Blood's a Rover (Underworld USA Trilogy #3)

Blood's a Rover (Underworld USA Trilogy #3)

by James Ellroy


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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780375727412
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date: 08/24/2010
Series: Underworld USA Trilogy Series , #3
Pages: 656
Sales rank: 515,855
Product dimensions: 5.16(w) x 7.98(h) x 1.05(d)

About the Author

James Ellroy was born in Los Angeles in 1948. He is the author of the L.A. Quartet: The Black Dahlia, The Big Nowhere, L.A. Confidential, and White Jazz, and the Underworld U.S.A. Trilogy: American Tabloid, The Cold Six Thousand, and Blood’s A Rover. These seven novels have won numerous honors and were international best sellers. He is also the author of two collections, Crime Wave and Destination: Morgue! and two memoirs My Dark Places and The Hilliker Curse.  Ellroy currently lives in Denver, Colorado.

Read an Excerpt

Part I
June 14, 1968-September 11, 1968  
Wayne Tedrow Jr.
(Las Vegas, 6/14/68)  
HEROIN: He'd rigged a lab in his hotel suite. Beakers, vats and Bunsen burners filled up wall shelves. A three-burner hot plate juked small-batch conversions. He was cooking painkiller-grade product. He hadn't cooked dope since Saigon.  
A comp suite at the Stardust, vouchered by Carlos Marcello. Carlos knew that Janice had terminal cancer and that he had chemistry skills.  
Wayne mixed morphine clay with ammonia. A two-minute heating loosened mica chips and silt. He boiled water to 182°. He added acetic anhydride and reduced the bond proportions. The boil sluiced out organic waste.  
Precipitants next-the slow-cook process-diacetyl morph and sodium carbonate.  
Wayne mixed, measured and ran two hot plates low. He glanced around the suite. The maid left a newspaper out. The headlines were all him.  
Wayne Senior's death by "heart attack." James Earl Ray and Sirhan Sirhan in stir.  
His front-page ink. No mention of him. Carlos had chilled out Wayne Senior. Mr. Hoover chilled out the backwash on the King/Bobby hits.  
Wayne watched diacetyl mass build. His blend would semi-anesthetize Janice. He was bucking for a big job with Howard Hughes. Hughes was addicted to pharmaceutical narcotics. He could cook him up a private blend and take it to his interview.  
The mass settled into cubes and rose out of the liquid. Wayne saw photos of Ray and Sirhan on page two. He'd worked on the King hit. His worked it high up. Freddy Otash ran fall guy Ray for King and fall guy Sirhan for Bobby.  
The phone rang. Wayne grabbed it. Scrambler clicks hit the line. It had to be a Fed safe phone and Dwight Holly.  
"It's me, Dwight."  
"Did you kill him?"  
" 'Heart attack,' shit. 'Sudden stroke' would have been better."   Wayne coughed. "Carlos is handling it personally. He can frost out anything around here."  
"I do not want Mr. Hoover going into a tizzy over this."   "It's chilled. The question is, 'What about the others?' "  
Dwight said, "There's always conspiracy talk. Bump off a public figure and that kind of shit tends to bubble. Freddy ran Ray covertly and Sirhan up front, but he lost weight and altered his appearance. All in all, I'd say we're chilled on both of them."  
Wayne watched his dope cook. Dwight spieled more news. Freddy O. bought the Golden Cavern Casino. Pete Bondurant sold it to him.  
"We're chilled, Dwight. Tell me we're chilled and convince me."  
Dwight laughed. "You sound a little raw, kid."  
"I'm stretched a bit thin, yeah. Patricide's funny that way."  
Dwight yukked. The dope pots started boiling. Wayne doused the heat and looked at his desk photo.  
It's Janice Lukens Tedrow, lover/ex-stepmom. It's '61. She's twisting at the Dunes. She's sans partner, she's lost a shoe, a dress seam has ripped.  
Dwight said, "Hey, are you there?"  
"I'm here."  
"I'm glad to hear it. And I'm glad to hear we're chilled on your end."  
Wayne stared at the picture. "My father was your friend. You're going in pretty light with the judgment."  
"Shit, kid. He sent you to Dallas."  
Big D. November '63. He was there that Big Weekend. He caught the Big Moment and took this Big Ride.  
He was a sergeant on Vegas PD. He was married. He had a chemistry degree. His father was a big Mormon fat cat. Wayne Senior was jungled up all over the nut Right. He did Klan ops for Mr. Hoover and Dwight Holly. He pushed high-line hate tracts. He rode the far-Right zeitgeist and stayed in the know. He knew about the JFK hit. It was multi-faction: Cuban exiles, rogue CIA, mob. Senior bought Junior a ticket to ride.  
Extradition job, with one caveat: kill the extraditee.  
The PD suborned the assignment. A Negro pimp named Wendell Durfee shivved a casino dealer. The man lived. It didn't matter. The Casino Operators' Council wanted Wendell clipped. Vegas cops got those jobs. They were choice gigs with big bonus money. They were tests. The PD wanted to gauge your balls. Wayne Senior had clout with the PD. He had JFK hit knowledge. Senior wanted Junior there for it. Wendell Durfee fled Vegas to Dallas. Senior doubted Junior's balls. Senior thought Junior should kill an unarmed black man. Wayne flew to Dallas on 11/22/63.  
He did not want to kill Wendell Durfee. He did not know about the JFK hit. He got paired up with an extradition partner. The cop's name was Maynard Moore. He worked Dallas PD. He was a redneck psycho doing gofer jobs on the hit.  
Wayne clashed with Maynard Moore and tried not to kill Wendell Durfee. Wayne blundered into the hit plot in post-hit free fall. He linked Jack Ruby to Moore and that right-wing merc Pete B. He saw Ruby clip Lee Harvey Oswald on live TV.  
He knew. He did not know that his father knew. It all went blooey that Sunday.  
JFK was dead. Oswald was dead. He tracked down Wendell Durfee and told him to run. Maynard Moore interceded. Wayne killed Moore and let Durfee go. Pete B. interceded and let Wayne live.  
Pete considered his own act of mercy prudent and Wayne's act of mercy rash. Pete warned Wayne that Wendell Durfee might show up again.  
Wayne returned to Vegas. Pete B. moved to Vegas for a Carlos Marcello gig. Pete followed up on Durfee and logged tips: he's a rape-o shitbird and worse. It was January '64. Pete heard that Wendell Durfee had fled back to Vegas. He told Wayne. Wayne went after Wendell. Three colored dope fiends got in the way. Wayne killed them. Wendell Durfee raped and murdered Wayne's wife, Lynette.  
It was his very own free fall. It started in Dallas and spun all the way up to Now.  
Wendell Durfee escaped. Wayne Senior and the PD worked to get Wayne a walk on the dope fiends. Mr. Hoover was amenable. Senior's old chum Dwight Holly was not. Dwight was working for the Federal Bureau of Narcotics then. The dope fiends were pushing heroin and were targeted for prosecution. Dwight squawked to the U.S. attorney. Wayne Junior fucked up his investigation. He wanted to see Wayne Junior indicted and tried. The PD fabricated some evidence and snowed the grand jury. Wayne got a walk on the killings. It left him hollow. He quit the PD and entered The Life.  
Soldier of fortune. Heroin runner. Assassin.  
Lynette was dead. He vowed to find Wendell Durfee and kill him. Lynette was his best friend and sweetheart and the wall to shut out his love for his father's second wife. Janice was older, she watched him grow up, she stayed with Senior for his money and clout. Janice returned Wayne's love. The longing went both ways. It stayed there and plain grew.  
Wayne fell in with Pete and his wife, Barb. Pete was tight with a mob lawyer named Ward Littell. Ward was ex-FBI and the point man for the JFK hit. He was working for Carlos Marcello and Howard Hughes and playing both ends back, front and sideways. Wayne had Pete and Ward as teachers. He learned The Life from them. He blew through their curriculum at a free-fall pace.  
Pete was hopped up on the Cuban exile cause. Vietnam was getting hot. Howard Hughes was nurturing crazy plans to buy up Las Vegas. Wayne Senior got in with Hughes' Mormon guard. Ward Littell developed a grudge against Senior. A rogue CIA man recruited Pete for a Saigon-to-Vegas dope funnel, profits to the Cuban cause, vouchsafed by Carlos Marcello. Pete needed a dope chemist and recruited Wayne. Ward's hatred of Wayne Senior grew. Ward fucked with Senior. He informed Wayne that his father sent him to Dallas.  
Wayne reeled and grabbed at air and barely stayed upright. Wayne fucked Janice in his father's house and made sure that Wayne Senior saw it.  
"The Life," a noun. A haven for Mormon burnouts, rogue chemists, coon killers.  
Wayne Senior divorced Janice. He beat her with a silver-tipped cane to offset the cost of the settlement. Janice limped from that day on and still played scratch golf. Ward Littell sold Howard Hughes Las Vegas at the mob's inflated prices and began a sporadic love affair with Janice. Wayne Senior increased his pull with Howard Hughes and sucked up to former veep Dick Nixon. Dwight Holly left the Bureau of Narcotics and went back on the FBI. Mr. Hoover directed Dwight to disrupt Martin Luther King and the civil rights movement. Dwight deployed Wayne Senior in anti-Klan mail-fraud ops, a sop to sob sisters at Justice.  
Wayne cooked heroin in Saigon and ran it through to Vegas. Wayne chased Wendell Durfee for four years. The country blew up with riots and a shitstorm of race hate. Dr. King trumped Mr. Hoover on all moral fronts and wore the old man down just by being. Mr. Hoover had tried everything. Mr. Hoover whined to Dwight that he had done all he could. Dwight understood the cue and recruited Wayne Senior. Wayne Senior wanted Wayne Junior to be in on it. Senior thought they needed a recruitment wedge. Dwight went out and found Wendell Durfee.  
Wayne got a pseudo-anonymous tip. He found Wendell Durfee on L.A. skid row and killed him in March. It was a put-up job. Dwight gathered forensic evidence and coerced him into the hit plan. Wayne worked with his father, Dwight, Freddy Otash and pro shooter Bob Relyea.  
Janice was diagnosed with last-stage cancer. Her beating injuries cloaked early detection of the disease. The Saigon dope deal factionalized and blew into chaos. On one side: mob ghouls and crazy Cuban exiles. On the other: Wayne, Pete and a French merc named Jean-Philippe Mesplede. April and May were pure free fall. The election hovered. King was dead. Carlos Marcello and the boys decided to clip Bobby Kennedy. Pete was coerced in. Freddy O. waltzed over from the King hit. Ward Littell was still working angles on Carlos and Howard Hughes. Ward had inherited an anti-mob file. He left it with Janice for safekeeping.  
Wayne went to see Janice on June 4. The cancer had taken her strength and her curves and had rendered her slack. They made love a second time. She told him more about Ward's file. He searched her apartment and found it. The file was very detailed. It specifically indicted Carlos and his New Orleans operation. Wayne sent it to Carlos, along with a note.  
"Sir, my father was planning to extort you with this file. Sir, could we discuss that?"  
Robert F. Kennedy was shot two hours later. Ward Littell killed himself. Howard Hughes offered Wayne Senior Ward's job as mob fixer/liaison. His first assignment: purchase the loyalty of GOP front-runner Dick Nixon.  
Carlos called Wayne and thanked him for the heads-up. Carlos said, "Let's have dinner."  
Wayne decided to murder his father. Wayne decided that Janice should beat him dead with a golf club.  
Carlos kept a mock-Roman suite at the Sands. A toga-clad geek played centurion and let Wayne in. The suite featured mock-Roman pillars and sack-of-Rome art. Price tags drooped from wall frames.  
A buffet was laid out. The geek sat Wayne down at a lacquered table embossed with spqr. Carlos walked in. He wore nubby silk shorts and a stained tuxedo shirt.  
Wayne stood up. Carlos said, "Don't." Wayne sat down. The geek spooned food on two plates and vanished. Carlos poured wine from a screw-top bottle.  
Wayne said, "It's a pleasure, sir."  
"Don't make like I don't know you. You're Pete and Ward's guy, and you worked for me in Saigon. You know more about me than you should, plus all the shit in that file. I know your story, which is some fucking story compared to the other dickhead stories I heard lately."  
Wayne smiled. Carlos pulled two bobbing-head dolls from his pockets. One doll represented RFK. One doll represented Dr. King. Carlos smiled and snapped off their heads.  
"Salud, Wayne."  
"Thank you, Carlos."  
"You're looking for work, right? This ain't about a handshake and a thank-you envelope."  
Wayne sipped wine. It was present-day liquor-store vintage.  
"I want to assume Ward Littell's role in your organization, along with the position in the Hughes organization that my father had just inherited from Ward. I have the skills and the connections to prove myself valuable, I'm prepared to favor you in all my dealings with Mr. Hughes, and I'm aware of the penalties you dispense for disloyalty."  
Carlos speared an anchovy. His fork slid. Olive oil hit his tux shirt.  
"Where's your father going to be throughout all of this?"   Wayne toppled the RFK doll. A plastic arm fell off. Carlos picked his nose.  
"Okay, even if I'm fucking susceptible to favors and prone to like you, why should Howard Hughes go outside his own organization full of suck-asses he feels comfortable with to hire a fucked-up ex-cop who goes around shooting niggers for kicks?"  
Wayne flinched. He gripped his wine glass and almost snapped the stem.  
"Mr. Hughes is a xenophobic drug addict known to inject narcotics into a vein in his penis, and I can concoct-"  
Carlos yukked and slapped the table. His wine glass capsized. Pepper chunks flew. Olive oil spritzed.  
"-Drugs that will stimulate and sedate him and diminish his mental capacities to the point that he will become that much more tractable in all his dealings with you. I also know that you have a very large envelope for Richard Nixon, should he be nominated. Mr. Hughes is putting in 20%, and I plan to raid my father's cash reserve and get you another five million cold."  
The toga geek walked in. He brought a sponge and swabbed the mess presto-chango. Carlos snapped his fingers. The toga geek disappeared.  
"I keep coming back to your father. What's Wayne Tedrow Senior going to be doing while Wayne Tedrow Junior sticks him the big one where it hurts the most?"  
Wayne pointed to the dolls and back up to heaven. Carlos cracked his knuckles.  
"Okay, I'll bite."  
Wayne raised his glass. "Thank you."  
Carlos raised his glass. "You get two fifty a year and points, and you jump on Ward's old job straight off. I need you to oversee the buyouts of legitimate businesses started with Teamster Pension Fund loans, so we can launder it and funnel it into a slush fund to build these hotel-casinos somewhere in Central America or the Caribbean. You know what we're looking for. We want some pliable, anti-Communist el jefe type who'll do what we want and keep all the dissident hippie protest shit down to a dull roar. Sam G.'s running point now. We've got it narrowed down to Panama, Nicaragua and the Dominican Republic. That's your main fucking job. You make it happen and you make your hophead pal keep buying our hotels, and you make sure we get to keep our inside guys, who just might help us out with some skim."

From the Hardcover edition.

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Blood's a Rover (American Underworld Trilogy #3) 3.9 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 12 reviews.
slatsdawson More than 1 year ago
We Ellroy fans waited for years for the third book in the trilogy to come out. The first installment, American Tabloid, was the finest of the three and neither the Cold 6000 or Blood's a Rover attained those lofty heights. Having said that, both the second and third books are superb and have to be considered "must reads". Ellroy continues the story line established in American Tabloid dragging the reader through the bowels of J. Edgar Hoover's decline,the Nixon administation years, and the rise and fall of the Black Power Movement of the late '60's. As with all Ellroy novels, true historical figures pop up through out the story line - Hoover, Nixon, Sonny Liston to name a few - the darkest dark side of human behavior is expertly splayed out for the reader. Murder, torture, duplicity on a epic scale, sick depraved love affairs, hate mongers, perversion, it's all in Blood's a Rover. You come to despise most of the main characters, you have to stop reading to wash you hands and clear your mind. A very well written thriller will pull you along, Ellroy's affect is to shove you through the pages to the next gut wrenching point in the novel. His style is like no other, it cannot be copied, it cannot be taught, it cannot be learned. It comes from straight from his sadly twisted soul. The book is a masterpiece, Ellroy is a gift, and I will wait, again, for five years for his next book to be published. It will take me that long to get over this one.
Hemmingstein More than 1 year ago
Blood's a Rover is a nightmare of a book but, it's worth every sleepless night. Rough stuff and worth every squeamish moment. Dr. Hemmingstein
BerkeleyBob More than 1 year ago
Blood's a Rover was hard to follow until about the half way point. It is the conclusion of a trilogy that revisits the 60's and 70's with some of the characters re-appearing from the earlier novels. Ellroy said it was difficult to write. It has a hallucinatory edge, and portrays J. Hoover and Howard Hughes in an unflattering and near libelous light. There is some speculation about JFK's murder. It is a brilliant work and picks up considerable momentum at about the half way point. It gets the tone of the time, in the same way that television's Mad Men does. I have read almost everything Ellroy has written over the years--his personal story is dramatic, and the drama does not appear to be over. This is one of his best.
harstan More than 1 year ago
In 1964 in Los Angeles, a Well Fargo armored car is shockingly robbed. By 1968 Howard "Dracula" Hughes moves in on the Vegas Strip with help from voodoo medicine and the mob. The same group behind the killings of Kennedy and King creates havoc in Chicago as Nixon must be elected president because the mob and J. Edgar Hoover know Tricky Dick is one of them, albeit a moronic one. The Mafia sets up casinos in the Dominican Republic to replace Havana with an advanced party Mesplede (of Grassy Knoll notoriety) and Tredow running heroin from Haiti to raise money for assaults on Cuba. The FBI's "Old Girl" knows Nixon will endorse spying, jailing and assassinating anti Vietnam rabbles, Black Militants like King, and women libber communists under the American dream BS. The government-mobster-industrial complex easily prevents leftists like Karen Sifakis and Joan Rosen Klein from power through betrayal, back stabbing and legal robbery with the only cost being the democratic dumbing down of the masses. All those who actively rule pretend to be honorable with blood on the hands delegated to do those who do dirty jobs. In this mire of self righteousness FBI Agent Dwight Holly has an agenda radically different from either woman he manipulates. Yet the convergence of American apple pie at the earth mother Saint Joan began in 1964 when a milk truck accidentally rammed a Well Fargo armored car; although some might argue her roots are her communist ancestors. The cynical final "Underworld USA" saga (see AMERICAN TABLOID and THE COLD SIX THOUSAND) comes full circle as the right wing real heroes (though hidden away in the closet as Reagan is more acceptable in public) Nixon, Hoover and Hughes seek salvation the American way: use chaos theory to manipulate the media and the public. The exciting story line is like the DNA matrix as subplots intertwine around one another leading to some repetitiveness when they conjoin, but impossible not to read as it has a tabloid exposing feel. American history comes alive with this fictional account of the Nixon-Hoover era as the shortest point between the back streets of L.A. and the White House run through Chicago, Vegas, Havana, and Hispaniola. Harriet Klausner
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Best book in a while
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Mitzi Eckert More than 1 year ago
Love this author and always jump on each one. This is the last of a trilogy but i really hope Ellroy keeps writing. This one was quite good but i really think my favorite was The Cool Six Thousand, the second one.
theGhost1982 More than 1 year ago
Amazing conclusion to the American Underworld Trilogy!!!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Tennesseedog More than 1 year ago
How do thee I kill? Let me count the ways. With apologies to Shakespeare I can state that in Mr. Ellroy's latest tome, men, women and chickens die in a multitude of ways. From straightforward gun shootings to drug overdoses to bizarre flesh melting in electrocutions and flame-throwing, to run of the mill knifings, bombings and more bizarre hackings by machetes and buzz saws, and culminating in voodoo druggings and mayhem while zombiefied, even "natural causes", it is all there. This is another long but stunning literary work by the author. Yes, his short action-packed phrases are there in true staccato style but a significant move back to storytelling with sprinkling of philosophical meanderings inhabit this work. Watch out for the profanity and endless negative protrayals of minorities as to race, gender and sexual preference. But it all works as a step back in time to the anxious late 1960's with Black Power, Nixon and the FBI. Oh, all our favorites are still there like Tiger Kab company, boxer Sonny Liston, actor Sal Mineo, Dracula H. Hughes, mafia capos and petty dictators like Poppa Doc Duvalier and Joaquin Balaguer. Sleeze bags of all kinds interact with our protaganists and our point of view changes chapter by chapter as the narrative relates the latest plot twist, usually somebody getting whacked. Revolution and emeralds are in the air. Yes, Mr Ellroy captures the wildness of the time and for those who remember Archie Bell and the Drells, "Tighten Up", welcome home. This is a place you have not been to since those olden days of acid tripping.
KenCady More than 1 year ago
The Editorial Reviews provided for this book give fair warning. They all love the book, but read carefully! The Barnes & Noble review tells us: The author's hard-driven prose may confuse some readers on first encounter, but no better engine exists for this subject matter. The Washington Post reviewer says: Ellroy's bleak, brooding worldview, his dense, demanding style and his unflinching descriptions of extreme violence will almost certainly alienate large numbers of readers. Publisher's Weekly says: It's a stunning and crazy book that could only have been written by the premier lunatic of American letters. The Library Journal says: ...this traffic accident of a book. It's loud, explosive, and not pretty, but you can't not look. Kirkus Reviews says: The book is repetitious in places and confusing in others. Still, you won't easily put it down. And I say: Yes, I can put it down. I got 150 pages into a 630 page novel and decided that my life could be better spent than trying to unravel some of the most confusing writing ever to receive such laudatory reviews. Really, the writer has no clothes.
TreadmillReader More than 1 year ago
Writing style is so uninteresting and difficult, that I nearly stopped reading several times throughout the book. I will never buy another book by this author.