A joke, then?’ I demanded.

‘It’s no joke, son,’ said Margaret. ‘That’s what we do.’

I looked from face to face and, in as neutral a tone as I could summon, said: ‘You’re time travellers? All of you?’

They all nodded.

‘Even the dog?’

Margaret giggled and bounced Biscuit on her lap. ‘Don’t be daft. He’s just a dog.’

‘Okay,’ I said, contemplating the safest and fastest way to exit a room full of lunatics and retreat to a safe pub and a steadying drink. ‘You’re time travellers from the year three million who like to hang about in the back room of an Edinburgh pub every Wednesday night?’

‘We’re not from the future,’ said Mahdi.

‘Outer space?’

‘No,’ said Ruth. ‘We’re all very much from here, now. We’re not spacemen from the future or anything like that. We’re just normal people, who—’

She paused, looked at the ceiling, and then swallowed hard. ‘Travel in time,’ she concluded, clearly aware how ridiculous it sounded. ‘That’s why we’re all here.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Let’s have a look at it, then.’

‘At what?’ said Ruth, baffled.

‘Your time machine. Where is it?’ Besides Duncan’s laptop and speakers, the only equipment in the room was a whirring mobile air purifier close to Marcus’s table.

‘We don’t have a time machine,’ chuckled Mahdi. ‘Popular fiction has misled you on the mechanics of time travel, Mr Seymour. You won’t find any elaborate Victorian devices or bigger-on-the-inside phone booths here.’

Duncan frowned and muttered: ‘Police box. It’s a police box.’

‘Or police boxes,’ continued Mahdi. ‘Nothing of that sort. You’re already travelling in the most efficient time machine of all.’

I looked down at my belly straining against my slightly-too-tight trousers.

‘The human body,’ said Marcus, helpfully.

‘Yes, I get that,’ I said, opting – for the moment – to humour them. Now that I was in the middle of it, it might at least make a funny story to help break the ice with Alison and Malcolm. ‘How’s it done, then? You just make a wish and go flying off into the middle of next week?’

‘Not next week,’ said Marcus. ‘Or the week after. Not even as far as tomorrow.’

‘So you’re time travellers, but you don’t even go into the future?’ I scoffed.

‘Sadly not, other than by the usual means,’ said Mahdi. ‘We’re obliged to move forward a second at a time, just like everyone else.’ I opened my mouth to speak, but he carried on: ‘Think of it this way: We’ve already created our path from the past to now, so we can follow it back. None of us has been to the future, so there is no path to follow.’

It made as much sense as anything else I’d heard so far. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘So you only travel into the past. Are you going to tell me how you think you do it?’

‘We don’t think we do it,’ said Marcus. ‘We do it.’

I pointed towards the sun lounger at the centre of the room. ‘If you time travel in your own bodies, I assume that’s got something to do with it. What is it, hypnotism?’

‘It’s not hypnotism,’ said Ruth. ‘It really happens. You’re still looking for reasons not to believe it.’

‘I’ve got plenty of reasons not to believe it. It’s ludicrous. Isn’t it?’

‘You think so?’ said Duncan, looking up from his laptop. ‘Why?’

‘Because time travel’s impossible. Even if it wasn’t impossible, it’s hardly likely to have been discovered by a bunch of oddballs in the back room of a pub.’

‘We didn’t discover it,’ said Duncan. ‘We just use it. None taken, by the way.’

‘None what?’

‘Offence. For the “oddballs” thing.’

‘Oh, right. Sorry. Anyway – time travel? It’s impossible.’

‘It’s not impossible,’ said Duncan. ‘You’re doing it right now.’

I thought for a moment. ‘Because I’m moving forward into the future? That’s not time travel. That’s just living. Everyone does that.’

‘But not everyone can do what we do,’ said Mahdi. ‘We aren’t constrained by the same laws as everyone else.’

Ruth crouched at the side of my chair. ‘What I said earlier – about feeling like you’re not quite here … it made sense, didn’t it?’

‘No.’ I stifled a shiver and struggled, again, to evade thoughts I’d been avoiding for months. ‘You think I can do this time travel thing as well, don’t you? That’s why you wanted me to come here.’

‘Yes,’ said Ruth.

‘I think I’d know if I was a time traveller,’ I said, forcing a laugh.

Mahdi looked at me with discomforting intensity. ‘Would you? Perhaps you just haven’t found the right conditions so far. That’s what our little club is for – together, we nurture and amplify our talents. We can do that for you, if you’ll let us help you. And, if you find you like it, well—’

He stopped and exchanged a glance with Ruth. ‘Perhaps you might be able to help us with a little problem of our own.’ He walked to the sun lounger and sat on it, bouncing gently. ‘You’re sceptical, I can see that. Try it for yourself, and I promise everything will become clear. Your past is waiting to be explored, Mr Seymour. All of it.’

I could have left, right then. I could have walked out, closed the door behind me and never seen any of them again. But I didn’t. Instead, I asked: ‘All of it? What if I don’t want all of it?’

‘I understand,’ said Ruth, ‘but don’t worry. You choose where you want to go. No nasty surprises, I promise.’

‘You’ll love it,’ said Margaret. ‘Just take a wee lie down. It’s easy.’

The orange-and-purple floral pattern on the lounger was a migraine waiting to happen. ‘On that thing? You think I can just lie on that and pop off to Culloden, or the Stone Age or … wherever?’

Mahdi stood, motioning for me to lie down. ‘Nothing as dramatic as that. Our travels have their limits. For now, we could try something simple. You were asking earlier how we managed to pass you our little invitation. Would you like to take a look?’

The last train home was still hours away – and lying down on the lounger might make a good punchline for my story. ‘Why not?’ I said, rising from the chair. ‘What do I have to do?’

‘Just lie back, and we’ll guide you through the rest,’ said Ruth, switching off the air purifier.

‘Does the sun lounger go back in time as well?’

Mahdi patted its frame. ‘No, no. The lounger stays here. Now, please. Lie down. Relax.’

I settled into the lounger, which proved unexpectedly comfortable. Duncan’s fingers flew over the keys and trackpad of his laptop. At the same time, Marcus took two vials of liquid from his collection, mixing drops from each into a slim tube, which he plugged with a plastic stopper, shook and held up to the light before adding another drop from each of the vials.

‘Please place your arms at your sides and close your eyes,’ said Mahdi.

‘Am I going to concentrate on your voice and then feel very, very sleepy?’ I asked, closing my eyes.

‘If you wish,’ said Mahdi. ‘The main thing is to let your mind detach from the here and now, to slip loose while focusing on your destination. Benson’s, three weeks ago.’

He paced around the sun lounger. ‘I’ll do my best to guide you along the first steps, but you’ll be doing most of the work, such as it is.’

‘Okay. What can I expect on the other side?’

‘You’ll arrive within yourself as you were three weeks ago. Inside, looking out. The best seat in the house, you might say. But first, Mr Millar and Mr Creighton will create the appropriate conditions to help guide your trip. Are you ready, gentlemen?’

I opened one eye to watch as Marcus poured four drops of liquid from the tube he had just prepared onto one of his oil burners, then lit a tealight beneath it. Duncan pressed a key on his laptop, and sound erupted from the speakers. He winced and lowered the volume, reducing the burst of noise to something more recognisable: A hum of conversation, laughter, the clink of glasses and the occasional chime of a till. Bar room sounds.

‘Close both eyes, please, Mr Seymour,’ chided Mahdi. ‘You’ll find the whole experience more rewarding if you follow my instructions.’

‘Sorry. Instruct away.’

‘And try to take it seriously.’ He lowered his voice, and I focused on his soft footsteps as he padded around the lounger. ‘Listen to my words, but focus on the sounds and smells we’ve provided for you. Use them to draw yourself to your destination. Visualise it. Envelope yourself in it.’

I couldn’t help myself. ‘That’s just remembering. Memory isn’t time travel.’

‘Concentrate, Mr Seymour,’ said Mahdi. His footsteps stopped, and I could feel his breath on my ear. ‘Memory is where time travel begins,’ he said. ‘It’s the fuel for what we do. Tell me, Mr Seymour, do you ever go to the gym?’

I kept my eyes closed. ‘Look at me. What do you think?’

‘Perhaps not. But the principles are the same – this is like exercising a muscle. It may be a struggle at first, but you will gain in ability and strength each time the exercise is repeated. Short hops will be enough of a challenge at the start, but you’ll quickly manage – crave, even? – more.’

The smell of the room was changing. The liquorice scent was gone, replaced by warm aromas of hops, whisky and hot breath. A question came to me – a ridiculous one, but I asked it anyway. ‘How do I get back?’

‘So you believe you might actually go somewhere?’ Even with my eyes closed, I could sense the smile on his face. ‘We’re making progress.’

‘I didn’t say I believed it,’ I said, sitting up and opening my eyes. ‘But if I did, how would I get back?’

‘Don’t worry. It takes only a slight effort of will to return to your starting point. In any case, I’ll be here to guide you back, if required. Lie back and close your eyes, please.’

I shuffled in the sun lounger, closed my eyes and turned my attention to the filigree of sound flowing from Duncan’s speakers. With enough concentration, I could pick out individual strands and found myself switching, as though using a TV remote to change channels, from the chiming of the till to the chatter of the drinkers and then the noise of feet on creaking boards. New sounds emerged: particular voices, a distinctive laugh, the clunk and swish of the door opening. The smells became richer and more complex, too, with new notes drifting to the fore: a hint of aftershave, rain drying on an old coat, stale smoke on a passing stranger’s breath. There was something else – a savoury scent I could almost taste. Light and shadow flickered across my closed eyelids.

‘Something’s cooking,’ I said, and my voice sounded faint and far away.

‘Is it really?’ said Mahdi. ‘What do you think it is, Mr Seymour? Can you tell? Smell it. It’s close, isn’t it?’

I chased the scent past wisps of furniture polish and sliced lemon until I pinned it down. Bread, butter and cheese heating together. ‘Cheese toastie,’ I said – or thought I said. A drowsy weightlessness was spreading up and down my spine, rippling across my limbs and into my hands and feet. 

Mahdi’s voice had taken on a peculiar echo. ‘You’re nearly there. Keep going. Further.’

My entire body was tingling, filled with a familiar and not-unpleasant sensation of simultaneously floating forward and sinking back, swaddled in swarms of humming static. ‘Breathe in,’ said Mahdi, from an impossible distance away. ‘What do you hear? What do you smell? What do you see? Where are you?’

Footsteps circled me. ‘Take a deep breath and hold it for as long as you can.’

There was a chill to the air as it hit my lungs. I held it there, warming it in my chest for what felt like hours, until Mahdi spoke again. ‘And … breathe … out…’

I exhaled slowly through my mouth, drifting further from the lounger, the function suite and the ties of the present. When I breathed in through my nose, the tang of bubbling cheese made my nostrils twitch. That toastie was close to burning. The floating feeling spread across my chest, out to my arms, down my legs and across my scalp in tingling waves. Cold air prickled at the back of my neck and blew past my ears, becoming a rising wind which drowned out the sounds of the bar and bloomed into a howling rush of pummelling energy which threatened to whirl me around and knock the air out of my lungs. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the roaring tumult whipped across me and was gone.

And I’m here.

About the Author


Paul Carnahan was born in Glasgow, Scotland, and grew up in the new town of Cumbernauld. After studying journalism in Edinburgh, he began a decades-long career in local and national newspapers.

‘How Soon Is Now?’ is his first novel. The second, the Britpop-era romance ‘End of a Century’, will be released early in 2025, and a third is currently a work in progress.

Website & Social Media:

Website www.paulcarnahan.com 

Twitter https://twitter.com/pacarnahan  

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/paulcarnahan6/ 

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/211423352-how-soon-is-now

Chapter One: Hollywood Underworld


 Title: Hollywood Underworld: A Hollywood Series
Author: Lindy S. Hudis
Publication Date: August 4, 2021
Pages: 203
Genre: Crime Thriller

First Chapter:

Dani Foxx sat at her computer in her small yet meticulous office on Ventura Boulevard diligently checking her day-planner. It was still early on this late-spring Friday morning, but the humid San Fernando Valley was already sticky and blistering-hot, a preview of the triple-digit summer sure to come. The air conditioner in her ship-shape Studio City office was running full blast, and the stack of papers, pictures and letters on her cluttered desk seemed to never get smaller. The temptation to procrastinate on Facebook and Twitter was overbearing, and she quickly closed them out. 

     “Gotta work today!” She murmured to herself as she began to get her space in order, taking advantage of some time alone. Dani was thirty-seven years old, and lived just a few miles to the north, off Coldwater Canyon near Magnolia, with her seventeen-year-old daughter, Dale, who attended Grant High School. She had started her talent management company from the ground up without any help from anybody, not unlike her life. She raised her daughter by herself, as well as running a household and business. She was smart, independent and subtly beautiful, with waist-length blonde hair and a figure as sexy and voluptuous as any starlet or supermodel. 

     Her ex-husband, a part-time actor and stand-up comedian, had abandoned the family when Dale was two.  Dani knew instinctively how to take care of herself and her child, and Dale’s father was long forgotten. Neither Dale nor Dani missed him, and they had made a wonderful and loving life for themselves. 

     Sighing, she checked her to-do list of meetings that day. She was to see several actors that morning, had phone calls and breakdowns in the afternoon, and she was running late due to an early-morning argument with her loving, yet typically rebellious teenage daughter. Barbara Thomas, one of the most powerful and respected casting directors in Hollywood, was currently casting a new feature film, and Dani was going to submit her best talent for the various roles. She was also seeking new clients, thus the many interviews she had scheduled for herself. Needless to say, this was going to be a busy day, and she was glad it was Friday, as a much needed and relaxing weekend was definitely in order. 

   Her office landline phone rang for the first time that morning, and Dani was swift to jump and answer it. 

   “Foxx Management.” She spoke professionally into the phone, while continuing to scan her computer screen. Her cell phone vibrated at that very moment, and she let her personal voice mail answer. Her life was a never-ending array of telephone rings, actor drop-ins and pulsating cell phones. However, the ambitious and hard-working Dani would not have it any other way.  

   “Hi Ms. Foxx, it’s Nick Savage. We met at the Actors Space Theater.” The cheery yet deep male voice said. 

   “Oh, hello Nick, of course I remember you. How could I forget your incredible performance in The Glass Menagerie?”

    “I certainly appreciate that, Ms. Foxx. I just wanted to confirm our appointment for this morning.”

    “Lemme check….” Dani clicked on the calendar icon at the top of her screen and skimmed the page when the document opened. “I see you have a ten-thirty with me.”

     “Yes, I do, and I am looking forward to meeting you again, Ms. Foxx.”

     “Likewise, Nick, and please call me Dani. Ms. Foxx is my mom.” Dani said with a friendly laugh. 

    “Okay Ms.…err, Dani. See you at ten-thirty. Is there anything you need me to bring? My demo reel? My new headshots? A Frappuccino from Starbucks?”

    “No thank you, Nick. Just bring yourself and we’ll work out the details of what you need later.”

     “Thank you, Dani. See you later.”

     “Great, see you then.” Dani smiled as the placed the phone back on the multi-line console. She remembered her acting and modeling days. She knew all too well the treachery and frustration of the entertainment business. The many pitfalls, vulnerabilities and precarious situations made life for the aspiring entertainer difficult, so Dani made it a point to be friendly, approachable and super protective of her clients. 

    She gingerly thumbed through the stack of actors' headshots and sorted them according to the order in which she was going to meet with them. Slurping her caramel latte, she eyed the pictures, one after the other. All of them beautiful, all of them with hopes and dreams in their flawless, white-toothed smiles. Nick Savage, the young man to whom she had briefly spoken on the phone less than a minute ago, was performing in a play that one of her clients was in. The Actors’ Space Theater Company in Burbank was bursting with phenomenal new talent, and she frequented there often with her faithful assistant, Doug.  However, this particular morning, Doug was running late, which was not unusual. The traffic in Los Angeles was becoming a joke, and one would have to leave home nearly two hours early to get to work on time. Friday mornings especially, it seemed, the freeways were like parking lots and everybody was always running late– which was why Dani, in her impeccably efficient manner, always made sure to live within a few miles of her office. 

    Shuffling through the stack, Nick’s headshot fell to the floor. She glanced down as she bent to pick it up. As she met so many actors and actresses, it was difficult for her to remember the names and faces, but she did recall meeting him. Dani studied his picture for a moment. His eyes shined with confidence, sex appeal and masculinity. She remembered his performance very well and thought he was talented and good-looking enough. Plus, he came highly recommended by her client, Jennifer Connors, who was also in the theater company. As with all actors’ headshots, his face seemed to speak to her, and they all seemed to have the same message. Hire me! Meet me! Love me!

    Her thoughts were interrupted as Doug, her exuberant assistant, burst into the room with a flourish. 

   “Oh my GOD, Dani! You will not believe the traffic on the 101 this morning!” Doug cried dramatically as he tossed his canvas tote bag onto his swivel chair in front of his chaotic desk. 

   “I know this, that’s why I live in Studio City and not West Hollywood, like you.” She grinned at her flamboyant, high-energy friend.

   “Well, we all have to live somewhere, right? But don’t you worry, you’ll always be my favorite valley girl!!” Dani giggled as he winked at her, approached the tiny kitchenette and washed out the coffee maker. “I need some high octane today, honey. I got zero sleep last night!”

   “Hot date?” Dani raised an eyebrow at him as he started to make coffee. 

   “Let me put it this way, Danielle, you know what they say about redheads.”

   “No, what do they say?”

   “That there is a fire down below. Trust me honey, whoever said that was NOT kidding.” Doug winked again as he filled the coffee maker with water and scooped the brown mixture inside. He felt comfortable with sharing intimate details of his life with her, as they were very close friends. Doug hoped to become a partner in her management firm one day, and Dani was encouraging Doug to find his own clients to gain some practical experience.

  “Well, I’m glad somebody’s sex life is full of excitement around here.” Dani scanned her e-mails and the various casting notices for the day: a new television pilot, a few independent films, and several commercials. 

  “Sweetheart, you just work too hard, that’s all.” Doug grinned at her knowingly as he poured the dark brown liquid into a mug with DIRECTOR printed across in gold ink. Dani couldn’t help but smile slightly and shake her head. Everybody wants to direct!

    “You’re right, as usual. I have no time for myself.” Dani took a sip of her caffeinated beverage as the constant, jarring ring of the office landline phone interrupted them. 

    “You just have to make time, girl!” Doug nodded as he was quick to answer the never-ending ringing phone. “Foxx Management.” He abruptly switched his tone from chiding to professional as he quickly sat down in the swivel chair and speedily thumbed through a stack of papers and scanned his computer monitor.  Another day at the office! thought Dani. 

    Her cell phone pulsated again, and she noticed Dale’s number on the screen.

    “Well, if it isn’t the fruit of my loins!  What’s up, kid?” 

    “Mom? Are you busy?” Dale’s voice was barely audible. She had the whiney, nonchalant tone of a typical teenager on a Friday morning who wanted to be anywhere else but in school. 

    “I always am. What’s up?” 

    “Can you come get me? I’m bored.” 

   “Yes, I’m sorry about this morning too, sweetheart…” Doug gasped in mock horror at the thick sarcasm in Dani’s voice. Dani waved him off as Doug answered the incessant phone without missing a beat.

   “Oh, right…. Yeah…. Sorry Mom, I….”

    “Are you at school?”

    “Yeah, but it’s a dumb class.” Dale sighed.

    “What class is it?”

    “Phys. Ed.” 

    “Are you skipping class now?”    

    “Yeah, the coach wants us to run laps around the gym. So stupid.” 

    “Dale, just give it a try, okay?”

    “I did Mom! You don’t get it.”

    “I get plenty, now get your butt to class.”

    “Excuse me Dani, but Barbara Thomas is on line three for you.” Doug interrupted politely but urgently – Barbara Thomas was not one you kept waiting.

    “Shit!” Dani was starting to lose her cool. “Okay, tell her I’ll be right there.”

    “Please Mom! What’s the big deal? It’s only gym.”

    “Dale, you’re going to get expelled if you keep this up!”

    “But Mom…”

    “Dale, you have to go, it’s part of the curriculum.”

    “A.J. is on line two.” Doug was growing more impatient.

    “Please tell him I’ll call him back.” Dani nodded over to Doug who went back on the line, but not without a playfully nasty look at her.

    “But Mom, it’s not fair that I…”

    “Fair?! What’re you, KIDDING me?! If life was fair, we wouldn’t need a Department of Justice, would we?”

    “What…?”

    “Exactly…Suck it up, buttercup, get back to the gym and sweat a little, it’ll do you good!”

    “But…”

    “I don’t have time for this.” Dani clicked off her cell phone and hastily picked up line three.    

     “This is Dani.” She announced professionally. 

     “Dani, darling. How have you been?” The throaty voice of the Hollywood legend herself was unmistakable. 

     “Great, Barbara. How are you?” Dani knew Barbara from her own acting and modeling days, and she was indeed a Los Angeles fixture. Barbara was a feisty, well-respected woman in her eighties and still going strong. She knew everybody and everything in town and had quite a reputation for being difficult and terse. She herself was a former starlet when the old Hollywood studio system was functioning and had been under contract with MGM and Warner Brothers. Rumor had it that she was a former lover of many a studio head. However, that rumor was never confirmed as nobody was brave - or stupid enough - to ask her. 

   “Oh, darling…. everything seems to happen at once. You know how it goes?”

   “When it rains, it pours, right Barbara?”

    “Absolutely, darling. I’m currently casting fifteen projects at the same time. It never stops.” 

     “Everybody in town knows that you have an eye for talent.”

    “That’s why I’ve been a casting director for over fifty years!” Barbara was never one to be modest.

    “Not a casting director, Barbara. The casting director!” Dani knew how to play the Hollywood game. Everybody’s egos were so fragile, so you heap on the praise. It was simply how it was done.

     “I love you, darling. You know exactly what to say.”

     “So, I’ve read the casting breakdown for The Love House.”

     “And what did you think?”

     “I think I have several clients who fit the bill. You know most of them. Solid, reliable.”

   “Any newbies?”

   “Could be, yes…I’m actually meeting a few prospective clients later today.”

   “Good. I’m sure you’ll find someone suitable; you’ve always had a good eye for fresh talent.”

  “Thanks, Barbara…” Dani laughed to herself - the old broad can dish out the schmooze too, well-played!

     “This town loves a good virgin once in a while, right…? About time for one now, maybe…” Barbara let the hint hover for a while. 

     “Could be, you never know…And who knows that better than you and I, right…?”

     The two women laughed reflectively and paused for a moment. They both had been fortunate enough to have a taste of ‘The Life’, emerging relatively unscathed and still on top of their game. But they also knew how quickly naive dreams and small-town hopes can be dashed by the vultures and thieves constantly circling over the land of glitter and make-believe. 

     “Right.” Barbara laughed briefly and politely, and then moved on quickly to the matter at hand. “I want to speak with you about the role of Linda.” Barbara became serious for a moment.  

    “Yes, sexy, beautiful and intelligent, with a wicked smile and sarcastic sense of humor.” Dani read the breakdown of the character.

   “A role you could easily play, darling.”

   “Not anymore, I quite prefer this side of things.” Dani laughed, taking the friendly compliment in stride. 

   “I wanted to know if your client Jennifer Connors was available. Is she still shooting that television series in Hawaii?”

   “No, she had a recurring role, but they killed her character off. She’s working on an indie film with Ross Mardsen now.”

“Ross Mardsen? Ugh.”

 “It’s a difficult set, but Jenn’s a pro.” Dani glanced up to see a uniformed delivery man at the door holding a large, pale-blue cardboard box. Doug grinned and leaped out of his seat to retrieve it.

    “Glad to hear it, darling. I’d like to see her for the role of Linda.”

    “I’m sure Jennifer would be glad to meet with you.” Dani checked her calendar. “She wraps next week; I’ll call her, and we’ll set something up.” Dani looked on as Doug opened the box. The aroma of pastries, donuts and muffins wafted through the air, causing Dani’s stomach to growl. Suddenly all her focus was on a maple bar.

   “I’d prefer to see her today, this afternoon, if that’s possible.” Barbara continued. Her tone was demanding yet endearing. You couldn’t help but like Barbara. 

   “Today? Uh…Sure, Uhmm…” Dani snapped her fingers, getting Doug’s attention. He checked his daybook and looked back at Dani with a thumbs up as he devoured one of the donuts seductively. “Actually, I think she’s on hold today, so no problem, what time is good for you?” Dani kept one eye on the box containing the delectable goodies, half listening to Barbara.

    “Three o’clock at my Beverly Hills office. I’ll have my assistant drop off the sides at your office.” 

   “Still not using e-mail, huh?!”

    “Oh God no, I hate those damn computers. Won’t have one in my office. I like doing things the old-fashioned way, it’s better for the soul.”

     “I guess you should know, Barbara.” Dani laughed and shook her head. She had always playfully teased her old friend who didn’t even have a cell phone. “Jennifer will be there. You want to see anyone else?”

   “Sure. Have some headshots and resumes ready and he’ll be over in about an hour.”

   “I’ll have them ready, Barbara.” Dani’s mouth watered as Doug placed a blueberry muffin, a chocolate frosted croissant and a delicious looking maple bar on a paper towel and placed them on her desk. She mouthed a ‘thank you’ as he returned to his desk and the incessantly ringing phone.

   “Then we’ll set up some more auditions.” 

   “Sounds good to me.”

   “Thank you, Dani.”

   “Thank YOU, Barbara. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything else.” Dani stuffed a piece of muffin in her mouth as Doug handed her a message from A.J. Tarentella. He wanted her to call him back as soon as possible. 

   “You bet. Ciao for now!” Barbara hung up, leaving Dani with her treats. She attacked them as the phone continued to ring. 

   “Foxx Management.” Doug answered on the first ring, gulping down coffee. “Hi A.J., please hold.”  Doug turned his attention to the munching Dani. “It’s A.J. again. Should I tell him you’ll call him back?”

   “No, put him through.” Dani swallowed her food and took the phone.  “This is Dani.”

   “So, how do you like them?” A.J. spoke in low tones, his booming voice was intimidating and cold. However, Dani was not the least bit daunted by him. She knew his games and how to play them. 

   “Pardon me?”

   “The muffins. I had them delivered from Café Delicieux here in Beverly Hills.” A.J. sounded proud and amused.

   “Oh A.J., they’re amazing. Thank you so much. Doug and I are chowing down on them now. We really appreciate it.” 

    “I like doing nice things for you, babe.” His deep, male voice was harsh yet sweet, and Dani considered him one of her few close friends. A.J. Tarentella was dashing and charismatic. He was raised in a ruthless crime family. Being the son of a mob boss, he fought his way to the top with honor, loyalty and pride. He was now the proud owner of the Tarantella Agency, an immensely respected Private Investigation Company located in the heart of Beverly Hills. He used his father’s work ethic, connections and family ties to build his powerful business empire, and now he was always there to help those in need. He ingeniously cultivated and maintained a fragile balancing act between family loyalty and working with law enforcement. In his game, it paid to have powerful friends on both sides of the societal fence. A.J. could have easily taken his fortune and been frivolous with fancy vacations, cars and homes. Instead, he put all his money and energy into his trade. He sincerely cared about helping people, and that was a trait that Dani admired.

   “You know how much I love maple bars.” Dani exclaimed, chewing on the last bit of hers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doug gulp down a chocolate glazed donut in one swallow.                        

“You are too kind.” A.J.’s smooth, velvety voice crooned through the phone line, giving Dani a bit of a shiver. The two of them were very close friends, but there was a sexual energy between them that could not be denied. Dani decided that she didn’t want to take the relationship any further, as she cherished her wonderful friendship with him. 

    “A.J., I have one-hundred and ten things to do this morning, and it’s not even nine o’clock.” Dani told him, as she noticed a sexy and curvaceous redhead peering through the window, looking lost. Dani checked the list of appointments for the day.

     “How about lunch?”

    “Sounds good Hun, I’ll call you at eleven.” Dani hung up before A.J. could answer as Doug was greeting the nervous looking, but beautiful young woman. They shook hands cordially as she grinned the typical, I’m-an-actress smile that Dani knew all too well. She herself used to get that look on her face when going to meetings and auditions.  Dani smiled warmly at her, as Doug approached her untidy desk. 

    “Dani, I’d like you to meet Duckie Buckly. She has a nine-thirty appointment with you this morning.” Doug amiably introduced them, as the young woman excitedly extended her hand to her.

    “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Foxx.” She said a little too eagerly. 

    “Please sit down, Duckie, and call me Dani.” She nodded professionally as she sat down in the swivel chair opposite her.  

    “Thank you, Dani.” Duckie continued to smile her ear-to-ear grin. “I didn’t mean to be this early, but I left myself plenty of time to get through all the traffic.”

     “That’s perfectly fine, better early than late. Interesting name you have there, Duckie.”

     “Yes, I changed it to make it sound more theatrical. My legal name is Mildred Schneller.”

Dani paused, considered both names and shrugged slightly. “Well, you know, potato, potah-to…”

“Excuse me, Miss…. Dani…?”

“Oh nothing, just showing my age!” Duckie giggled nervously, unsure how to react and a little embarrassed. Dani picked up on this and switched gears to put the girl at ease. 

     “I like Duckie Buckly, it’s very…catchy.”

     “Thanks, I like it too.” Duckie anxiously twisted back and forth in the swivel chair as Doug brought over the coffee pot, refilling Dani’s cup.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you. Caffeine makes me nervous, more nervous than usual.” Duckie said with a laugh. She crossed her long legs and exhaled deeply.  

“I completely understand. However, if I don’t get my high octane, I’ll fall asleep at my desk, and I don’t think Dani would appreciate that.” Doug returned to his desk with a smile and a wink.

“Relax, it’s okay,” said Dani, reassuringly. “Would you like something else to drink? Some pastry? We just had a lovely box sent over.”

“No, thank you, I’m fine….”

“You sure?”

“Well, maybe some water…?”

“Of course.” Dani turned towards Doug who was already bringing over a bottle of water.

     “So, you’re signed with the Robby Round Agency commercially?” Dani scanned her resume. She had done plenty of live theater and commercials. She was referred to Dani by a client of hers who worked with her on a commercial shoot. Dani had seen Duckie in a national commercial for a diet soda and knew she could take this beauty to the next level.  Duckie was certainly something, very beautiful and sexy, but also had a sweet and innocent quality about her.    

     “Yes, I am, but not theatrically. I’m seeking representation for film and television.” Duckie took a deep breath and seemed to relax a little.     

“That’s fine. I could help you with that. You’ve got a fresh, natural quality about you, and I’m pretty sure once I put the word out, they’ll come running.” 

    “Sounds great to me.” Duckie smiled, running a perfectly manicured hand through her long, luxurious auburn hair 

“Jeffrey Donaldson wants you to call him as soon as possible. It’s about his live action project.” Doug approached and placed the pink message paper on Dani’s desk.   

“So, Jeffrey Donaldson called?” Duckie asked wide-eyed and impressed.

    “Yes, he’s actually a very new contact that I’m nurturing. I want to get my clients in to see him when he starts casting for his new feature.” Dani told her. Jeffrey Donaldson was the President and CEO of Lioness Studios, an old Hollywood institution that was founded in the 1950’s by a fading – yet visionary and daring – movie star from the “Golden Era of Hollywood”, Sasha McDonald. Over the years, the studio had become a powerful force in the industry but had fallen on hard times a few years back. Jeffrey had made his mark, and earned the respect of the Hollywood elite, by taking the washed-up studio and turning it into a powerhouse conglomerate with their enormously successful action franchise, Fire!      

    “Wow!” Duckie grinned, crossing her legs again.

    “Would you like to meet him?” Dani asked.

    “Yes, of course. Are they in production for the new sequel?”

    “They’re always doing something.”

    “Great.” 

    “Duckie, this is what I do for my clients. I can offer you a two-year contract with a six-month escape clause. If we both mutually feel this won’t work out, after six months we can terminate, and you’ll be free to explore other options.” Dani printed out a standard management contract and handed it to Duckie, who studied it. 

     “Okay, I see no problem with that.” Duckie looked closely at the printed paper. 

     “What I will do is work on getting you auditions and meetings. In the meantime, are you taking any classes?”

     “I take a scene study class with Brian Hodges twice a week.” Duckie answered.

    “Yes, I know Brian. He’s a great teacher. Do you work out with a personal trainer? I want you to stay fit and keep your figure.”    

“Of course, I work out every day at The Body Beautiful in Santa Monica.”

    “Oh, yes. I know that place. Ocean Avenue?”

    “Yes, that’s the one.”

     “Also, as your manager, I will be here to give you council and advice.” Dani told her knowingly.  Managers usually became mentors, mother figures, and a shoulder to cry on. That is why Dani kept her client list small, so she could be there for all of them.

    “I appreciate that, Dani.” Duckie crossed her legs a third time and leaned back in her chair. Dani made a mental note to speak with her about that, if she and Duckie did decide to work together. Perhaps an image consultant could help Duckie with her self-esteem and her nervy habits. They would not look professional at meetings and auditions. 

     “First word of advice for you, stop being so fidgety. I want to build up your confidence. You’re a beautiful young woman and there’s no need for you to be insecure.” Dani explained.

     “I understand.” Ducky looked at her intently, taking in every word. Dani could tell that she was ready to work hard, and not give her any attitude. Just the kind of client that Dani liked. 

     “Dani, John Gregory is on line two for you. Says it’s urgent.” Doug called over to her.

     “Thanks, Doug. Everything is urgent to John. Please tell him I’ll be with him in a minute.” Dani said, and then turned her attention back to Duckie. “Let me know what you think of my management contract, and if it’s to your liking we will have lunch next week and discuss the next step.” Dani smiled and offered Duckie her hand, which she shook with enthusiasm.

    “Thank you, Dani. I think this will work out great.” Duckie got up and gathered her things. 

    “Sorry, but I have to take this call.” Dani nodded and picked up the phone. 

    “Welcome aboard.” Doug grinned as he shook Duckie’s hand. “Dani’s great, and so are all of her clients. You’re gonna fit right in.”

    “Thanks, Doug. She’s really busy, that’s a good sign.”

    “Busy isn’t the word for this office, my dear! Crazy is more like it.” Doug gave her a knowing look as three phone lines rang at the same time. Doug rushed to answer them as Duckie strode self-assuredly out the door. 

     “John, let me tell you, this girl is absolutely gorgeous, and nice too. She’s like a big, sweet kid.” Dani was already selling Duckie to one of the top agents in town. John Gregory was a theatrical agent at the powerful and respected Independent Artists Agency, or as it was known the world over, I.A.A.

    “Has she signed with you?” John asked impatiently, always on the lookout for new talent and fresh faces, especially the attractive female kind. 

     “I offered her the contract literally ten minutes ago. She just walked out of our office. We’re going to be having lunch next week.”

    “May I join you?” John asked, interested in meeting the actress and seeing his friend, Dani, again. 

    “Of course, you may, John. We’re going to meet at Le Dome.”

   “Oh, no. I know a much better place. Everybody meets there. La Petit Four on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. It’s an outdoor sidewalk café. Much better and way trendier than stuffy old Le Dome.”   

“I’ve heard of that place.”

   “Trust me, Dani, it is the place for lunch these days. Le Dome is way too ‘90’s.”

     “Well, you would know…” Dani gave a friendly laugh as she glanced over at the clock. She was surprised to see that it was already after ten. The day flew by when the office was hectic and that was one of the many reasons that she like being busy. Fifteen minutes seemed like fifteen seconds in this office. It was just like Dani wanted it to be.

    “Who else are you seeing today?” John asked.

     “I have a ten-thirty with a wonderful actor who I saw in a play. His name is Nick Savage. Do you know him?”

     “Nick Savage, hmmmm. Yes, the name rings a bell. I do believe I remember seeing him on an episode of Crimes in the Hills.”

    “Yes, that’s him. He has lots of television credits. Handsome and talented. I’ve gotta say Dani, you have some of the most professional and marketable talent in town.”

    “I do appreciate that, John. As a matter of fact, Nick should be walking in any minute. I have a meeting with him shortly. I’ll let you know how it goes, John.”

       “Great, call me later.” John clicked off as Doug answered the relentlessly ringing phone. Dani sighed, glanced at her watch and shrugged. It was ten-thirty already and her appointment was nowhere to be found. 

    “Is Nick Savage running late?” She asked over to Doug, who held up his palms.

    “I guess so, traffic is getting worse and worse around here.” Doug scribbled a message on a pink notepad and gulped more coffee. “But it is weird, Nick seemed like such a professional when we met him at the theater. He really wanted to meet you, too. I’m sure he’ll be walking through the door any minute with the latest L.A. freeway saga.” 

    “Of course.” Dani turned her attention back to her computer screen to double check the time her meeting with Nick Savage was. He even called to confirm. It was rare for an actor to behave unprofessionally and be late to appointments. Exhaling loudly, she glanced down at her watch again. Twenty minutes seem to have flown by. She picked up her phone to give Nick a call. Perhaps he was stuck in traffic or just running late. When she got his voice mail, she left a brief message then leaned back in her chair, a puzzled expression on her pretty face. Where was he?

***

     The man sat stoically in the dim room; eyes glued to the eerie, blue glow of the computer screen. He had been using his special browser, Invisible Web or IW as it was known in various circles, in order to access the forbidden and illicit websites that littered the ‘Dark Web’. The dark web contained a specific type of Internet content that was unknown and not accessible by traditional web search engines and regular folk. They wouldn’t want to view the torrid and despicable innards of that part of the World Wide Web anyway. It was a revolting creation that existed only on darknet, an overlay of networks which required precise software, configurations and authorization to access. One didn’t want to tread there lightly, as it was a dizzying array of illegal products ranging from cocaine, weapons and child pornography. The police and law enforcement were always hot on their trails but seemed to be a few steps behind the internet hackers. Many attempts have been made to monitor this unlawful activity, and a few people have gotten caught and gone to prison for their crimes. 

     The man was his employer’s ‘offspring’, basically the second-in-command of the whole criminal operation. Being that the man was incredible technically savvy, he created his own server, hosted the website on his own, and even created a legitimate business front to throw the police off their trial. The man used his talents as a ‘Doxxer’, and that is exactly who he was, a ‘Dark Web’ master. 

    The man’s employer ran one of these illegitimate websites, and the Doxxer was in charge of running it, selling products, and hiding from law enforcement. ‘Black Panties’ was the type of dark net marketplace one needed a cast iron stomach to even view. The products and services promoted on the various crypto markets were purchased with a secret type of currency, and the whole transactions were surreptitious and hush-hush.

   The main product that the man’s employer sold were people. Beautiful, sexy people, and they were all for sale to the highest bidder. There were many people in Los Angeles with money, lots of money, and money can buy anything. The man discovered one very harsh truth about the City Of Angels: There are a lot of sick and disturbed individuals with lots of cash and wealth.  After the years of sex and debauchery go by, the sadistic acts they need to get their thrills only escalate. That is exactly where the dark web came in. 

     People were bought and sold like pieces of prime steak. Some were aware of their situations, some were not. Many of these attractive young people simply disappeared, and many just slipped into the deep well of drugs and prostitution. There was certainly no shortage of young, pretty, naive and lonely people in Los Angeles. It was almost as easy as simply posting a ‘casting notice’ in one of the trade papers or on practically any actor’s website. There were quite literally way too many to count, and they all kept coming, all with stars in their eyes. All desperate and hungry.  Some went willingly, some had to be forced, and some were even injected with heroin to get them to comply. It didn’t matter to the customer; they just wanted the fresh pussy or dick. Some clients just wanted straight or kinky sex, others wanted to tie up the young man or woman and beat them to a bloody pulp. If the client was heavily into sadomasochism, as many of them were, then the poor, unfortunate soul could quite literally have anything cruel, humiliating and torturous happen to them. Some were never heard from again. None of it was any concern to the man’s boss, as it was all about acquiring money, no matter how twisted and bizarre the means. 

     Right now, the man had a job to do. The demand far outweighed the supply, and it was his duty to provide the high-class clientele with what they wanted. What the rich men wanted were virgins, fresh and pure teenage girls. The human trafficking industry was a powerful and sordid one, run by underground crime figures and the wealthy underworld.  One wouldn’t think that such a repugnant and harrowing business could exist, but it did.  The customers were quite discriminating in their tastes as well, and the owner of these said industries were quick to supply them with product. 

  At this time, they were running out of product, and the man was burdened with the business of acquiring more. Lots more.

About the Author


Lindy S. Hudis is an award winning filmmaker, author and actress. Lindy is a graduate of New York University, where she studied drama at Tisch School of the Arts. She also performed in a number of Off-Off Broadway theater productions while living in New York City.

She is the author of several titles, including her romance suspense novel, Weekends, her “Hollywood” story City of Toys, and her crime novel, Crashers. Her latest release, “Hollywood Underworld – A Hollywood Series” is the first installment of a crime, mystery series.

In addition, she has written several erotic short stories, including “The S&M Club”, “The Backstage Pass”, “Guitar God”, “The Guitarist”, and “The Mile High Club”.

Her short film “The Lesson”, which she wrote, produced and directed, has won numerous awards, including ‘Best Short Film’ at the Paris International Film Festival, The Beverly Hills Arthouse Film Festival and the San Fransisco International Film Festival.

She is also an actress, having appeared in the indie film Expressionism, the television daytime drama “Sunset Beach”, also “Married with Children” , “Beverly Hills 90210” and the feature film “Indecent Proposal” . She and her husband, Hollywood stuntman Stephen Hudis, have formed their own production company called Impact Motion Pictures, and have several projects and screenplays in development. She lives in California with her husband and two children.

Website & Social Media:

Website/Blog ➜  https://lindyinparadise.wordpress.com/

Twitter ➜ https://twitter.com/Lindyscribe

Facebook ➜ https://www.facebook.com/LindyScribe/

Instagram ➜ https://www.instagram.com/lindys.hudis 

Goodreads ➜ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6470478.Lindy_S_Hudis 



Chapter One: Urbex Predator by Jens Boele

 


Title: Urbex Predator
Author: Jens Boele
Publisher: Amazon KDP
Publication Date: February 4, 2024
Pages: 394
Genre: Horror/Thriller

 

A relic from the Cold War, the old barracks beckon photographers, influencers, and adventurers, shrouded in secrets and peril. Nela and Tess dare the eerie ruins for their photography thesis, while Zander, Yelka, Vivien, and Damon embark on a simultaneous shoot. Amid the abandoned shadows, Yelka’s group runs into Steven and his ruthless gang, initially outsmarting them. Yet, Nela and Tess fall victim to a nightfall ambush, escaping but torn apart. As adrenaline courses through the gang, they stalk Yelka and her friends, unleashing a relentless manhunt. Vivien becomes their captive, setting off a chain reaction. Tess encounters Damon and Yelka, while Nela, guided by Ben, the barracks’ security manager, races to find Tess. Yelka strives to rescue Vivien, trapped in an abandoned outdoor pool. On his lone pursuit, Zander witnesses the gang’s brutality, delving into a darker realm within himself, spurred by the horrifying thrill of Steven’s actions. The scene propels Yelka, Damon, and Tess into a frenzy, unleashing chaos to liberate Vivien. Nela and Ben, attempting to overpower the gang, witness Yelka and Vivien’s escape as the gang closes in. With the arrival of Steven’s older brother, Henry, the stakes are set; the old military hospital transforms into a battleground. No one is to leave alive, and a matter of life and death ensues. In the ruthless clash, Nela and Yelka emerge as the lone defenders, while Zander pursues a mission for his own catharsis. In Henry’s basement, dubbed his Hades, the teams converge for a pulse-pounding final duel, where survival is the ultimate prize. You can pick up your copy at Amazon.  


Chapter One:

 

Silence was all that was left. Neither the shouting of the officers nor the marching thunder of the soldiers had remained from the Cold War. Finally, it was time itself that had defeated all enemies.

 

Unwavering, indifferent, and relentless, it gnawed at the foundations of what the Allied forces had left behind. Heat had cracked the asphalt, rain washed out the concrete, wind and storm had smashed doors and windows. Tar paper had melted in the sun and frozen in winter. Tiles had cracked in the freezing cold. Weather had crept into the woodwork and driven the paint out of the wood. Moss and ferns clung to exterior walls, clogging gutters, and water pipes. The forces of nature had achieved what those of the enemy had failed to do.

 

In the cold moonlight, Scott and Billy wandered between the former apartment blocks near the barracks. Six-story residential silos had probably housed the soldiers’ families at that time. Today they were surrounded by trees that had not been planted yet when the houses were abandoned. In the moonlight, the open front doors of the house looked like the entrance to a more sinister and terrifying world than the darkness of the woods. The night wind carried the heavy smell of forest soil and damp cellars to their noses. Now the nocturnal animals came to life and mingled their calls with leaves rustling.

 

“Wait!” Billy put his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “There’s something up ahead.”

 

They stopped on a grassy path that once had been a road.

 

“What’s supposed to be there?” Scott folded his arms in front of his chest.

 

“Look …” 

 

A black shadow emerged from the forest. Billy froze, Scott held his breath. It appears the animal was slowly approaching them. Gosh, let it be just a dog that has lost its way.

 

“It’s a wolf,” Scott whispered.

 

Billy felt Scott’s arm pushing him back.

“Damn, what do we do now?” Scott breathed frantically.

 

The animal approached slowly; head bowed.

 

“That’s a wolf,” Scott kept whispering, “that’s a wolf …” Breathing frantically, his voice grew louder with each word.

 

“That! Is! A! Wolf!” he shouted energetically, stamping his foot with each word, and waving his arms.

 

When Billy came out from behind his back, the animal had disappeared. His shoulders slumped. Scott exhaled in relief.

 

“Was that really a wolf?” asked Billy in a low voice.

 

“I don’t know,” Scott went on. “Anyway, it’s gone.”

 

“Can’t you even turn on the flashlight?”

 

“No, man. Not until we get inside. I don’t feel like getting caught by security anytime soon.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Billy let go of his tension. “And how is this even going to work? We’ve been walking through the forest for about half an hour now.”

 

“Yeah, so what?”

 

“How are we supposed to move those cables back to the car? Do you think I will run the route back and forth umpteen times?”

 

Scott abruptly stopped and glanced at Billy. “You aren’t even listening to me, are you? We will get all the cables out of the ceilings that night and stash them here. Then we’ll see what we got, and tomorrow night we’ll break down the gate and drive up here with the transporter. All right?”

 

Billy chewed on his lower lip. “Yes, but why don’t we go with the van already?”

 

“Because the broken gate would attract the security service in the morning, which would then catch us, stupid.” 

 

Waiting for an answer, he glanced at Billy, “It’s not that hard to understand, though, is it?” Billy nodded mutely.

 

“But do you think there’s still a lot to earn here anyway? This place is kind of old, you know. I’m sure others have been here before and pulled the copper outta the walls.”

 

“Take a good look around. Do you see any graffiti? Do you see any trails? Has anyone been partying here?” Billy let his eyes wander. No, no one has been here for a long time. “Don’t ask me why, but this place is hot.” 

 

Scott raised his eyebrows. “Now let’s get going.” Forgivingly, he patted Billy on the shoulder. “Otherwise, the Big Bad Wolf will get you right away.”

 

Sighing, Billy kept walking.

 

“This is probably just too far away from civilization. We’re just out here in the middle of nowhere. Nobody gets lost here …”

 

A bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout the night. 

 

Frozen, Billy stopped, Scott took a step back.

 

“What was that?” Billy’s voice trembled. 

 

Scott stared into the night. “I’m sure it was just an animal.”

 

Billy shivered. “Was no animal, dude.”

 

Scott turned to him. “What else would that have been? The wolf probably took a deer. You know what kind of noises animals make when they’re scared to die?”

 

Billy shook his head quietly as he remained in a state of shock.

 

“See it like this—the wolf will feast now and leave us alone.” Scott smiled. “Is even better for us.”

 

After a brief silence, he added, “Think of the money!”

 

The wind had eased, the dark forest path lay in silence. Behind them, the moon illuminated the clearing where the houses stood. In front of them, there was darkness.

 

Billy whispered, “Wait,” and then walked on hesitantly. His legs were heavy as lead, his breathing shallow. “Wait for me.” 

 

“Hurry,” Scott whispered softly.

 

As the path narrowed, the trees came closer, denying them the last light of the moon.

 

They could barely see anything when they noticed a motion in the shadows.

 

A large shade moved slowly between the trees.

 

It walked upright on two legs.

 

This was not an animal.

 

Billy felt an icy chill as his arms felt numb. He felt an invisible band tighten around his chest, draining his breath as Scott disappeared into the darkness.

 

“Scott?” He gasped for air.

 

“Run! Run Billy!”

 

Billy’s stomach clenched. He heard Scott try to shout something, but his voice turned into an uncontrolled gurgle. Like he was going to throw up. Then a rattle. 

 

Billy wanted to run away, but he just stood there, unmoving and trembling, paralyzed with fright. He grabbed his cheek. His eyes stared into the forest, widening.

 

“Scott?”

 

A branch cracked.

 

Darkness surrounded him.

 

Silence.

 

About the Author:

Jens Boele, a veteran media designer in the entertainment industry, brings over two decades of cinematic expertise to his writing. Born in Germany in 1975, Jens embarked on his writing odyssey in his youth, culminating in the publication of his debut book, "Sunshine," in 2015. This was followed by "Hurensohn," and his latest spine-tingling creation, "Urbex Predator."

 

Jens is a genre-bending author, specializing in horror and crime thrillers. His narratives often blur genre lines, weaving intricate tales that plunge readers into the darkest corners of the human psyche. Jens's storytelling brilliance lies in his fascination with the criminal mind; his villains are always profoundly human, offering readers a chilling examination of the psychological aspects of the criminally insane.

 

Jens sets himself apart by seamlessly integrating classic horror with the gritty authenticity of the present day. This innovative fusion imbues his narratives with a dynamic quality, seamlessly blending archaic thrills with contemporary intrigue, resulting in an immersive reading experience that resonates with both vintage enthusiasts and present-day readers alike.

 

Jens Boele's latest endeavor takes his work across borders, as "Urbex Predator" becomes his first book to be translated into English. A globetrotter with deep connections to the United States, Jens's passion for exploration and his international perspective, nurtured by family and friends in the US, shine through in his writing, offering readers a captivating blend of horror and cultural diversity.

 

Visit Jens’ website at https://jensboele.com/.