This is a Dodge work truck-Van concept. Kind of a cross between a truck, van and the old ram charger utility vehicles or a less stylized Durango. This comes in a civilian and military version, a two pack. This model is designed and rendered in Direct X. The ZIP file also includes the maps and graphics as shown in the images below and converted versions in 3DS, FBX and OBJ. #dellsweet #3dcarmodel #3dmodel #3ds #fbx #directx
Take a look at this excerpt from Author W. W. Watson. This is a series of private detective novels. This is from Book 2. Scroll to the bottom of the page to get the book, if you like it, from Amazon…
The sense of closure from the Robert case proved illusory. The city’s hum, once a comforting backdrop, now felt like a constant, low-level thrum of impending trouble. It started subtly; a missed call from a blocked number, a cryptic email with no sender’s information, a fleeting glimpse of a familiar face in a crowded street that vanished as quickly as it appeared. These were small things, easily dismissed as coincidences, the product of an overactive imagination fueled by months of relentless investigation and emotional turmoil. But they chipped away at my newfound peace, a slow, insidious erosion of calm.
Then came the letter. A simple, unmarked envelope slipped under my apartment door, containing a single photograph – a grainy, poorly lit image of Sally standing outside a dimly lit bar, a man’s arm draped possessively around her shoulders. The man’s face was obscured by shadow, but the silhouette, the posture, the way he held her… it was chillingly familiar.
My stomach clenched. I knew that face. Or at least, I knew the
shape of it. It resonated with a memory, buried deep beneath the layers of recent trauma, a fleeting image from a case I’d worked years ago – a case involving a brutal assault, a string of unsolved disappearances, a network of organized crime that had stretched far beyond my reach. The man in the photograph, I was almost certain, was a peripheral figure from that investigation, someone I’d only caught a glimpse of, a shadowy figure on the edge of the frame. Someone I’d never been able to identify, someone who’d vanished without a trace.
The implications were staggering. My investigation into Robert’s infidelity had inadvertently unearthed something far more sinister, something that connected to a dark chapter in my past, a case that had haunted me for years. It was a chilling revelation, a cruel twist of fate that thrust me back into the murky waters of organized crime. This wasn’t just about a broken marriage anymore; this was about something far bigger, far more dangerous.
The photograph wasn’t just a threat; it was a challenge. A gauntlet thrown down, daring me to pick it up and face the consequences. The carefully constructed peace I’d worked so hard to achieve was shattered, replaced by a familiar knot of anxiety that tightened in my chest. The nightmares returned, sharper, more vivid, filled with distorted faces and the chilling whisper of impending danger.
My cautious, methodical approach, honed over years of experience, was suddenly inadequate. This wasn’t a simple infidelity case; this was a potential descent into a dangerous underworld. I needed to tread carefully, to plan each step meticulously. I couldn’t afford to make a mistake; the consequences could be devastating.
My first step was to verify the photograph. Was it a genuine image, or a carefully constructed fabrication designed to manipulate, to provoke a reaction? The quality of the photograph was poor, the details obscured, but there were subtle elements that suggested authenticity – the subtle grain, the way the light fell on the building in the background, the slightly blurry details that hinted at a hasty, clandestine shot.
I ran the image through various forensic enhancement programs, pushing the pixels to their limits, attempting to coax more information from the shadows. The results were frustratingly inconclusive. The man’s face remained obscured, his features hidden beneath the veil of darkness. But I did find something else – a barely visible detail in the background of the image – a street sign, partially obscured, but identifiable as a street located in the city’s less desirable district, known for its high crime rate and its connection to several organized crime syndicates.
The location provided a starting point. I checked local police reports, scouring databases for any activity in that area that might shed light on the man’s identity or Sally’s activities. There was nothing immediately obvious; the police reports were a sea of mundane incidents – petty theft, domestic disputes, vandalism. But something felt off. The sheer volume of minor offenses, their clustering within a small geographical area, suggested a pattern, a suggestion of organized crime operating at a low level, using the smaller crimes as a distraction or as a way to maintain control over the territory.
My investigation led me down a rabbit hole of back alleys, shady bars, and clandestine meetings. I spent nights following shadows, observing individuals who seemed to exist on the periphery of the city’s underbelly. The investigation was a slow, painstaking process, a delicate dance between observation and discretion. One wrong move, one misplaced step, could have dire consequences.
Days bled into weeks, the anxiety a constant companion. Sleep offered little respite, the dreams a chaotic mixture of blurred faces, cryptic messages, and the suffocating weight of impending danger. My old fears returned, sharper and more intense than ever before. The memory of the near-fatal incident with my friend, the agonizing physical and emotional pain, felt like a constant threat, a stark reminder of the dangers inherent in this line of work.
I sought guidance from my therapist, Dr. Evans. He listened patiently, offering words of encouragement and practical advice. He reminded me of the importance of self-care, of the need to maintain a balance between my work and my personal life. His words were calming, his presence a source of strength and stability in a world that was increasingly uncertain.
Through the fog of fear and uncertainty, a new understanding started to emerge. This wasn’t just about solving a case; it was about protecting Sally, about preventing a potential tragedy. The stakes were high, the risks considerable. But I couldn’t stand idly by. The sense of responsibility, the weight of the potential consequences, drove me forward. The fight was on, and this time, it was personal. The shadows loomed large, but the flickering flame of determination within me burned brighter than ever. The city held its breath, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath its surface. I was ready.
The city’s underbelly, once a distant, shadowy realm I only glimpsed from afar, now felt unnervingly close. The investigation into Sally’s husband’s infidelity had led me down a rabbit hole, and I was rapidly losing sight of the surface. The blurry photograph, the ominous location, the sheer volume of seemingly unrelated petty crimes in that specific area – all pointed to something far more intricate and dangerous than I had initially anticipated.
My next step involved deep dives into the city’s databases, exploring connections beyond the police reports. I focused on property records, business licenses, and even social media profiles of residents in the area identified in the photo. The digital breadcrumbs were sparse, but they began to reveal a pattern. Several businesses in that area, seemingly legitimate establishments like a laundromat, a small grocery store, and a repair shop, were registered to shell corporations, their ownership obscured by layers of anonymous holding companies. The addresses, however, all clustered around the same few blocks.
This pointed towards a money-laundering operation, a classic front for a larger criminal enterprise. I recalled a similar tactic used by the organization I’d encountered years ago, the one that had left a trail of unsolved disappearances in its wake. The chilling similarity sent a shiver down my spine. Could this be a splinter group? A resurgence of the same organization? Or something entirely new, using similar methods?
I spent days observing these seemingly innocuous businesses. I watched people coming and going, noting license plates, making mental notes of faces and interactions. I learned to recognize the subtle cues – the furtive glances, the hushed conversations, the nervous fidgeting, the almost imperceptible exchange of small, unmarked packages. The seemingly ordinary citizens were playing a crucial role in a far larger, more sinister game.
One evening, while observing the laundromat, I witnessed a meeting that sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. Two men, both dressed in unremarkable clothes, met in a secluded corner of the parking lot. One was short, stocky, with a face etched with years of hard living; the other was taller, leaner, with a cold, calculating gaze. They spoke in hushed tones, occasionally glancing over their shoulders, their body language betraying a deep-seated unease.
Using my long-range lens, I managed to capture a brief glimpse of what they were exchanging – a small, leather-bound book, seemingly innocuous at first glance. But closer examination revealed a series of intricate symbols embossed on the cover. These symbols, I realized with a jolt of recognition, were similar to the ones I’d encountered in the old case files, symbols used by the organized crime syndicate I’d battled years before.
The book, I suspected, contained vital information – perhaps a ledger of transactions, a list of members, or even a detailed plan for a major operation. My gut instinct screamed that this was my key to understanding the larger network. Securing that book was now my top priority.
The following days were a whirlwind of planning and preparation. I reviewed my previous surveillance techniques, refining them, incorporating new elements learned over the years. The challenge was significant: the men were obviously cautious, aware of potential surveillance. They were professionals. I needed a strategy that minimized my risk, maximized my chance of success, and left no trace of my involvement.
I mapped out the men’s movements, noting their routines, their preferred routes, their meeting points. I identified the blind spots in their security, the moments when their attention was diverted, the windows of opportunity. I devised a plan – a carefully orchestrated sequence of events designed to snatch the book without raising their suspicion.
The execution of the plan required nerves of steel and precision timing. It involved a carefully planned diversion, a subtle manipulation of their routine, and a daring snatch-and-grab operation under the cover of darkness. The risk was considerable. One wrong move could expose me, not only jeopardizing the investigation but potentially putting Sally in harm’s way.
The night of the operation arrived, cold and damp, the city lights reflecting in the puddles on the slick pavements. My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drumbeat accompanying my every step. I moved like a ghost, my movements fluid and silent, blending into the city’s nocturnal tapestry.
The diversion went off without a hitch. The distraction created the necessary opening, allowing me to approach the meeting point undetected. The snatch itself was swift and clean, a blur of motion and a decisive grab. Before the men could react, I was gone, melting back into the shadows, the leather-bound book safely secured in my possession.
The book’s contents revealed a network far more extensive than I had imagined. It detailed a sophisticated money-laundering scheme, an intricate web of shell corporations, and a series of planned illicit activities that stretched far beyond the city limits. The names and aliases mentioned were chillingly familiar – echoes from the past, remnants from my previous encounters with the organization.
The implications were profound. This wasn’t simply a case of infidelity; it was a major criminal operation, with far-reaching implications. I had stumbled onto something far bigger, far more dangerous than I ever could have anticipated. The city, its bustling life continuing oblivious, held its breath, a storm brewing under its seemingly calm surface, a storm I was now squarely in the middle of. And as I delved deeper, I realized the true magnitude of the threat, a threat that extended far beyond Sally and her husband’s personal drama. This was a fight for survival, not just for myself, but potentially for the city itself. The stakes were impossibly high, and I was prepared to pay the price.
The leather-bound book, now safely tucked away in my apartment, felt heavier than its actual weight. Its contents were a damning indictment of a criminal network I had only glimpsed years ago, a network that seemed to have resurfaced with renewed vigor and sophistication. The intricate web of shell corporations, the coded language, the subtle allusions to future operations – it was all a testament to their meticulous planning and their chilling efficiency. But the book also revealed something unexpected, something that added a whole new layer of complexity to the case: a series of names, seemingly unconnected to the money-laundering scheme, yet intricately woven into the fabric of the organization. These names belonged to individuals I knew – some acquaintances from the police department, others from the shadowy world of private investigation.
The realization sent a cold wave of dread through me. It wasn’t just a case of organized crime; it was a conspiracy that reached into the very institutions I had trusted, the people I had considered allies. The lines between right and wrong, between friend and foe, had become hopelessly blurred. I was forced to confront the unsettling truth that some of the people I’d interacted with over the years might be complicit, knowingly or unknowingly, in this criminal enterprise.
The weight of this revelation forced me to re-evaluate my approach. I couldn’t just rely on my instincts and investigative skills; I needed a more strategic approach, one that navigated the treacherous waters of betrayal and hidden allegiances. My network of contacts, once a reliable source of information, now seemed unreliable, possibly compromised. Every conversation, every exchange of information, was now fraught with suspicion, a minefield of potential deception…
Get this book at Amazon…
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
By Dell Sweet The Nation series follows a group of survivors as they navigate the changed reality of the apocalypse, where the living are as likely to kill you as the dead are. From Los Angeles to New York and all points in between the survivors come together and begin to live again… #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Readers #DellSweet #EarthsSurvivors Smashwords – The Nation
By Dell Sweet These are the stories of the most popular characters from the series. These stories are written as stand alone books and include just the storyline of the characters they are named for. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Readers #DellSweet #EarthsSurvivors Smashwords – Earth’s Survivors Life Stories
Building a model start to finish part six This is a complete model build from start to finish and then in a game. The build was done in spare time over 3 days for friend who needed it. it isn’t sped up so that you can see what I am doing… #3dmodels #directx #lopoly #fbx #fbx #3ddesign #DellSweet
1968 Barracuda: Poke rface. #3DModels #3DCarModels #dellsweet I built this to look like the series car, it was destroyed at the end of the series, almost made me cry. This is a 1968 Plymouth Barracuda. I never owned one, but I did have the opportunity to by one for $75.00 bucks with a perfect body and blown engine. The things I passed up back in the 70s, makes me wonder. This model is in a zip file, it includes renders in 3DS, FBX, OBJ and, of course, Direct X. it includes the graphic files with the UV work done for you, to make the model appear as it does in the photos and the video. This model is designed and rendered in Direct X. #3DCarModel #directx #dellsweet #lopoly #landscape #3ddesign #3droad #3DLand #dellsweet
This covers the making of my last video for the Holden Street UTE. I cover making the image I use to create an AI generated video for the model. I also cover creating the correct files for RS to make the model usable in Rad Sandbox. I cover assembling the video first in Movie Maker to get the basics done, then in KDENLIVE to add all the extra tracks, sound and video both, then finishing it up in Movie Maker for the Title and the Credits. I will show the generation of the opening video in Deep AI an app I use for AI video and have a monthly subscription for. I will show creating the images I need to make the video from in another AI app. I tried to annotate all of it in a readable form to help you understand. I have just begun using KDEN live, and so I assume that will do the titles and credits but I am used to Movie Maker and so I can do them very fast there. However, the more I use KDEN Live the more I learn and the more I like it, so I bet it won’t be long before I am using …
Falcon Street Ute
This is a Holden (Australian) GM Based Sport UTE heavily modified as I built it. I started out to build a plain jane Sport Ute but that went south, and I found myself building this lowered street machine instead. I enjoyed this and I built it over the last week, on and off, and then finished it off last night and early this AM. I did a double tire map as well, so different Tred front and rear, probably something I will do from now on. I Simply split the rims off to two different tires and tred patterns. The lights and rest went on the same map. I also decided to record the entire process some of that is in this video, a little, explaining what I am doing, but the other video will be out in a few days and takes you through the entire process, animating the model, adding to RS and all the steps it takes to get there. This model is designed in Direct X and also comes in 3DS, OBJ and FBX too, along with the graphics and map work to make it look like it does. #Holden #UTE #australian
Christine 3D Model
The Plymouth Fury. This is a replica of the famous car Christine. A car that didn’t actually exist in the configuration Stephen King bought it to life in. Pretty cool that they had to build a custom version of this car for the movie, several in fact. This is not an exact replica, so if you are looking for an absolute measurement model this is not it. This is a model that captures the spirit of thew car without violating the copyright that Chrysler owns on the original car, and of course the car itself did not exist so it should be a moot point anyway. I built this car a few years ago when I began to build the wastelands version of a 1958 Plymouth for my Wastelands collection. Both the burned version and the clean version are included in this double set. FBX, 3DS, Direct X and OBJ versions as well as all of the graphics and maps to reproduce it as shown. I do not use special filters when I shoot my models, I capture them right in the modeler so all you need to do is load the file an…
Lifted 4×4 Dodge Van – Dell Sweet #3DModels #3DCarModels #dellsweet This is a lifted Dodge 4X4 van. I actually had this project set-up to be built in real life when I was in an accident that stopped me from ever doing real life work like that again. So I sold the two vehicles and let that part of my life go. But the other day I was working on a model and remembered it and so I build it in 3D instead. It is built in Direct X. It includes all of the maps and graphics as shown. It also comes in 3DS, FBX, OBJ as well as Direct X. This model is designed and rendered in Direct X. #3DCarModel #directx #dellsweet
Dodge Van – Dell Sweet #3DModels #3DCarModels #dellsweet This is a Dodge Van. I owned a new one exactly like this and I loved it. I like the aesthetics; I liked the cargo space and the gas milage was awesome too. This model is designed and rendered in Direct X. The ZIP file also includes the maps and graphics as shown in the images below and converted versions in 3DS, FBX and OBJ. #dellsweet #3dcarmodel #3dmodel #3ds #fbx #directx This model is designed and rendered in Direct X. #3DCarModel #directx #dellsweet The ZIP file also includes the maps and graphics as shown in the images below. #lopoly #3ddesign #dellsweet Video:
New York City’s formation began with the Lenape Native Americans, who inhabited the area long before European explorers arrived. Here’s a brief overview of the city’s early history:
Early Settlement
Lenape Native Americans: The Lenape people were the first inhabitants of the region, living in the area between the Delaware and Hudson rivers. They hunted, fished, and farmed the land, and had a rich cultural heritage.
Dutch Settlement (1624): The Dutch West India Company established a permanent settlement called New Amsterdam on Manhattan Island. Peter Minuit, the settlement’s governor-general, purchased Manhattan from the Lenape for 60 guilders (approximately $24) in trade goods.
English Rule (1664): The English seized control of New Amsterdam from the Dutch and renamed it New York City after the Duke of York.
Growth and Development
17th-18th Centuries: New York City grew rapidly, with immigrants arriving from the Netherlands, England, France, and Germany. The city became a major trading center, and its population became increasingly diverse.
American Revolution: New York City played a significant role in the American Revolution, serving as the national capital from 1785 to 1790.
19th Century: The city’s population exploded, growing from 123,000 in 1820 to over 813,000 by 1860. The Erie Canal, completed in 1825, connected the city to the Great Lakes and further boosted its growth.
Key Milestones
1626: Peter Minuit purchases Manhattan Island from the Lenape.
1653: New Amsterdam is incorporated as a city, and a wall is built across Manhattan Island (later known as Wall Street).
1664: The English seize control of New Amsterdam and rename it New York City.
1785-1790: New York City serves as the national capital.
1825: The Erie Canal is completed, connecting the city to the Great Lakes.
Post-War Transformation
After World War II, New York City underwent a dramatic transformation, emerging as a global center of economic, cultural, and political influence. The end of the war brought a surge in population, rapid urban development, and an expanding economy fueled by industries and international trade. The city became a beacon of cultural innovation, with the rise of modern art, music, and architecture shaping its evolving identity ¹.
Growth and Development
The post-war period saw significant growth and development in New York City. Some key events and trends include:
Housing Crisis: The influx of returning veterans and new residents created an unprecedented housing crisis, forcing city planners to take dramatic action.
Public Housing Projects: Large-scale public housing projects like Stuyvesant Town and Peter Cooper Village were built to address the housing shortage.
Urban Renewal: Urban renewal programs targeted deteriorating neighborhoods for slum demolition and replacement with high-rise apartments.
Transportation Expansion: The expansion of transportation infrastructure, including highways and commuter rails, enabled the growth of suburban communities.
The Great Depression’s Impact
The Great Depression had a devastating impact on New York City, with unemployment soaring above 20%. However, World War II brought significant economic growth, and the city’s economy began to flourish. The war effort created new opportunities for women and ethnic minorities in the workforce ² ³.
Post-War Cultural Scene
The post-war period saw a flourishing cultural scene in New York City, with:
Abstract Expressionism: The city became a hub for abstract expressionist art, with artists like Betty Parsons promoting innovative works.
Broadway Shows: Broadway theaters premiered iconic shows, reflecting the optimism of the era.
Music and Entertainment: The city experienced a surge in music and entertainment, with the rise of jazz and other genres.
Challenges and Decline
Despite its growth and prosperity, New York City faced significant challenges in the mid-20th century, including:
Suburbanization: The city’s population began to decline as residents moved to the suburbs, leading to a decrease in tax revenue.
Fiscal Crisis: The city faced a severe fiscal crisis in the 1970s, with a large movement of middle-class residents to the suburbs exacerbating the problem.
Crime and Social Issues: The city struggled with high crime rates and social disorders, reaching a nadir in the 1970s.
The 1970s to the 1980s were tumultuous times for New York City, marked by economic decline, rising crime rates, and social unrest. Times Square, in particular, became a hub for illicit activities.
Times Square’s Dark Side
Prostitution and Crime: Prostitution was rampant, with brothels operating openly and streetwalkers soliciting clients. Organized crime, particularly the Italian mafia, controlled many of these establishments.
Mafia Involvement: The mafia’s grip on Times Square’s sex industry was evident in the 1973 indictment of Martin J. Hodas, aka the “King of Peep,” for running a multi-million dollar pornography operation and allegedly hiring associates to fire-bomb rival massage parlors.
Police Corruption: The police force was criticized for corruption, with many officers accused of taking bribes from brothel owners and pimps.
Harlem’s Struggles
Poverty and Unemployment: Harlem faced significant economic challenges, with high poverty and unemployment rates.
Crack Epidemic: The 1980s saw a devastating crack cocaine epidemic, which fueled violent crime and addiction.
Urban Decay: Many of Harlem’s grand buildings crumbled into disrepair, reflecting the neighborhood’s economic decline.
Community Response and Activism
Despite these challenges, New York City’s communities showed resilience and determination. Grassroots activism flourished, with community groups fighting for affordable housing, tenants’ rights, and social change. Cultural movements, including art, music, and performance, also emerged as a form of resistance and social commentary.
Gentrification and Revitalization
In the following decades, efforts were made to revitalize Times Square and Harlem. These initiatives aimed to drive out crime and prostitution, replacing them with family-friendly entertainment and businesses. While these efforts had some success, they also raised concerns about gentrification and the displacement of long-time residents.
Early 1990s: Challenges and Revitalization
The early 1990s presented New York City with significant challenges, including a recession, high crime rates, and a fiscal crisis. However, this period also saw efforts to revitalize the city.
Crime and Safety Concerns: Crime rates were high, with a focus on reducing violence and improving public safety.
Economic Challenges: The city faced budget cuts and economic struggles, impacting various city services.
Mayor Giuliani’s Initiatives: Mayor Rudy Giuliani implemented policies aimed at reducing crime and improving quality of life, which had a positive impact on the city’s development.
The September 11 Attacks
Aerial view of the 9/11 Memorial and Museum on Monday, May 21, 2018. Credit: 9/11 Memorial, Photo by Jin S. Lee
The September 11 attacks in 2001 were a pivotal moment in the city’s history, resulting in the loss of thousands of lives and a profound impact on national security and global politics.
Aftermath and Response: The city and nation came together in the aftermath, with rescue efforts and support for those affected.
Changes in Security: The attacks led to significant changes in security policies and procedures across the United States, including increased surveillance and screening measures.
Long-Term Impact
The post-9/11 period saw lasting changes in various aspects of life in New York City and beyond.
National Security: The creation of the Department of Homeland Security and changes in intelligence gathering and sharing were key responses to the attacks.
Memorials and Tributes: The National September 11 Memorial & Museum was dedicated in 2014 to honor the victims of the attacks.
Community Resilience: The city demonstrated resilience and determination in the face of tragedy, with ongoing efforts to rebuild and strengthen communities.
New York City has undergone significant transformations to become a safer and more vibrant place. The city’s efforts to improve safety are evident in various initiatives, including the Vision Zero program, which aims to eliminate traffic fatalities. Some notable safety improvements include ¹:
Protected Bike Lanes: NYC DOT has installed protected bike lanes on various streets, such as Seventh and Eighth Avenues, 51st Street, and McDonald Avenue, to reduce conflicts between cyclists and vehicles.
Pedestrian Safety Improvements: The city has implemented pedestrian safety improvements at intersections like Times Square, E 170th Street and Teller Avenue, and Spofford Avenue and Coster Street, featuring new traffic signals, pedestrian refuge islands, and improved markings.
Traffic Calming Measures: NYC DOT has introduced traffic calming measures, such as speed humps, curb extensions, and raised crosswalks, to slow down traffic and enhance pedestrian safety.
Some popular places to visit and enjoy in New York City include:
Central Park: A tranquil oasis in the heart of Manhattan, offering a range of recreational activities, scenic landscapes, and iconic landmarks like the Bethesda Fountain and Loeb Boathouse.
Brooklyn Bridge: An engineering marvel and iconic symbol of the city, offering stunning views of the Manhattan skyline, East River, and Brooklyn waterfront.
Times Square: A bustling area known for its bright lights, giant billboards, and lively street performances, attracting millions of visitors each year.
9/11 Memorial & Museum: A poignant tribute to the victims of the 9/11 attacks, featuring two large reflecting pools, a museum with artifacts and stories, and the Survivor Tree.
High Line: An elevated park built on an old rail line, offering scenic views of the Hudson River, Chelsea, and the city’s west side.
These are just a few examples of the many amazing places to explore in New York City. With its rich history, diverse culture, and ongoing efforts to improve safety, the city continues to evolve and thrive.
Check out this book from New York Writer W. G. Sweet…
The nightmare would begin insidiously, with the faintest whisper of a sound, a familiar vibration that would build, slowly at first, then with terrifying speed. It was the hum of the engine, the low thrum of the car carrying them towards an unseen precipice. He would feel the familiar press of the seat beneath him, the faint scent of Ann’s perfume, a scent that would soon be overwhelmed by the acrid stench of burnt rubber and fear. Then, the unmistakable sound, the prelude to chaos: the high-pitched shriek of tires desperately seeking purchase on asphalt, a sound that ripped through the fabric of the night and into the very marrow of his bones… #Horror #Thriller #Romance #Readers #Kobo #WGSweet https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-re-do?
The end of life no longer means the end. Now it means the beginning of death. A new type of life. A hunger machine searching… #Zombie #Apocalypse #ZombieApocalypse #ZombieFiction #Readers #Thriller #Drama #Horror
Wastelands One
Her body shook, but her chest did not rise. She had tried to rise several times before one of the cousins had bound her with rope, hand and foot. #Zombie #Apocalypse #ZombieApocalypse #ZombieFiction #Readers #Thriller #Drama #Horror
Wastelands Two
– he could tell from the way her skin stretched too tightly across her face, the way her bones protruded through that skin in places… #Zombie #Apocalypse #ZombieApocalypse #ZombieFiction #Readers #Thriller #Drama #Horror
Fig Street (Glennville Book 1) The year is 1969: In the city of Glennville the streets, even in the poorest of neighborhoods are safe for children to play. But the city has its secrets, and those secrets have their dangers. #Horror #Crime #Fantasy #DellSweet #Series
The “dance hall western whore” stereotype, widely popularized by Hollywood, is a misleading and historically inaccurate portrayal of women working in saloons and dance halls during the American West. While some women did work as prostitutes, a distinct class of entertainer existed whose primary role was to socialize with and encourage men to spend money, not to provide sexual services.
The lives of dance hall girls
Distinct role: In most towns, a clear distinction existed between saloon or dance hall girls and prostitutes, who were sometimes called “soiled doves” or “painted ladies”. A dance hall girl’s job was to dance with lonely men and flirt to encourage them to buy drinks, for which the women received a commission.
A respectable living: In the Old West, where men far outnumbered women, dance hall work offered a respectable and often lucrative path to independence. Some women earned more in a night than a working man did in a month. Many women worked only temporarily before marrying, sometimes to a man they met at the dance hall.
Protection by owners: Saloon owners had a financial interest in protecting their dance hall girls. They often demanded that customers treat the women with respect, and men who harassed or mistreated them could be ostracized or banned from the establishment. Many women carried concealed weapons for self-defense.
Theatrical fashion: In contrast to Hollywood’s revealing costumes, historical dance hall girls wore eye-catching but generally modest clothing. They dressed in bright, frilly dresses with colorful petticoats, often with bodices cut low and shorter hemlines to make dancing easier.
The reality of prostitution
Separate class: Prostitutes occupied a lower class than saloon and dance hall girls, though it could be a higher-paying profession than other limited options for women, such as being a seamstress or laundress.
High risks: Life as a prostitute was far more dangerous, with high risks of violence, disease, addiction, and abuse. They faced social stigma and often died in poverty.
Working conditions: Prostitutes worked in different types of establishments, from high-end parlors run by influential madams to small “cribs” or as streetwalkers. Some madams were highly successful and well-known in their communities.
Societal hypocrisy: Despite being legally outlawed, prostitution was tolerated and even taxed by many Western towns, with brothels often contributing significantly to municipal revenue. “Respectable” women shunned prostitutes, but their husbands often frequented brothels.
In the American Old West, a “dance hall girl” and a “whore” were not the same, though the line could be blurry and the popular image of them has been conflated by Hollywood. The terms describe distinct roles, and not all women working in saloons were prostitutes.
Dance hall girl
Role: A dance hall or saloon girl was primarily an entertainer. Her job was to socialize, dance with male customers, and encourage them to buy drinks. The dance hall earned money from the dance tickets and the drinks the customers purchased, and the girls earned a commission on these sales.
Income: For many women, this was an honest and lucrative profession that provided them with independence in the male-dominated frontier. It was not uncommon for a popular girl to earn more in a single night than a working man did in a month.
Social status: Despite their flirtatious roles, most dance hall girls were not “fallen women.” In fact, some were treated as ladies by their patrons. Many were able to use their work to meet and marry respectable men.
Prostitute
Role: Prostitutes, also known as “soiled doves,” “shady ladies,” or “painted ladies,” engaged in sex work for a living. This was a distinct profession, separate from being a dance hall girl, though the two fields sometimes intersected, particularly in the roughest frontier towns.
Social status: The social hierarchy for sex workers varied. Some worked in more upscale “parlor houses” run by a madame, while others worked independently or in the lowliest “cribs,” small, dilapidated shacks on the outskirts of town. The work was generally more dangerous than being a dance hall girl.
Overlap: Though it was rare for a successful dance hall girl to double as a prostitute, some did. For example, Old West figure Big Nose Kate was a gambler, saloon girl, and prostitute during her life.
Historical nuance
The historical nuance between these roles is often lost in popular media. Hollywood often portrays saloon girls and prostitutes as the same, but for women in the Old West, the distinction was a meaningful one that affected their earnings, working conditions, and social standing. While both occupations were outside the bounds of “proper” Victorian society, the dance hall profession was a legitimate and often profitable job that allowed women to earn a living with dignity.
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Private Investigations 1: A John Rourke Private Detective Story
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The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked windowpane, mirroring the hazy fog in my mind. The Fields case was closed, the invoice sent, but the quiet aftermath felt heavier than any stakeout. It wasn’t the physical exhaustion, though that was considerable. Weeks of sleep deprivation had etched themselves onto my face, in the dark circles under my eyes and the stiffness in my shoulders. No, it was a deeper weariness, a hollowness that gnawed at my soul.
I’d dealt with worse, seen things that would curdle the milk in a saint’s coffee. I’d faced down thugs with shivs, navigated treacherous alleyways, and stared into the eyes of men who wouldn’t hesitate to snuff out a life. But this case… this one was different. It wasn’t the brutality, the violence, or the threat of physical harm; it was the insidious erosion of trust, the slow, creeping revelation of deceit that had left me feeling strangely… violated.
The initial excitement of the chase, the adrenaline rush of the stakeout, the satisfaction of uncovering the truth – all of that had faded, leaving behind a residue of bitterness and disillusionment. Melinda, bless her trusting soul, had confided in me, revealing her vulnerabilities, her fears, her suspicions. I’d sworn an oath, implicit though it was, to protect her, to find the truth, and to bring justice to her situation. But the truth, as it so often does, was far more complicated, far more messy, than I had anticipated.
The truth wasn’t just about Paul Fields’ infidelity; it was about corporate greed, about a web of lies woven by powerful men, about the systematic corruption that festers in the shadows of the city’s glittering façade. And I, a lone wolf in a world of sharks, had been forced to navigate that treacherous terrain, using every tool at my disposal, even the ones that left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I thought about the woman who’d arrived at the neighbor’s house, the unknown variable that had changed everything. Her presence suggested a much deeper conspiracy, a level of intrigue that extended far beyond the personal drama of a cheating husband. The investigation had morphed, evolving from a simple case of infidelity into something far more sinister, far more dangerous. The lines between right and wrong had become increasingly blurred, forcing me to make difficult choices, compromises that continue to haunt me.
The “less-than-savory sources,” as I’d vaguely termed them on the invoice, weighed heavily on my conscience. The favors I’d called in, the debts I’d incurred, were not easily forgotten. These weren’t transactions you could record in a ledger; they were unspoken agreements, exchanges of information and influence that lived in the shadows, their consequences unpredictable. There were whispers in backrooms, hushed conversations in dimly lit bars, and promises made in the dead of night that could come back to haunt me. The city was a labyrinth of such deals, and I, a seasoned traveler of its darker paths, knew the price of admission.
I rubbed my weary eyes, the stale cigarette smoke clinging to the air in my office. The silence was broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the clock, each second a tiny hammer blow against the walls of my already fragile composure. The loneliness was crushing; the burden of the case, the weight of the city’s secrets, had pressed down on me, leaving me feeling isolated, estranged even from Joan, my wife.
Joan, ever the anchor in my turbulent life, had borne witness to my late nights and erratic moods. She’d seen the strain etched onto my face, the exhaustion in my eyes, the growing distance between us. She understood the nature of my work, the shadowy corners I inhabited, but she couldn’t fully comprehend the toll it took on me, the way it slowly chipped away at my spirit, leaving me hollowed out and depleted.
I’d tried to explain, to articulate the moral ambiguity of my profession, the subtle betrayals, the compromised ethics. But words failed me. How do you explain the feeling of walking a tightrope between justice and compromise, between the need to earn a living and the desire to uphold some semblance of integrity? How do you convey the weight of a city’s secrets, the burden of its untold stories, the constant threat of danger lurking just beneath the surface?
The pay from the Fields case, while generous, couldn’t compensate for the emotional cost. It couldn’t buy back the sleep I’d lost, the peace of mind I’d sacrificed, the trust I’d begun to question. It couldn’t erase the images seared into my memory – the fleeting glimpse of fear in Melinda’s eyes, the calculated coldness in Paul Fields’ gaze, the sinister smiles exchanged in smoke-filled backrooms.
I lit another cigarette, the match a fleeting flicker in the darkness. The smoke curled upwards, a ghostly representation of my own internal turmoil. The city outside continued its relentless rhythm, oblivious to my struggles, its lights twinkling like distant stars, cold and uncaring. The case was closed, but the emotional aftermath remained, a lingering echo of the shadows I’d navigated, a testament to the price of truth, a price far exceeding the sum on the invoice.
This wasn’t just a case closed; it was a wound that wouldn’t heal easily, a scar etched onto my soul. The investigation had taken more from me than I initially anticipated. It had stolen my peace, my sleep, and a piece of my integrity. The truth was often bitter, leaving a residue of cynicism and distrust. I looked at my reflection in the window, a stranger staring back, weary and worn. The lines on my face seemed deeper, the shadows under my eyes more pronounced. The city lights outside, once a beacon of excitement, now seemed to mock my solitude.
The following days were a blur of paperwork, an attempt to regain some semblance of normalcy in my chaotic life. I responded to other inquiries, trying to immerse myself in the routine of my profession, hoping to distract myself from the emotional turmoil of the Fields case. But the memories persisted, haunting my waking hours and invading my dreams.
One evening, I found myself staring at an old photo of Joan and me, taken years ago, before the weight of the city had begun to bear down on us. We were younger, carefree, our smiles bright and unburdened. The photograph was a reminder of a simpler time, a stark contrast to the grim reality of my life now. The distance between us was palpable, a chasm carved by the relentless demands of my job, by the unspoken burdens I carried within.
I knew I had to make amends, to reconnect with Joan, to bridge the gap that had grown between us. I realized that I needed to share my burdens, to lighten the load I’d been carrying alone. I needed her strength, her compassion, her unwavering belief in me. And maybe, just maybe, with her support, I could begin to heal the emotional wounds inflicted by the Fields case, to find my way back from the shadows and into the light.
The process of healing would be slow, arduous, and require more than just a few nights’ rest. The memories would linger, but I needed to find a way to confront them, to process them, to integrate them into my life rather than let them define it. I needed to confront the moral ambiguities, the compromises I’d made. Was it worth it? The answer wasn’t simple, a clear-cut yes or no. It was a complex equation weighed against the price of justice and the cost of survival. But perhaps in confronting the cost, in acknowledging the pain, I could begin the process of healing. The city, with its darkness and secrets, would always be a part of my existence, but I wouldn’t let it consume me completely. I needed to reclaim my life, my relationships, and my sense of self.
The journey would be long, but I wouldn’t walk it alone. I would lean on Joan’s unwavering strength, her unwavering faith in me. I would find solace in simple things – the warmth of her embrace, the quiet comfort of her presence. I would remember that even in the darkest corners of the city, there was still hope, still light, still the possibility of redemption. And in that hope, I found the strength to move forward, to face the future, one step at a time, one day at a time, one case at a time. The weight of the Fields case would always be a part of me, a stark reminder of the price of truth and justice, but it would not define me. I would choose to define myself – a private investigator, a husband, a man trying to navigate the treacherous waters of life, to find his way back into the light.
The next morning, sunlight, harsh and unforgiving, sliced through the blinds, revealing the dust motes dancing in the air of my cramped office. The lingering scent of stale coffee and cigarettes hung heavy, a testament to another sleepless night. The Fields case, officially closed, continued to gnaw at me, a persistent irritant under my skin. The neat stack of paperwork on my desk, the final invoice, felt like a flimsy shield against the storm brewing inside.
It wasn’t just the moral ambiguity of the “less-than-savory sources” I’d employed; it was the unsettling feeling that something was still amiss, a loose thread dangling in the intricate tapestry of the case. The woman at the neighbor’s house, her face obscured by shadow and distance, had been a phantom, a silent specter haunting my every waking moment. Her arrival, seemingly innocuous, had shattered the neat resolution I’d presented to Melinda, leaving me with a gnawing unease that refused to be silenced.
I reread Melinda’s initial statement, her words painting a picture of a seemingly perfect marriage, cracks subtly appearing only upon closer inspection. Paul, a successful businessman, had been exhibiting increasingly erratic behavior, an odd combination of paranoia and carelessness that had raised her suspicions. He’d been unusually meticulous in checking the locks, adjusting the blinds, and scanning the street from his study window. These weren’t the actions of a man with a clear conscience, but neither did they conclusively point to infidelity.
Then there was the matter of the neighbor’s house, a seemingly ordinary dwelling that had suddenly become the focal point of my investigation. I ran a background check on the property, discovering its owner, a reclusive old woman who rarely left the house, seemingly estranged from her family. The timing of the woman’s visit, coinciding with the apparent resolution of the infidelity angle, sparked a flicker of suspicion that quickly grew into a blazing inferno of intrigue.
Driven by a renewed sense of purpose, I dusted off my contacts, the shadowy figures who operated in the city’s underbelly. These weren’t the kind of people you met in respectable establishments; they frequented dimly lit bars, backroom poker games, and seedy motels, their business conducted in hushed whispers and furtive glances. They dealt in information, secrets, and favors, and their services came at a price.
Private Investigations 1:
The chipped paint on my beat-up Ford was flaking like old skin. The smell of stale coffee clung to the interior like a cheap perfume…
The Old West is a collection of five western themed stories set in the old west. Come along for an authentic trip through the west, the way it really was.
Jimson Jones, Sarah Johnson, The Cowboy, The Farmers Wife, To Hang a Thief
An excerpt from: Sarah Jones
One starless night, the tranquility of Harmony Creek was irrevocably broken. The rhythmic chirping of crickets was replaced by the terrifying sounds of shattering glass and panicked screams. A nightmare descended upon the peaceful farm. The familiar comfort of home was replaced by a brutal violence, a darkness that would sear itself into Sarah’s memory forever.
