 Recorded Books presents an unabridged recording of Train by Pete Dexter, narrated by Dion Graham. This book is copyrighted 2003 by Pete Dexter. This recording is copyrighted 2003 by Recorded Books. Lionel Walk, better known as Train, is a young black catty at an elite Los Angeles golf course, keeping his head down and playing a few rounds after hours. Nora Still is a beautiful widow, unwittingly at the center of a criminal investigation, the lone survivor of an attempted boat hijacking gone violently wrong. And Sergeant Miller Packer is investigating the case, his oddly personal concern for both Train and Nora, binding all three of them together in an uneasy triangle. And now, Train. Chapter 1, Philadelphia, January 1948. At this point in the story, Packard had never fallen in love and didn't trust what he'd heard of the lingo. Forever my darling, with all my heart, till the end of time, more than life itself, with every fiber of my being, oh my darling Clementine, et cetera. It sounded out of control to him and messy. He had spent maybe a thousand Sundays in church though, make that 400, and then two edgy years on a battleship in the Pacific Ocean, and then five very edgy days in the Pacific Ocean without the battleship. And before any of that, he deliberately and often put himself in places where he saw awful things happen, not only to people who deserved it, but also to people who just seemed to stumble in at the wrong time, walking into the picture as the shutter clicked through no fault of their own. Which is to say that by now, Packard recognized praying when he heard it, and knew the kind of deals people would offer up, the promises they would make when they were in over their heads. And that, from what he'd heard, was what it, love, was about. Later on, however, something in the feminine line, in fact, came along, custom fit, and Packard, to his enormous surprise, found himself apeshit in tow. Although not every fiber of my being apeshit in tow. Of long habit, Packard only gave in quietly without losing his dignity. And much later on, when he was tamed and had the advantages of maturity and the long view, he would come to realize that everything that had happened was inevitable, that he was, after all, a human being, and it was therefore not in his nature to keep things simple. Even the psychologist who did the pre-employment interview had seen something on Packard's horizon. Perhaps, he said, you need someone to share this with. Packard had just described for the psychologist not his loveless life, but his heavy cruiser, the Indianapolis, burning to the waterline in the night, and the days and nights of floating around the Pacific Ocean with the sharks and burned and dying shipmates. The sharks came morning and evening at mealtime and stayed about as long as it would take you to eat dinner. Packard to this day did not eat at regular hours, but aside from that, on the occasions when he asked himself how he felt, he felt approximately like the same person. People he'd known before the war, on the other hand, said he'd changed, but he couldn't see it himself. As his grandmother had pointed out a long time ago, he wasn't a real sweetheart to begin with. Packard, by the way, had not brought any of this up to the psychologist himself. All he wanted was a job, and all the psychologist wanted was to keep his job, and he was required by the city's insurers to review applicants' military records and inquire specifically in regard to Purple Hearts. The psychologist assumed a certain casual baritone authority that made Packard want to slap him, and he sat beneath his diplomas in a cheap suit, absently listening to an abbreviated history of Packard's wartime adventures, pinching his chin, making $15 an hour dimples and grunts. He nodded from time to time as if he'd heard it all before. Then, when the half hour was over, he said, perhaps you need someone to share this with. But it was all a dance anyway. War heroes could get work at any fire department they wanted. Sample complete. Ready to continue?