Clandestine

Clandestine

by James Ellroy

Narrated by William Roberts

Unabridged — 12 hours, 27 minutes

Clandestine

Clandestine

by James Ellroy

Narrated by William Roberts

Unabridged — 12 hours, 27 minutes

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Overview

A murder investigation sends a beat cop into the dark side of the city-and of his soul.

Editorial Reviews

JULY 2013 - AudioFile

With its formulaic elements and blunt language, Ellroy’s thriller is a book that may engage, offend, or bore the listener. It’s perhaps worth listening to because of William Roberts’s narration. Roberts exudes the type of bravado necessary for a character like LAPD officer Fred Underhill, a young member of the force who finds himself at odds with more powerful figures in his department. Of course, once Underhill finds himself literally under a hill, he starts slogging to get himself out, never accepting defeat. Roberts captures Underhill’s intensity with a fury that is credible and engaging. Despite the book’s shortcomings, this is an entertaining diversion. D.J.S. © AudioFile 2013, Portland, Maine

Library Journal

Ellroy has distinguished himself as a superb hard-boiled detective storyteller, and with Clandestine, his reputation will only gain more luster. Set in post-World War II Los Angeles, this crime story features Fred Underhill, an ambitious policeman who loses his badge while investigating a serial murderer. Underhill pursues the investigation on his own and eventually prevails. While these core elements are common to most crime stories, Ellroy uses them without making them clich d. He succeeds by combining skillful characterization, fast-paced action, and lightly restrained sarcasm to present a delightful mystery. Narrator Jeremy Gage is a master of nuance and timing. This should be popular among library patrons; a great addition to mystery collections. Very highly recommended.--Ray Vignovich, West Des Moines P.L., IA Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.

From the Publisher

Praise for James Ellroy

"Ellroy rips into American culture like a chainsaw in an abattoir." —Time

"Ellroy is the master." —The San Diego Union-Tribune

"One of the most important popular fiction writers in America, whose best books take their readers to the darkest places of the human condition—a Tinseltown Dostoevsky." —Time Out

JULY 2013 - AudioFile

With its formulaic elements and blunt language, Ellroy’s thriller is a book that may engage, offend, or bore the listener. It’s perhaps worth listening to because of William Roberts’s narration. Roberts exudes the type of bravado necessary for a character like LAPD officer Fred Underhill, a young member of the force who finds himself at odds with more powerful figures in his department. Of course, once Underhill finds himself literally under a hill, he starts slogging to get himself out, never accepting defeat. Roberts captures Underhill’s intensity with a fury that is credible and engaging. Despite the book’s shortcomings, this is an entertaining diversion. D.J.S. © AudioFile 2013, Portland, Maine

Product Details

BN ID: 2940170041053
Publisher: HighBridge Company
Publication date: 03/05/2013
Edition description: Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Clandestine


By James Ellroy

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright © 2006 James Ellroy
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0380805294

Chapter One

Wacky and I had been partners for three months when Night Train entered our lives. The roll call sergeant told us about him as we were getting into our '48 Ford black-and-white in the parking lot at Wilshire Station.

"Walker. Underhill. Come here a second," he called at us. We walked over. His name was Gately; he needed a shave and he was smiling. "The loot's got a good one for you guys. You golfers get all the breaks. You like dogs? I hate dogs. We got a dog who's terrorizing little kiddies. Stealing their lunches over at the elementary school off Orange and Olympic. Mean old trash can dog, used to belong to a wino. The janitor at the school's got him. Says he's going to kill him, or cut his balls off. The Animal Regulation guys don't want the squeal, 'cause they think the janitor's crazy. You guys go take the mean old dog to the pound. Don't shoot it, 'cause there's all kinds of little kiddies might get upset. You golf guys get all the breaks."

Wacky pulled the black-and-white out onto Pico, laughing and talking in verse, which he sometimes did when coffee reactivated the previous night's booze still in his system.

"Whither thou, o noble beast, the most we do is ne'er our least, o noble hound, soon to be found, awaits the pound thence gas andground."

I laughed on while Wacky continued, driving his poetry into the pavement.

The janitor at Wilshire Crest School was a fat Japanese guy of about fifty. Wacky waggled his eyebrows at him, which broke the ice and got a laugh. He led us to the dog, who was locked up inside a portable construction toilet. As we approached I could hear a keening wail arise from the flimsy structure.

At the prearranged signal from Wacky, I kicked a hole in the side of the outhouse and shoved in our combined lunches -- two ham-and-cheese sandwiches, a sardine sandwich, one roast beef on rye, and two apples. There was the sound of furious masticating. I threw open the door, glimpsed a dark furry shape with glittering sharp teeth, and slugged it full force, right in the chops. It collapsed, spitting out some ham sandwich in the process. Wacky dragged the dog out.

He was a nice-looking black Labrador -- but very fat. He had a gigantic whanger that must have dragged the ground when he walked. Wacky was in love. "Aww, Freddy, look at my poor baby. Awww." He picked the unconscious dog up and cradled him in his arms. "Awww. Uncle Wacky and Uncle Freddy will take you back to the station and find a nice home for you. Awww."

The janitor was eyeing us suspiciously. "You killee dog?" he asked, drawing a finger across his throat and looking at Wacky, who was already carrying his newfound friend lovingly back to the patrol car.

I got in the driver's side. "We can't take this mutt back to the station," I said.

"The hell you say. We'll stash him in the locker room. When we get off duty I'm taking him home. This dog is gonna be my caddy. I'm gonna fix him up with a harness so he can pack my bag."

"Beckworth will have your ass."

"Beckworth can kiss my ass. You take care of Beckworth."

The dog came awake as we pulled into the parking lot of the station. He started barking furiously. I turned around in my seat to slug him again, but Wacky deflected my arm. "Awww," he said to the beast, "awww, awww!" And the dog shut up.

I led the dog around to the locker room from the back entrance. Wacky made the run to the hot dog stand next to Sears, and came back with six cheeseburgers. I was petting the hound in front of my locker when Wacky came back and dumped the greasy mess on the floor in front of me. The dog tore into it, and Wacky and I shot out the door and resumed patrol. So began the odyssey of Night Train, as the dog came to be known.

When we returned from our tour of duty that night we heard Reuben Ramos's saxophone honking from the locker room. Reuben is a motorcycle officer who picked up a love of jazz from working Seventy-seventh Street Vice, where he raided the hop joints of Central Avenue regularly, looking for hookers, bookies, and hopheads. He had taught himself to play the sax by ear -- mostly honks and flub notes, but sometimes he gets going on some simple tune like "Green Dolphin Street." Tonight he was really cooking -- the main theme from "Night Train" over and over.

When Wacky and I entered the locker room we couldn't believe our eyes. Reuben, in his jockey shorts, was twisting all around, blasting out the wild first notes of "Night Train" while the fat black Lab writhed on his back on the concrete floor, yipping, yowling, and shooting a tremendous stream of urine straight up into the air. Groups of off-duty patrolmen walked in and walked out, disgusted. Reuben got tired of the action and went home to his wife and kids, leaving Wacky to yell and scream of the dog's "genius potential."

Wacky named the dog "Night Train" and took him home with him. He serenaded the dog for weeks with saxophone music on his phonograph and fed him steak, all in the fruitless hope of turning him into a caddy. Finally Wacky gave up, decided that Night Train was a free spirit, and cut him loose. We thought we had seen the last of the beast -- but we hadn't. He was to go on to assume legendary status in the history of the Los Angeles Police Department.

Two days after his release, Night Train showed up at Wilshire Station with a dead cat in his jaws. He was chased out by the desk sergeant, who threw the cat in . . .

Continues...


Excerpted from Clandestine by James Ellroy Copyright © 2006 by James Ellroy. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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