Her mother… Jaquan couldn’t find her mother. The frantic searching only intensified the growing terror. The air filled with the stench of blood and the chilling metallic tang of death. The Cro-Magnons, with their superior weaponry and seemingly ruthless efficiency, moved like a tide of destruction, their spears flashing in the darkness. They were taller, leaner, and faster. Their weapons were more advanced; longer spears, sharper flint blades – weapons that seemed designed for efficient killing. The Neanderthals, while possessing immense strength, struggled against the Cro-Magnons’ relentless assault and superior strategy. Their close-quarters fighting style, which had served them so well for generations, was overwhelmed by the range and precision of the Cro-Magnon spears.
The sounds of the attack were horrifying – the sickening thud of bodies hitting the cave floor, the sharp crack of bone, the choked gasps for air, the desperate cries for help. Jaquan pressed herself against the cold cave wall, her small body trembling violently. She watched, helpless and terrified, as her world crumbled around her.
The fight was short, brutal, and utterly one-sided. Within minutes, the struggle ceased. The cave, moments ago alive with the sounds of fighting and fear, fell silent, an unnatural stillness settling over the scene. Only the crackling of the dying fire and Jaquan’s ragged breathing disturbed the heavy silence. The smell of blood hung thick in the air, a suffocating blanket that clung to her nostrils and choked her lungs…
A young Neanderthal girl is orphaned in a brutal attack and left to survive on her own. This is her story of how she survived, set on the European continent 45,000 years ago…
The Brass Hand Frank Morgan is headed to a small New York town to find out what has happened to a reporter friend of his. A small thing, in the scheme of things. He is not even sure there is a real need to be concerned… At first anyway… But it seems like there may be much more to his friend’s disappearance that it seemed at first. Murder greets him and the mystery deepens from there. #Mystery #Crime #KU #Readers #DellSweet #Amazon #Thriller
A look at the town of Glennville. Bobby, Moon and Lois are the central points of this book, but they will also introduce you to their parents, the Sherif Kyle Stevens and some of the other town locals that make Glennville, Glennville. They are trying to spend the summer enjoying the beauty of the upstate New York town, camping, adventures, all the things three eleven year old kids could do for a summer in 1969. But Glennville is no ordinary town and there is always something else going on…
The Black River was more than just a geographical feature; it was a whispered legend in the hushed corners of Glennville, a dark, sinuous promise on the edge of their ordinary lives. For Lois, Bobby, and Moon, it represented the untamed, the exhilarating unknown that lay just beyond the familiar streets and the oppressive normalcy of their days. Summer had settled over Glennville like a thick, humid blanket, but beneath the languid heat, a different kind of energy was building – a shared hunger for adventure, a yearning to push the boundaries of their small-town existence. The river, with its murky depths and shadowed banks, beckoned with an irresistible allure.
It was a place where the predictable rhythm of Glennville seemed to break, where the rules that governed their lives felt distant and irrelevant. The hushed reverence with which the older kids spoke of its hidden coves and treacherous currents only fueled the younger ones’ fascination. They’d seen glimpses of it from the dusty backroads, a dark ribbon weaving through overgrown trees, hinting at secrets the town couldn’t contain. Lois, ever the observer, had always felt its pull. She’d imagine the smooth, cool water against her skin, the quiet murmur of its flow as a counterpoint to the constant hum of her mother’s worries or the distant roar of the mill. It was a space that felt entirely their own, a canvas for the adventures their limited world couldn’t otherwise provide.
Bobby, with his boundless optimism, was the first to voice the nascent plan. He’d arrived at Lois’s doorstep one sweltering afternoon, his face flushed with excitement, a hastily drawn map clutched in his hand. The map, sketched on the back of a discarded flyer for a long-forgotten town picnic, depicted a rough, ambitious route to the furthest reaches of the Black River accessible by foot. “Lois,” he’d panted, barely containing his enthusiasm, “We have to go. To the end of it. The real end.”
In the ancient past a cro magnon girl child was born and promised in marriage to a distant related tribe. She has come of age, sixteen and will now be escorted across several hundred miles of wilderness to her soon to be mate in the distant tribe.. Hunters and a medicine woman will accompany her. Once there she will begin her new life and face whatever lies ahead for them…
The early morning hours were a symphony of tearful goodbyes. Her father, Torvin, pressed a sharpened flint knife into her hand, his rough touch a silent vow of protection, a final extension of his guardianship. Her mother clung to her, her body trembling, whispering prayers to the spirits of the sky and the earth, her voice a fragile thread against the encroaching dawn. And then there was Anya, her younger sister, who pressed the small, intricately woven charm into Elara’s palm, a tangible symbol of their unbreakable sisterhood, a silent plea for remembrance and for safety. These moments of profound, genuine affection and heart-wrenching sorrow served as a bittersweet counterpoint to the cold, political necessity of her journey. They were stark reminders of the deep, personal cost of the alliance being forged, not through love or shared desire, but through the life of one young woman.
Before the small caravan began its solemn march, Lyra drew Elara aside, her ancient eyes holding a universe of understanding. She presented Elara with a worn leather pouch, its surface softened by years of use. Inside, nestled amongst dried leaves and carefully tied bundles, were an assortment of herbs, each meticulously labeled by scent and touch, a testament to Lyra’s profound knowledge. “Remember, child,” Lyra’s voice rasped, ancient and steady as the mountains themselves, “the greatest strength lies not in the sharpness of the spear, nor the swiftness of the chase, but in the resilience of the spirit. Observe, learn, and always, always trust your instincts. The earth speaks to those who listen, and its wisdom will guide you through the darkest of times.” This final exchange, a precious legacy of wisdom, emphasized the profound importance of inner resources, the enduring power of knowledge passed down through generations of women, a silent promise of guidance even in the face of overwhelming external pressures.
Accompanying Elara on this arduous journey were two of her clan’s most seasoned hunters. Kael, a man whose silence was as vast and deep as the plains they would traverse, his presence a constant, imposing sentinel. And Roric, younger, quicker, with a scar etched across his brow that spoke of past dangers faced and survived. Kael’s role was paramount; he was to be Elara’s primary guide, her unwavering protector, a guardian whose vigilance was said to be unmatched. He rarely spoke, his focus entirely on the intricate tapestry of the terrain, on the unseen threats that lurked in the shadows. His quiet intensity, the unwavering focus in his steely gaze, was a constant reminder of the wildness that lay before them, a stark testament to the seriousness and inherent dangers of the undertaking.
The air hung thick and heavy, a humid blanket clinging to the skin even in the pre-dawn chill. The city, normally a cacophony of distant sirens and rumbling traffic, was unusually quiet, punctuated only by the rhythmic tremor that vibrated through the very foundations of the buildings… #Crime #Fiction #KU #Readers #Thriller #Kindle #Audible #Series
The air hung thick and heavy, a miasma of stale cigarette smoke, cheap weed, and something else… something indefinably rotten. It clung to the peeling wallpaper, to the stained mattress shoved against the wall, to the very fabric of the room itself. This wasn’t just a dilapidated apartment in Harlem; it was a tomb, a suffocating cage built from neglect and despair. Rose-Lee, her eyes sharp and assessing, took it all in, the grime, the shadows, the sense of impending doom that settled like a shroud. Across the room, Alice huddled beneath a threadbare blanket, her eyes wide and fearful, a stark contrast to Rose-Lee’s steely gaze.
Dollar, their captor, paced like a caged animal. His movements were jerky, unpredictable, fueled by the relentless buzz of crack cocaine coursing through his veins. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes darted nervously, reflecting the paranoia that gripped him. He wasn’t just high; he was unraveling, a frayed rope threatening to snap at any moment. The air crackled with his volatile energy, a palpable tension that tightened the already suffocating atmosphere. He muttered to himself, a stream of incoherent ramblings punctuated by the occasional curse, his voice a low growl that vibrated in the confined space.
The apartment was a testament to urban decay. The paint peeled from the walls in ragged strips, revealing layers of grime beneath. The floorboards groaned underfoot, a symphony of creaks and sighs that mirrored the building’s slow, agonizing decline. A single bare bulb hung precariously from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows that danced and writhed across the walls, creating an unsettling, almost hallucinatory effect. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay, a constant reminder of the neglect and squalor that had overtaken this once-proud building.
Outside, the city roared, a cacophony of sirens, car horns, and distant shouts. The sounds filtered through the thin walls, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence within. It was a constant, jarring reminder of the world beyond their prison walls, a world they desperately longed to return to. But escape seemed impossible, a distant, unattainable dream. Dollar’s unpredictable moods and the ever-present threat of violence made any attempt at escape fraught with deadly risks.
Rose-Lee’s mind, however, worked tirelessly, a relentless engine churning through possibilities. She was a survivor, honed by the harsh realities of the streets, possessing a cunning intelligence that belied her youthful appearance. She studied Dollar’s every move, looking for weaknesses, for cracks in his fragile composure. She observed the way he clutched his drugs, the tremor in his hands, the wild gleam in his eyes. It was a dance of predator and prey, a silent battle of wills played out in the confines of their crumbling apartment.
Enjoy this free peek at book 2 and then scroll down to get the book links…
CONNECTED: DELLO GREEN
Copyright 2016 W. W. Watson, all rights reserved foreign and domestic.
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This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living persons places, situations or events is purely coincidental.
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DELLO GREEN
ONE
Small Problems for Big People
County Waste Transfer Station
Jimmy West
Jimmy West backed his big Dodge around to an open dumpster container, late afternoon was a perfect time. The county residents not in evidence: The large trucks done with their routes for the day: The dump about to close down for another day. Whenever he had something to dispose of and he needed privacy, he timed it so that he was here in the late afternoon just as he was now.
Smith, who now resided in the trunk of the Dodge, had met him on a back road of the local base. That was not as risky as it seemed. The base had been a small winter camp back in the early nineteen hundreds: When it had expanded the first time it had incorporated an entire nearby village. The whole township: Farms, streets, fields. At the third expansion, when it became a major base most people had forgotten about the old township and its farms and roads rotting away on the vast reservation. Jimmy, who had grown up in the area, had not.
Jimmy handled problems for different people. Very many of those people did favors for, or had business dealings with, people who had bad habits. Theft. Gambling. Prostitution, drugs, just to name a few. And many of those people with those bad habits got to know Jimmy West because they also had another bad habit: They constantly forgot to pay their debts.
Jimmy could see how a two dollar debt might slip someone’s mind. After all it was insignificant, but a three thousand dollar debt? Or even a thirty thousand dollar debt? No. He could not see how a debt that large could slip anyone’s mind. He couldn’t see how a debt that large wouldn’t be on your mind day and night until you had it paid, settled. Somehow, for some, it wasn’t that way and that was unfortunate for them because it meant they would most likely be getting a visit from Jimmy. A personal collection, so to speak.
Jimmy had a certain propensity for violence. His psychological evaluations in the service had shown an aptitude for following orders without question, and a certain flexibility of morals that some would find alarming, but which the government had used him for more than once. Killing didn’t seem to affect him the way it did others. In fact, it didn’t bother him at all. Killing was part of the job. That was how he looked at it then: And that was how he had explained his lack of empathy to the Army shrink that had debriefed him when he had resigned after his second tour. It was nothing special, it was how he was built. It was something his boss, Jojo White appreciated.
Jojo White ran the largest organized crime outfit on the east coast. He had met West fresh out of the service when some of those aptitudes had nearly gotten him killed. He had embraced that side of him. He employed West to fix problems for him.
Jimmy shut down the car and walked around to the back, looking in all directions, trying not be obvious as he did it: There was no one around. He keyed the trunk lock and the lid rose slowly.
West looked down into the trunk: Smith had been easy. Sometimes ordinary people picked up information or habits that became liabilities. When that happened Jimmy’s phone would ring. Not every problem he took care of knew something, but if need be every one of those problems had given up their information before he had allowed them to die.
Two weeks before it had been a reporter from Syracuse. He had gotten a little too close: Spooked White. White had put Jimmy on him. He had taken him out after have someone meet him in a bar. Men could be so easy like that. He had used one of White’s girls, and the reporter had followed her back to what he thought was her hotel room for a fun time. It was Jimmy’s hotel room, rented only to do the job. A few hours later he had carried him out to his car in his luggage. Today he had come here.
Smith had been selling in Jojo White’s cocaine territory. A bad idea. Jimmy knew he had sold the idea to a local bookie he had been in deep with. Move in, steal a little territory, sell fast and get the fuck out before Jojo even knew he had been there. It all sounded so easy when you were blue-skying it.
The bookie, Jimmy assumed, had passed the message on quietly: Was it worth the relief of a five thousand dollar debt? Ten thousand? Whatever it had been that Smith’s gambling habit had racked up, it had been wiped out: The man who held the reigns on those debts had forgiven it.
Jimmy, if forced to guess, would say that had been Jojo White, or someone who worked for Jojo. He was the biggest and the baddest: The most likely to be able to capitalize on information like that.
Jimmy didn’t like to guess though, guessing could get you dead pretty damn quick. So while he had curiosities about some things he handled, they were not strong enough curiosities to encourage him to ask a single question that he was not supposed to ask, ever. The jobs came through his cell. He answered, said yes in the right places and did the work: When the work was done he called another number. Later that day or the next the payment arrived in his bank account. A few times he had met with Jojo at his request. Sometimes he had met with others that also worked for Jojo, but for the most part he worked alone and took his orders over the phone.
He looked down into the trunk at the bundled and bagged remains of Smith. He was packaged up with actual garbage. He preferred to stop by a local nursing home and pick up a few bags from their dumpster to do the packaging with. It kept people from looking too closely.
He had met Smith on one of those back roads. It was a good place to meet even when there were maneuvers going on, and there had been.
Maneuvers meant gunfire, even live rounds. The whole area was off limits during maneuvers and training sessions, but he couldn’t have cared less about that. It was easy enough to sneak in, he had met him in a small clearing just off a one lane blacktop that had been chewed to bits over the years by tank treads, on the promise that he needed to show him something very important. He had taken him around to the trunk. He had been eager, probably thinking this was his way into the drug trade. The lid had risen to a plastic lined interior and he had shot him twice in the temple as the puzzled look had still been riding on his face. There had been no need to question him: There was nothing he knew that anyone needed to know: He had simply been unfortunate enough to have the audacity to challenge Jojo White.
A plastic rain suit had slipped right over his own clothes, and he had gone to work with an ax and a sharp knife that had been laying on the floor of the trunk waiting. By early afternoon the bagged remains had been resting in his trunk and he had been on his way to the transfer station.
He reached down, hefted the first bag out of the trunk and launched it into the huge steel container. Five minutes later he was finished and had paid his dumping fee as he left, smiling up at the woman in the office as he passed over the scales and drove out the gate.
TWO
Two months earlier
Dello and Nikki
Springfield New York
“Get up, get up, get up,” Dello said. He laughed. Nikki ignored him. “Honey, I have to go… I’ve got about a million things to do.”
She opened her eyes and looked of him. She was curled into his side, it was the way she slept and as much as he had to get moving he didn’t want her to pull away from him.
Dello was up on his elbows on the bed, Nikki pushed up on one elbow herself and laid her head on his stomach.
“A million, huh?” she asked.
“At least,” Dello said. One nipple poked out at him as she raised her head once more.
“But this is your day off, baby. We always sleep late…” She pouted.
“Uh huh. Except, baby, it’s almost over. And we’ve got things to do. You have your own things to get done today too… Right?” Dello asked. His hand dropped to her bare back and then trailed along down the center of her spine to her ass. He knew it was counterproductive. Not likely to get either of them moving any sooner, in fact probably later, but she had a great ass. A great ass.
She smiled at him, her blue-gray eyes mischievous. Her hand snaked down under the edge of the sheet and found him already hard.
“Ah, hah,” she said. “I think I’ve discovered something.”
He laughed, but his hands, both hands, ran across her bare cheeks. “Bring me this,” he said quietly.
She rose up on her knees and then threw one leg over his chest. His hands came up, cupped her cheeks and pulled her to him.
The morning passed them by for a little while.
Later
Dello looked at the clock. An hour had slipped by. Nikki was curled back into his side. Her breasts pressing against him, one hand resting on his stomach.
“I know, I know,” she mumbled. She raised up, one nipple poking out at him again and gave him her crooked smile.
“Couldn’t we just lay in bed all day? I promise you, you won’t regret it,” she said.
“Not until we have finished our part and it’s not done.” Dello answered. He reached for her and she came to him, the weight of her breasts against his chest. “A little while longer and days off will really be days off, baby,” he promised.
“I love it when you call me baby,” Nikki said. She sighed. “Since I can’t convince you with my womanly charms, I guess I better get myself in gear,” she said.
“You already did convince me. It’s an hour later, baby. You’re going up there to check things out, right? That’s a four hour trip.” Dello said.
“I know… I know,” she kissed the tip of his nose. “And I do take it seriously. I know it’s for us. For our future… Do we have tomorrow?” she asked.
“No, baby. I’ve got something I have to do for Jojo… I’ll be gone three days… I told you,” Dello said.
“I know,” she put her hands behind his neck. “Back in three days?”
“Back in three days and all yours, baby,” Dello agreed.
“I’ll do anything for you, baby. Anything. So long as it’s you and me in the end,” Nikki told him.
“You and me is all it is,” Dello said.
“You and me,” Nikki agreed.
Brownsville Two weeks earlier
Rico
“I grew up here,” Rico said. “That’s why I came back. Spread the money around, you know?”
Kelvin Gaynor nodded. “Sure, man. I can see that. You been good to us.”
“Yeah,” Sweet Jones added. “Gonna make you an honorary black man. A brother of another color.”
Kelvin smiled. One gold tooth glinted back at Rico.
“You ain’t fuckin’ around with anything anymore, right?” Rico asked. He looked at both of them. Letting the question fall between them.
“I got too much respect for my body to do that shit again,” Sweet said.
“Had to ask,” Rico said and smiled. “Some men can’t walk away. Fall into that shit and it gets them… You stay straight and I’ll give you work,” he said. “Same token, if you fuck up I won’t be able to save your asses… This is a big deal… I’m taking a chance with the two of you. I don’t need to tell you, right?” Rico asked.
“No, man,” Sweet said.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Kelvin told him.
Rico smiled, slipped one hand into his jeans, and pulled out a folded envelope. “There’s three grand in there. Get a halfway decent car. Buy one,” he looked at Kelvin. “I know how good you are, blanquito, but I can’t afford for you to get popped… So, buy one. Just ditch it when you’re through with it; so don’t buy it in your own name or some dumb shit thing like that.” He smiled. “Fifteen for each of you when we’re done… A day’s work… You can’t get that nowhere else. That ain’t no food stamp money, ese”
They both nodded.
Rico turned and got into the back of the limo that waited at the curb. He leaned out the rear window. “I’ll let you know… Get the car, it’ll be a few weeks… Stay out of trouble.” The black glass rolled up silently and he was gone. The limo purred away from the curb, traveled slowly down the block. People along the street stopped to look. The car made the corner and disappeared.
Kelvin looked at the envelope in his hand.
“Tell me you ain’t thinking of buying no fuckin’ car,” Sweet said.
Kelvin grinned. “Fuck no. I can’t spend money when I can take it for free. Like a woman. What man pays for it if he’s getting it for free? None,” Kelvin said. He looked around, people we’re looking at them.
“Come on,” Sweet said. “People is watching.”
They walked off down through a nearby alley and a few minutes later they were walking a rusty section of railroad track that ran behind the buildings…
Get the books…
Connected: Short Hauls Kindle Edition
Book 1 of 3: Connected
A collection of seven crime stories; including Harrows… They had been drinking one night when Robby had come out with the murder bit. #ShortStories #CrimeFiction #Watson #Readerrs #Kindle
Connected: Sanger Road Kindle Edition
Book 2 of 3: Connected
Sanger Road… Pulled from his mundane life, Carl finds a world where anything is possible if you are willing to risk everything… #Crime #Readers #Amazon #Kindle #BookLovers
Connected: Dello Green Kindle Edition
Book 3 of 3: Connected
Jimmy West backed his big Dodge around to an open dumpster container, late afternoon was a perfect time to dump a body… #CrimeFiction #CrimeJunkkies #CrimeReaders #Kindle #Amazon
Gus Dyer is a detective no more. Staring into the deep wells of corruption for too many years sent him into a spiral. He tried to use the bottle to find his way out, but that only dragged him in deeper. The road to Redemption is a look at that fall and how hard that fall was. But Gus is determined to stand on his own two feet again. It remains to be seen whether he will ever become a detective again, but he is finding out that being a detective is not about a badge. It isn’t something you take on with the position either. It is in your blood, and if you have it, you cannot help but follow those impulses that flood through your body with that blood when you know something is wrong. Dead wrong… #crime #thriller #mystery #amazon #ku
Gus Dyer is a hardcore detective in the big city. He knows what crime is, and he has seen the worst of the worst walk her streets and taken those same people down. Some to jail, some to the gates of hell where they belonged in the first place.
This time he is on the trail of a hired killer, Jimmy West. West works out of the city. It is his base and fortress, the place where he can roam free among millions of other people unseen, unchallenged and free to continue his crimes. #crime #thriller #mystery #amazon #ku
In the heart of the vast and shimmering Pacific Ocean, three young ship boys, each no more than a few years past their childhood, found themselves cast away on a breathtakingly beautiful tropical island. This was no ordinary place; it was a lush paradise adorned with vibrant flora and fauna, where the warm sun kissed the golden sands and the gentle waves whispered secrets of the sea. Yet, beneath this idyllic exterior lay the harsh reality of survival in the 17th century, a time when the world was still largely unexplored and filled with both wonder and danger. #HistoricalFiction #SeaAdventure #DellSweet #KU #Kindle #Readers #BookLovers #Paperback
