Book Review: "Dead On The Money" by Venita Louise

Book Review: “Dead On The Money” by Venita Louise.

Author, Venita Louise takes the reader on a journey back in time in her crime suspense novel…“Dead On The Money”.

A time of innocence, a time before television, Bill Haley and his Comets and Elvis Presley. A time when the big bands of Artie Shaw and Glenn Miller were the musical heroes of a war torn generation.

The setting and research are so beautifully penned that the innocence or lack of it of the females that differentiated between Dames and Ladies are drawn with a masterful touch. The hairstyles of the men and women that people this novel, their clothing, and their dialogue are so perfect that there is no jarring sense of any other decade impeding.

It takes a clever hand to allow a reader impeded by the current technology to suspend disbelief so completely, Author Venita Louise has not merely created a world of memories for folks that may remember those days, she has cleverly reconstructed a time and place that makes even the most tech savvy of us hunger for a time long gone. A time when the word Damn was uttered in a movie and caused shock waves throughout the viewing public.

Meet Hortense Olivia Tully a librarian and a beautiful woman, whose knack for getting into serious trouble keeps her male admirer Detective Tom Trask on his toes and confused by more than his growing need to have her in his life permanently. Hortense or Olivia as she prefers to be known innocently hears the last words of a dying man, those words and their meaning begin a series of events including mistaken identity, kidnapping attempted murder, and finally murder of a woman…I will not say who, that will spoil this well written book for you, and it’s simply too enjoyable to do that.

The Dance clubs, torch singers, and fabulous period dialogue will enchant even the most hardened among readers. If you want to take a trip down a lane you may have never walked before, take this one. It sparkles with humor, and impresses with its unfailingly excellent research and settings.

Love a good fast-paced read? Of course you do. “Dead On The Money” qualifies … and then some.

The A-Z Challenge Day 8 "H" Horror and Humor strange bedfellows!

A-Z Challenge day 8 letter ‘H’ is for Horror and Humor...or something roughly in between.

 Let's look at Horror and Humor I wrote a little story that kinda combines both titled :"Rumpleflargl"

The room stank. Body odor and cigarettes blended with stale booze. My stomach was unimpressed with my sense of smell.

I dry retched. I shut my eyes and tried to remember where the hell I was. Hell seemed appropriate, it sure was hot enough.  

The memory hung there just beyond reach. It troubled me somewhat, no matter how drunk I got, I had never blacked out before.

The stench in the room increased. A light came on. What I saw made me wish myself unconscious again.

The thing sat in a stairwell. It wasn’t quite a dog. If it were, it was the ugliest one I had ever seen.

My first thought was, I hope to God this is only a nightmare. The fetid odor of wet fur and old blood discouraged that notion. My nose didn’t usually intrude itself in my dreams.

I moved, happy that I could. The doglike thing emitted a sound that gurgled in its throat; spewing from its mouth, as a combined growl and groan. I shivered despite the humid room.

It was angry, and afraid. Never a good combination in a nightmare that stank.

I shuffled myself backwards on my ass. I felt behind me in the light coming from where the thing sat. 

My hands touched something warm and solid; I turned my head slowly to look, not wanting to attract Stinky’s attention. The scream I let rip, blew that scenario right out of the cellar.

The carcass had once been a female. Now it was just a gutted thing crawling in maggots. The genitals were the one remaining identifier.

I had attracted my ugly companion’s attention. He—she--or it, moved onto a lower stair, the stench came with it.

Staying silent was hardly an option. I was good with things with four legs as a rule. 

Better though if I had a clue as to what I was dealing with. 

It appeared to be a combination of an animal, and an even uglier animal.

I guess if I looked that scary, I’d be pretty pissed as well.

I was deciding between throwing up or wetting myself, neither option was terribly attractive.

Good old Stinky had moved closer and was now only a couple of feet away.  He wouldn’t need to eat me. The toxic fumes coming from him would decalcify my spinal column long before his sharp teeth could. 

This thing made ‘Jaws’ look like a sardine with attitude.

I weighed up my options, trying not to glance behind me at the last person who made the wrong choice.

The trouble being of course that Stinky may well be the best deal I had. 

I hate negativity; I decided to go with the easiest choice. I stood and remained still. My knees were shaking.

 This didn’t assist in portraying myself as a solid “Terminator” type.  Stinky had a set of wedding tackle hanging between his legs. It--was a he.

Stinky dropped to the floor. He sat there making hideous sounds, his saliva pooling into a sticky mess in front of him.

So far so good, he had been conned by my immense physical presence. Then again, he may be just tired.

I  hunkered down and talked in a calm controlled manner as I extended my hand, “So, Stinky, how’re they hangin’?”

“Rumplefargl.”

“Whoa—the old ‘Rumplefargl’ huh? Tough break Stink. Hey buddy, I understand. Us guys have gotta stick together, which given the amount of saliva you’re making, is a distinct possibility.”

I sat down completely, wanting of course to make him more comfortable. Plus my knees wouldn’t hold me up any longer.

Good ol’ Stinky must have figured I was cool. He put what passed for his head on his front paws, and looked up at me gently with eyes only ‘Stephen King’ could invent.

“Rumplefargl?”

I had to be careful how I responded. 

Suppose he was asking permission to turn me into a maggot ridden mess like my other cellmate.

I gave it some thought, and decided on the psychological approach, “So with all this ‘Rumplfargl’ going on, Stink, when do you get a chance to just have time out alone? You know, just hangin' out with the other things from hell and shootin’ the breeze and each other?”

He appeared to consider my question. He stood . Then hurried over to the stairwell, “Rumplfargl.”

I followed him. Hell--why not? I doubted whatever was up the stairs could be as disgusting as where I was.

I was wrong. There was a door, just one--I opened it.

I tried shutting it again as a chorus of “Rumplfargl” greeted me.

Guess who's coming to dinner?

Yeah...I'm weird...I like combining different genres to see just how wrong I can get it. lol.

 Thanks for stopping by.