The crooked Judge: This is a job George takes on for the bookie. The bookie has a friend who is a pimp for high dollar call girls. The judge has killed one of his girls and hushed it up through his buddies in the NYPD. This angers George and he takes the job. It turns out this story is the truth, but killing a judge has its consequences. Every law agency in the area is investigating. One of the cops who helped hide the truth remembers threats from the pimp and tells a cop buddy while drinking. That cop is an ear for Ben Larkin and relays the information to him.
Andrea, back in her humble dwelling, noticed it too. The birds, usually a raucous chorus at dawn, were unnaturally silent. The insects, a constant hum of life in the humid air, seemed to have retreated. The vibrant colors of her small herb garden appeared to have dulled, as if a fine layer of dust had settled upon them, a dust that wasn’t visible but could be felt, a muffling of the world’s sensory output. She found herself looking over her shoulder, a habit she had never possessed before, an instinctual awareness of being observed, even in the solitude of her own small space. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #PostApocalyptic #Survival #Kindle #Audible
The collapse had been a swift, brutal amputation. The surge, a cataclysmic event that had not only silenced our digital world but had also plunged vast swathes of the planet into darkness and disarray. The immediate aftermath had been a blur of panic, of desperate attempts to comprehend the incomprehensible. The abstract threats of cyber warfare or economic collapse had been replaced by the terrifyingly concrete realities of starvation, disease, and the primal struggle for survival. In the early days, the focus had been singular: survive. Find food, find water, find shelter. My technical skills, so vital in the old world, were largely useless. I learned to scavenge, to ration, to move with a stealth born of necessity. I learned the silence of the wilderness, the language of rustling leaves and snapping twigs. But survival, I was discovering, was not an end in itself. It was a means to an end, a precarious foundation upon which something more must be built. It was a recognition that to truly survive, I needed to do more than just exist; I needed to be.
Before Candace could speculate, a low, guttural growl echoed from the far end of the depot, followed by the distinct sound of heavy boots crunching on gravel. It was a sound of human origin, but there was an aggression to it, a territoriality that sent a prickle of alarm through Candace. “Someone else,” Elara whispered, her hand tightening on her pipe. Candace nodded, her gaze fixed on the source of the sound. “And they don’t sound friendly.” She could see them now – a group of figures emerging from the gloom, their silhouettes indistinct against the muted light. They were armed, their weapons glinting dully. Their movements were coordinated, purposeful, suggesting a trained unit rather than a disorganized band of scavengers. #Dystopian #Apocalyptic #Epic #Survival #Amazon #Kindle #KU #Horror
Chronicles from the Wastelands 03
The world ended not with a bang, but with a sickening lurch. One moment, Mike was wrestling with a stubborn garden hose, the scent of cut grass and impending rain filling the air. The next, the sky ripped open. Not with thunder, but with a silent, violent tear that bled impossible colors across the horizon… #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #DellSweet Dell Sweet, Apocalyptic, Dystopian, horror
Chronicles from the Wastelands 04
As they were bagging their meager findings, a sudden sound echoed from the front of the store – a faint scuff, like a boot on loose gravel. Both men froze, their bodies tensing. Mike slowly raised his rifle, his finger hovering over the trigger. Ben drew his machete, his knuckles white. The silence that followed was deafening, stretching out, each second an eternity. Then, another sound, closer this time – the unmistakable creak of the store’s front door, the one they had pried open. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #DellSweet Dell Sweet, Apocalyptic, Dystopian, horror
Lee Crow: Year 2196. Captain Lee Crow leaned back in his pilot’s chair as Eagle One slid into Moon Base 14’s docking bay with that familiar metallic groan. His fingers flew over the controls, years of muscle memory making the landing look easier than it was. This rustbucket of a cruiser had cost him most of his savings fresh out of college – worth every credit, even if the maintenance fees kept him awake at night sometimes. #SpaceTravel #Sciencefiction #SpaceColonization #DellSweet #SciFi #Amazon #KU #Kindle
The air, once a crisp promise of life, now hung heavy, a suffocating shroud of ochre dust and acrid fumes. Earth, their ancestral cradle, was gasping its last, ragged breaths. Decades of unchecked industrial sprawl, of rivers choked with effluent, of forests razed for short-term gain, had finally brought the planet to its knees. The sky, a bruised canvas of perpetual twilight, offered no solace, only a grim testament to humanity’s heedless ambition. From the viewport of the Eagle Two, Earth was a dying ember, its once vibrant blues and greens leached away, replaced by the sickly hues of decay.#SpaceTravel #Sciencefiction #SpaceColonization #DellSweet #SciFi #Amazon #KU #Kindle
The Jail Job: The intended guy is in Rikers Island doing a year. George uses Juanita’s computer skills to access the inmate Database and have him released early. Vinnie tells him he is a snitch and a suspected child molester, but the truth is he is an undercover ATF officer investigating Vinnie’s interests in Rikers Island, where he controls the drug and sex trade in the huge jail. When he is taken to the prison ferry and released, he has no idea what has happened. He finds himself on the street with no funds, phone, walking after he is dropped off by the prison transport bus. He resolves himself to the thirty block walk to the ATF offices. George catches him on the way and kills him.
John Rourke is a private detective with contacts and a license to practice from New York to Arizona. He has the resources he needs across the country to find the information he needs to crack the toughest cases. Ex-cops, ex-Cons, snitches, stoolies, drug addicts, criminals, drug dealers and any kind of scum of the earth you can imagine or care to name. He knows the seedy side of life and to some people that makes him indispensable…
Book three:
The silence was broken by the distant screech of a hawk, its cry sharp and piercing against the vast silence of the desert. It was a lonely sound, a perfect metaphor for the state of my own soul. I was tired, bone-deep tired. Sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford, nightmares a constant companion. The faces of the victims, the ones I’d found along Rieser’s trail, haunted my dreams. Each one a testament to the brutal efficiency of a man who knew how to erase his tracks… #BookWorm #Readers #KindleUnlimited #WWWatson #Crime #Noir #Mystery #PrivateEye
Private Investigations 2: A John Rourke detective Story (Private Investigations: John Rourke Private Detective Stories) Kindle Edition Book 2 of 3: Private Investigations: John Rourke Private Detective Storiesby W. W. Watson(Author)Format: Kindle Edition J Book 2 of 3: Private Investigations: John Rourke Private Detective Stories John Rourke is a private detective with contacts and a license to practice from New York to Arizona. He has the resources he needs across the country to find the information he needs to crack the toughest cases. Ex-cops, ex-Cons, snitches, stoolies, drug addicts, criminals, drug dealers and any kind of scum of the earth you can imagine or care to name. He knows the seedy side of life and to some people that makes him indispensable…
Book two:
My apartment, usually a sanctuary of quiet solitude, became a temporary forensic lab. The dining table transformed into a command center, littered with maps, photographs, financial records, and transcripts of intercepted phone calls. The air hung heavy with the scent of stale coffee and the lingering aroma of cheap takeout containers. Days bled into nights as I painstakingly organized the evidence, meticulously documenting every detail, creating a comprehensive narrative that would stand up to the scrutiny of the legal system… #BookWorm #Readers #KindleUnlimited #WWWatson #Crime #Noir #Mystery #PrivateEye
John Rourke is a private detective with contacts and a license to practice from New York to Arizona. He has the resources he needs across the country to find the information he needs to crack the toughest cases. Ex-cops, ex-Cons, snitches, stoolies, drug addicts, criminals, drug dealers and any kind of scum of the earth you can imagine or care to name. He knows the seedy side of life and to some people that makes him indispensable…
Book one:
The chipped paint on my beat-up Ford Falcon was flaking like old skin. The smell of stale coffee clung to the interior like a cheap perfume, a constant, bitter reminder of the long hours ahead. Across the street, Paul Fields’ two-story colonial loomed, a picture of suburban perfection, a stark contrast to the cramped discomfort of my temporary office. The relentless hum of traffic on Hemlock Drive was a dull, throbbing ache in my skull, a soundtrack to this tedious ballet of surveillance. My gut churned, not from the coffee, but from the gnawing feeling that I was hemorrhaging money, bleeding my retainer dry on this seemingly pointless stakeout…
The end has come for most of the world’s population. Small groups of survivors are picking up the pieces… Learning to live again…
When the sun began to peek over the top of the ridge on the opposite shore of the Black River, everyone filed out to the two remaining trucks. It had been decided that Mike and Jan would stay behind while the others went in search of the stolen truck. They switched on and tested two sets of F.M. radios.
“Hey,” he said. A young guy. Unshaven. Wild hair. I could smell the street on him. His teeth were yellowed and chipped. Looked to be blackening in places I saw. His tongue continuously licked at his cracked lips. I couldn’t speak. Wouldn’t have known what to say if I had been able to, and I was having a very hard time keeping my eyes open. The lights were too bright.
“Hey,” he said again. “I didn’t know you would be naked… In a bath tub… He didn’t say that… I’m sorry…. I really am sorry.” His hand swam into view as I watched. Normal except a black lump seemed to be fused to it. A black lump with a blacker hole in the end of it. Fire spat from the blacker hole. The lights went out…#Audio #Book #SamWolfe #DreamTravel #Readers #Listeners
