{"product_id":"bloods-a-rover-isbn-9780375727412","title":"Blood's A Rover","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe internationally acclaimed author of the L.A. Quartet and The Underworld USA Trilogy, James Ellroy, presents another literary noir masterpiece of historical paranoia\u003c\/b\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA rip-roaring, devilishly wild ride through the bloody end of the 1960's. It's dark baby, and hot hot hot.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eMartin Luther King assassinated. Robert Kennedy assassinated. Los Angeles, 1968. Conspiracies theories are taking hold. On the horizon looms the Democratic Convention in Chicago and constant gun fire peppers south L.A. Violence, greed, and grime, are replacing free-love and everybody from Howard Hughes, Richard Nixon and J. Edgar Hoover to the right-wing assassins and left-wing revolutionaries are getting dirty. At the center of it all is a triumvirate: the president’s strong-arm goon, an ex-cop and heroine runner, and a private eye whose quarry is so dangerous she could set off the whole powder keg. With his trademark deadly staccato prose, James Ellroy holds nothing back in this wild, startling and much anticipated conclusion to his Underworld USA trilogy.\"Darker, stranger and more compelling than almost anything else contemporary fiction has to offer.\"--\u003ci\u003eWashington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"American fiction writing at its finest--a dexterous, astounding achievement.\"--\u003ci\u003eFort Worth Star-Telegram\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Absorbing and satisfying. . . Every page has at least one passage that's so snappy you want to reply it like a song.\"--\u003ci\u003eSeattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Drop-dead great . . . . It'll blow your mind.\"--\u003ci\u003eAustin American-Statesman\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Wild and brilliant, dazzling and funny . . . The plotting [is] fiendish and intricate . . . Ellroy's descriptions of violence remain powerful and slo-mo vivid.\"--\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Readers who love their noir blood-red will be giddy over \u003ci\u003eBlood’s A Rover, \u003c\/i\u003ethe bang-up conclusion to James Ellroy’s Underworld USA trilogy . . . Ellroy’s prose is spare and riveting [and] his plot is hardball start to finish.”—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A high-water mark in the career of one of America's best historical novelists.”—\u003ci\u003eDenver Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Brilliant . . . There are no soft edges to this novel.\"--\u003ci\u003eMinneapolis Star-Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Jaw-dropping . . . A remarkable literary achievement.”—\u003ci\u003eAssociated Press\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Ellroy employs a huge cast and hyper-pulp prose to create a convincingly horrific universe run by the F.B.I., the Mob, and a host of other sinister organizations.\"--\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"[This] amounts to the hit-man theory of history . . . It's an outrageous, exhilarating, unpretty sight, and it's ingeniously plausible.\"--\u003ci\u003eBoston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Another cocktail of speculative pop-pulp fiction, conspiracy-theorist wet dreams and a beguiling alternative history. Fans will be pleased as rum punch.\"--\u003ci\u003eTime Out\u003c\/i\u003e, New York\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“The four-page intro has more acts of violence than hours of prime-time TV. The first word of the first chapter is ‘heroin.’. . Raymond Chandler, the founding father of hardboiled noir and one of Ellroy’s heroes, would have agreed with this approach.”—\u003ci\u003eNew York Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Fascinating. . . . Ellroy contextualizes expertly, bringing everyone from a swish Leonard Bernstein to a randy Redd Foxx to a junkie Sonny Liston onto his lurid playing field.”—\u003ci\u003ePittsburgh Post-Gazette\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“I was hooked on the first page . . . By the last page . . . I picked my jaw up from the floor and quietly closed the book. Wow.”—Randy Michael Signor, \u003ci\u003eChicago Sun-Times\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Exhilarating. . . . A snitch epic, a history observed by the bad men and women who shaped it.”—\u003ci\u003ePortland Oregonian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames Ellroy was born in Los Angeles in 1948. He is the author of the L.A. Quartet:\u003ci\u003e The Black Dahlia, The Big Nowhere, L.A. Confidential,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eWhite Jazz, \u003c\/i\u003eand the Underworld U.S.A. Trilogy: \u003ci\u003eAmerican Tabloid, The Cold Six Thousand, \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eBlood’s A Rover.\u003c\/i\u003e These seven novels have won numerous honors and were international best sellers. He is also the author of two collections, \u003ci\u003eCrime Wave\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eDestination: Morgue!\u003c\/i\u003e and two memoirs \u003ci\u003eMy Dark Places\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Hilliker Curse\u003c\/i\u003e.  Ellroy currently lives in Denver, Colorado.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewww.jamesellroy.net\u003c\/p\u003ePart I \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eCLUSTER FUCK \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eJune 14, 1968-September 11, 1968   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne Tedrow Jr. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e(Las Vegas, 6\/14\/68)   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHEROIN: 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eA comp suite at the Stardust, vouchered by Carlos Marcello. Carlos knew  that Janice had terminal cancer and that he had chemistry skills.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePrecipitants next-the slow-cook process-diacetyl  morph and sodium carbonate.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne mixed, measured and ran two hot plates low.  He glanced around the suite. The maid left a newspaper out. The headlines were all  \u003ci\u003ehim\u003c\/i\u003e.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne Senior's death by \"heart attack.\" James Earl Ray and Sirhan Sirhan  in stir.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHis\u003c\/i\u003e front-page ink. No mention of him. Carlos had chilled out Wayne  Senior. Mr. Hoover chilled out the backwash on the King\/Bobby hits.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe phone rang. Wayne grabbed it.  Scrambler clicks hit the line. It had to be a Fed safe phone and Dwight Holly.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"It's me, Dwight.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Did you kill him?\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Yes.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\" 'Heart attack,' shit.  'Sudden stroke' would have been better.\"   Wayne coughed. \"Carlos is handling it  personally. He can frost out anything around here.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"I do not want Mr. Hoover  going into a tizzy over this.\"   \"\u003ci\u003eIt's chilled\u003c\/i\u003e. The question is, 'What about the  others?' \"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eDwight 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.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne watched his dope cook. Dwight spieled more news. Freddy  O. bought the Golden Cavern Casino. Pete Bondurant sold it to him.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"We're chilled,  Dwight. Tell me we're chilled and convince me.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eDwight laughed. \"You sound a  little raw, kid.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"I'm stretched a bit thin, yeah. Patricide's funny that way.\"    \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eDwight yukked. The dope pots started boiling. Wayne doused the heat and looked  at his desk photo.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIt'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.    \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eDwight said, \"Hey, are you there?\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"I'm here.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"I'm glad to hear it.  And I'm glad to hear we're chilled on your end.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne stared at the picture.  \"My father was your friend. You're going in pretty light with the judgment.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Shit, kid. He sent you to Dallas.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eBig D. November '63. He was there that  Big Weekend. He caught the Big Moment and took this Big Ride.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eExtradition  job, with one caveat: kill the extraditee.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe  knew\u003c\/i\u003e. He did not know that his father knew. It all went blooey that Sunday.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eJFK  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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePete considered his own act of mercy prudent and Wayne's act of mercy  rash. Pete warned Wayne that Wendell Durfee might show up again.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIt was his very own free fall. It started  in Dallas and spun all the way up to Now.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWendell 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eSoldier of fortune. Heroin runner. Assassin.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eLynette 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePete 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"The Life,\" a noun. A haven for  Mormon burnouts, rogue chemists, coon killers.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.    \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eJanice 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Sir, my father  was planning to extort you with this file. Sir, could we discuss that?\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eRobert  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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eCarlos called Wayne and thanked him for  the heads-up. Carlos said, \"Let's have dinner.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne decided to murder his father.  Wayne decided that Janice should beat him dead with a golf club.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eCarlos 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eA 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.    \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne said, \"It's a pleasure, sir.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"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.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne 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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eSalud\u003c\/i\u003e, Wayne.\"    \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Thank you, Carlos.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"You're looking for work, right? This ain't about a  handshake and a thank-you envelope.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne sipped wine. It was present-day liquor-store  vintage.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"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.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eCarlos speared an anchovy. His fork slid. Olive oil hit his  tux shirt.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"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.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"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?\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne  flinched. He gripped his wine glass and almost snapped the stem.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Mr. Hughes  is a xenophobic drug addict known to inject narcotics into a vein in his penis, and  I can concoct-\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eCarlos yukked and slapped the table. His wine glass capsized.  Pepper chunks flew. Olive oil spritzed.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"-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.\"    \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe toga geek walked in. He brought a sponge and swabbed the mess presto-chango.  Carlos snapped his fingers. The toga geek disappeared.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"I keep coming back to  your father. What's Wayne Tedrow \u003ci\u003eSenior\u003c\/i\u003e going to be doing while Wayne Tedrow \u003ci\u003eJunior\u003c\/i\u003e sticks him the big one where it hurts the most?\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne pointed to the dolls and  back up to heaven. Carlos cracked his knuckles.   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Okay, I'll bite.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWayne  raised his glass. \"Thank you.\"   \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eCarlos 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.\"","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303573442789,"sku":"NP9780375727412","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375727412.jpg?v=1767722815","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/bloods-a-rover-isbn-9780375727412","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}