Stephen Marsden #3 Audio Books Demo
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This is Stephen Marston, and I'm a voice over artist. This is an audio books demo. You will be listening to five excerpts from the following books. The Reversal by Michael Conley. Memorial Day by Vince Flynn, Beezus and Ramona by Beverly Cleary. The House With a Clock in its Wall by John Bel. Airs and relationships 101 What Every Leader Needs to Know by John C. Maxwell. The Reversal by Michael Conley. Part one. The Perp Walk Tuesday, February 9th 1 43 PM The last time I had eaten at the Water Grill, I sat across the table from a client who had coldly and calculatedly murdered his wife and her lover, shooting both of them in the face. He had engaged my services to not only defending the trial but exonerate him and restores good name in the public eye. This time I was sitting with someone with whom I needed to be even more careful. I was dining with Gabriel Williams, the district attorney of Los Angeles County. It was a crisp afternoon. In mid winter, I sat with Williams and his trusted chief of staff, read political adviser Joe Riddle. The meal have been set for 1:30 p.m. When most courthouse lawyers would be safely back in the CCB and the D A. Would not be advertising his dalliance with a member of the dark side, meaning me Mickey Heller, defender of the damned. The water grill was a nice place for a downtown lunch, good food and atmosphere, good separation between tables for private conversations and a wine list hard to top in all of downtown. It was the kind of place where you kept your suit jacket on and the waiter put a black napkin across your lap so you needn't be bothered with doing it yourself. The prosecution team ordered martinis at the county taxpayers expense, and I stuck with the free water the restaurant was pouring. It took Williams to gulps of gin and one Ali before he got to the reason we were hiding in plain sight. Mickey, I have a proposition for you. I nodded. Rydell had already said as much when he had called that morning to set up the lunch. I had agreed to the meat and then it gone to work on the phone myself, trying to gather any inside information. I could on what the proposition would be. Not even my first ex wife, who worked in the district attorney's employees, knew what was up. I'm all ears, I said. It's not every day that the D. A himself wants to give you a proposition. I know it can't be in regards to any of my clients. They wouldn't merit much attention from the guy at the top. And at the moment, I'm only carrying a few cases anyway. Times air slow. Well, you're right, Williams said. This is not about any. Your clients have a case I'd like you to take on. I nodded again. I understood now. They all hate the defense attorney until they need the defense attorney. I didn't know if Williams had any Children, but he would have known through due diligence that I don't do juvie work. So I was guessing it had to be his wife, probably a shoplifting grab or a D. U. I was trying to keep under wraps who got popped? I asked. Williams looked at Rydell and they shared a smile. No, nothing like that, Williams said. My proposition is this, like the higher you Mickey, I want you to come to work at the D. A's office. Of all the ideas that have been rattling around in my head since I had taken Rydell is call. Being hired as a prosecutor wasn't one of them. I've been a card carrying member of the Criminal Defense Bar for more than 20 years. During that time, I've grown a suspicion and distrust of prosecutors and police that might not have equal that of the gangbangers down in Nickerson Gardens, but was at least at the level that would seem to exclude me from ever joining their ranks. Plain and simple, they wouldn't want me and I wouldn't want them. Except for the ex wife I mentioned in 1/2 brother who was in LAPD Detective, I wouldn't have turned my back on any of them. Especially Williams. He was a politician first in a prosecutor second, that made him even more dangerous. Though briefly a prosecutor in his early legal career, he spent two decades as a civil rights attorney before running for the D A post as an outsider and riding into office on a tide of anti police and prosecutors sentiment. I was employing full caution at the fancy lunch. From the moment the napkin one across my lamp work for you, I asked, doing what has a special prosecutor, a one time deal. I want you to handle the Jason Jessica Keys. I looked at him for a long moment. First, I thought I would laugh out loud. This was some sort of cleverly orchestrated joke, but then I understood that couldn't be the case. They don't take you out to the water grill just to make a joke. You want me to prosecute Jessup? From what I hear, there's nothing to prosecute that case. Is that duck without wings? The only thing left to do is shoot and need it. William shook his head in a manner that seemed intended to convince himself of something. Not me. It's Tuesday is the anniversary of the murder, he said. I'm going to announce that we intend to retry Jessica, and I'd like you standing next to me at the press conference. Memorial Day By VINCE Flynn It's just seven days before Memorial Day the nation's capital is buzzing with last minute preparations for the unveiling of the magnificent new memorial honoring the men and women who fought in world War two. Despite the hopeful energy of the city, Mitch Rapp senses troubled a spike and C. I. A intelligences pointed to a major terrorist attack on the United States. Now it's up to wrap to pull out all the stops. Rap was a modern day assassin who lived in a civilised country where such a term could never be used openly. His was a nation that love to distinguish itself from the less refined nations of the world, a democracy that celebrated individual rights and freedoms, a state that would never tolerate the open recruiting, training and use of one of its own citizens for the specific purpose of covertly killing citizens of another country. But that was exactly who wrapped Waas. He was a modern day assassin who was conveniently called an operative so as not to offend the sensibilities of the cultured people who occupied the centers of power in Washington. She snatched her robe from the hook on the door and walked over to her bedside table Without her glasses. She struggled to read the small display. She made out the first word and decided it was the CIA's global up center. Kennedy grabbed the handset and in a tired but composed voice, said, Do you see I Kennedy? The voice on the other end sounded somewhat scratchy and far away. Irene, it's Mitch. Kennedy looked at the bedside clock. It was nearing 10 in the evening, which meant it was almost six in the morning. Where rap waas Is everything all right? Yeah. Where are you, Ron? R way back across the border. Listen, I don't want to alarm you, but we found some serious intel in this village. I need you to get the Southwest Asia CTC people back into the office and call the station chief in Kandahar and tell him to give me complete car block on anything I asked for. Especially translators. Kennedy's brow fruit. Just how time sensitive visited stuff. I'm not sure. Then what's the big rush? Kennedy didn't like going into action without a solid reason. Just trust me when I tell you. We've got to move quickly on this stuff. Kennedy sent something in his voice. Mitch, you sound a little ruffled. What's going on? Rampe didn't answer right away. Listen, I don't want to alarm everyone until we've had a chance to look at everything more closely, but we found a room under the target house. What kind of room Kennedy was now standing. It was filled with files. Most of it was in posh do, but some of it now Arabic. There were also several computers and a few maps, and as Kennedy, knowing that there had to b'more for rap to make this call, there was a long pause and then wraps it. One of the maps was of D. C, and it showed the effects of a nuclear blast. Cheese is Christ. Kennedy sat back down, her thoughts turning to her worst fears. Irene, do what you need to do to cover your ***. But give me a few hours to look into this before everyone flies off the handle and gets in my way. Kennedy's head was swimming with possibilities, none of them good. There was the financial movement of last Friday, the intercepts that something big was in the works. And now this. I don't know if I can sit on this, Mitch, not even for a minute. All I'm asking us for a few hours. Wrap knew what was going through her mind. He had seen the plans for what they called continuity of government. It involved alerting thousands of people in the first hour alone. Once this genie is out of the bottle, there's no putting her bad. Just give me some time to study our take and find out if it's all fantasy or if they've got the actual goods. Beezus and Ramona By Beverly Cleary Chapter one Visas and her little sister Beatrice Quimby's biggest problem was her little sister, Ramona. Beatrice, or bees is, as everyone called her, because that was what Ramona called her when she first learned to talk new other nine year old girls who had little sisters who went to nursery school. But she did not know anyone with a little sister like Ramona. Beezus felt that the biggest trouble with four year old Ramona was that she was just plain exasperated. If Ramona drank lemonade through a straw, she blew into the straw as hard as she could to see what would happen if she played with their finger paints in the front yard. She wiped her hands on the neighbor's cat. That was the exasperated sort of thing Ramona did, and then there was the way she behaved about her favorite book. It all began one afternoon after school, when business was sitting in her father's vic chair, embroidering, ah, laughing tea kettle on a potholder for one of France. For Christmas. She was trying to embroider this one neatly because she planned to give it to Aunt Beatrice, who was mother's younger sister. And bees is his most special and with gray thread bees is carefully outlined. The steam coming from the teakettle spoke and thought about her pretty young aunt, who was always so *** and understanding. No wonder she was mother's favorite sister, Beezus hope to be exactly like Aunt Beatrice when she grew up. She wanted to be 1/4 grade teacher and drive a yellow convertible and live in an apartment house with an elevator in a buzzer that opened the front door because she was named after and Beatrice Beezus felt she might be like her in other ways, too, while Bees is was sewing. Ramona, holding a mouth organ in her teeth, was riding around the living room on her tricycle. Since she needed both hands to steer the tricycle, she could blow in and out on only one note. This made the harmonica sound that is, if it were groaning own heir own here, over and over again, Bees is tried to pay no attention. She tied a small knot in the end of the piece of red thread to embroider the tea kettles, laughing, mouth concealing. Not as you would have secret, grandmother always said, inhaling and exhaling indoor mouth organ. Ramona closed her eyes and tried to pedal around the coffee table without looking. Ramona cried visas. Watch where you're going! When Ramona crashed into the coffee table, she opened her eyes again. Here on ear, moaned the harmonica around and around peddled Ramona, inhaling and exhaling bees is looked up from her potholder. Ramona, why don't you play with Bendix for a while? Bendix was Ramona's favorite Dow. Ramona thought Bendix was the most beautiful name in the world. Ramona took the harmonica out of remote. No, she said, read by scooping book to me. Oh, Ramona, not Scooby, protested bees is We've read Scope E so many times. Instead of answering, Ramona put her her Monica between her teeth again and peddled around the room, inhaling and exhaling bees has had to lift her feet every time Ramona rode by the nod and visas. This threat pull through the material of the potholder, and she gave up trying to conceal it, and she would have secret and tied a bigger not finally, tired of trying to keep her feet out of Ramona's way, she put down her embroidery. All right, Ramona, she said. If I read about Scooby, will you stop writing your tricycle around the living room and making so much noise? Yes, said Ramona, and climbed off her tricycle. She ran into the bedroom she shared with visas and returned with a battered, dog eared, sticky book, which she handed to bees, is then climbed into the big chair beside Beezus and waited expectantly, reflecting that Ramona always managed to get her own way. Bees is gingerly took the book and looked at it with a feeling of great dislike. It was called the Little Esteem Shovel. On the cover was a picture of a steam shovel with big tears coming out of its eyes. How could have steam, shovel, have eyes, visas thought and scarcely looking at? The words began for what seemed like the 100th or maybe the 1000th time. Once there was a little steam shovel named Scooby. One day scoop, he said. I didn't. I want to be a steam shovel. I want to be a bulldozer. He'll skipped, Interrupted Ramona. No, I didn't sit visas. You'll see that. You're supposed to say I want to be a big bulldozer. Oh, all right, said visas crossly. I want to be a big bulldozer. Ramona smiled contentedly, and bees is continued reading, Gure said. Scooby, doing its best to sound like a bulldozer. Bees is red on through Scooby's failure to be a bulldozer, she read about Scooby's wanting to be a trolley bus. Be bleep haunt. Ramona. Ah, locomotive Ali, I wailed Ramona! And a pile driver cook lug, shouted Ramona bees! Is was glad. When she finally reached the end of the story and scoop, he learned it was best for little steam shovels to be steam shovels there, she said with relief and close the book. She always felt foolish, trying to make noises like machinery club clunk! Yield! Ramona. Jumping down from the chair, she pulled her Monica out of the pocket of her overalls and climbed down her tricycle own ear. Oh dear! She inhaled and exhaled. Ramona cried visas. You promise you'd stop if I read Scooby to you? I did stop, said Ramona. When she had taken the harmonica out of her mouth. The Read it again. Ramona Geraldine Quimby Visas began and then stopped. It was useless to argue with Ramona. She wouldn't pay any attention. Why would you like a story like that anyway? Pisa's asked. Steam shovels can't talk, and I feel silly trying to make all those noises. I don't sit Ramona and wailed Allee Allee with great feeling before she put her harmonica back in her mouth. The house with a clock in its wall by John Bill Ayers Louis Barna That was 10 years old. Until recently. It lived with his parents in a small town near Milwaukee, But his father and mother had been killed suddenly one night in an auto accident, and now Lewis was on his way to newsy body, the county seat of Ca Farnham County in the state of Michigan. He was going to live with his uncle Jonathan, whom he had heard a few things about like he smoked and drank and played poker. These were not such bad things in a Catholic family But Lewis had to made Nance were Baptists, and they had warned him about Uncle Jonathan. He hoped that these warnings would turn out to be unnecessary. As the bus rounded a curve, Lewis looked at his reflection. In the window next to a seat, he saw Mooney fat face with shiny cheeks. The lips on the face were moving. Lewis was saying the altar boy prayers again, this time with the wish that they might make Uncle Jonathan like him. Judge me, O God, no, don't judge me. Help me to live a happy life. It was five minutes to nine, when the bus pulled up in front of heat moths Rexall Drugstore in the town of New Jersey Body. Lewis got up, wiped his hands on his trousers and tug at the enormous cardboard suitcase that hung out over the edge of the metal rack. LeWitt's father had bought the suitcase in London at the end of World War Two. It was covered with ripped and faded Conard line stickers. Lewis pulled hard and the suitcase lurched down onto his head. He's staggered back across the aisle with the suitcase helped perilously in the air. Then he sat down suddenly in the suitcase, landed in his lap with a form. Oh, come on, don't kill yourself before I have a chance to meet you. They're in the aisle, stood a man with a bushy red beard that was street in several places with white. His Big Mac khaki trousers were bulged out in front by his pot belly, and he was wearing a gold button red vest over a blue work shirt. Louis noticed that the best had four pockets. There were pipe cleaners sticking out of the top two, and a chain of paperclips was strung between the lower pair. One end of the chain was hooked to the winding knob of a gold watch. Jonathan van, old and barn of it, took his steaming pipe out of his mouth and held out his hand. Hi, Lewis. I'm your uncle Jonathan. I recognize you from your pictures. Your father one sent me. Welcome to news Ebadi. Louis shook hands and noticed that the back of Jonathan's hand was covered with a springing man of red hair. The coat of hair ran right up his sleeve and disappeared. Jonathan wondered if he had red hair all over his body. Jonathan hefted the suitcase and started down the steps of the bus. Kulig lore about a monster. It oughta have wheels on the bottom, huh? Do pack bricks from your house. Louis looks so sad at the mention of this house that Jonathan decided to change the subject. He cleared his throat and said, Well, now, as I was saying, Welcome to news, Ebadi, population 6000 not counting a bell overhead, began to strike the hour. Jonathan stopped talking. He froze on the spot. He dropped the suitcase in his arms, hung limp at his sides. Louis, frightened, looked up at him. Jonathan's eyes were glazed. The bell continued to tall. Lewis looked up. The sound was coming from a tall brick steeple. Across the street, the arches of the Belfry made a howling mouth into gaping eyes. Below the mouth was a large, glowing clock face with iron numerals. Lane, another stroke. It was a deep throated iron bell, and its sound made Lewis feel hopeless and helpless. Bills like that always did. What was wrong with Uncle Jonathan, The tolling stop Jonathan broke out of his trance. He shook his head, convulsive Lee, and with a jerky motion raised his hand to his face. He was sweating profusely. He mopped his forehead and his streaming chief, Uh oh, sorry, Lewis. I just remembered that I had that I had left the kettle boiling on the stove. Always phase out like that when I remember something I've for gotten or vice Versi, but for the pots probably ruined by now. Come on, let's get moving. Lewis looked hard at his uncle, but he said nothing together. The two of them started to walk. They left the brightly lit Main Street, and before long they were trying briskly down a long, tree lined avenue called Mansion Street. The overhanging bows made mansion street in tow. A long rustling tunnel. Pools of lamplight stretched off into the distance. As they walked, Jonathan asked Lewis how is school was coming and whether if he knew what George Kells batting average was that year, he told him that he'd have to become a Tiger fan now that he lived in Michigan. Jonathan didn't complain anymore about the suitcase, but he did stop frequently to set it down, inflicts his written hand. It seemed to Louis that Jonathan talk more loudly in the darkness between the street lights. The why did this was couldn't say grown ups were not supposed to be afraid of the dark in any way. This was not a dark, lonely street. There were lights on in most of the houses, and Lewis could hear people laughing and talking and slamming doors. His uncle certainly was a strange person, but he was strange in a likable way. At the quarter of mansion and high, Jonathan stopped. He set down the suitcase in front of the mailbox that said, for deposit only. I live at the top of the hill, said Jonathan, pointing up High Street was well named up. They went leaning forward, implying slowly. Lewis asked Jonathan several times if he could carry the suitcase, but each time Jonathan said no thanks, he could manage it. Louis began to feel sorry that he had packed all those books and lead soldiers. When they got to the top of the hill, Jonathan set down the suitcase. He took out a red bandanna handkerchief and mopped his face with it. Well, there is Louis bon of its folly. What do you think of it? Come on, let's go in Don't be bashful, George House. Now Louis walked down the long haul. It seemed to take forever. At the other end, he emerged into a room full of yellow light. There were pictures and heavy guilted frames on the walls. There was a mantelpiece covered with a wild assortment off junk, and there was a big round table in the middle of the room, and over in the corner was a gray haired woman in a baggy purple dress. She was standing with her ear, the wall listening. Now she straightened up, smoothed her dress and cheerfully said, Hi there. Hi, Mrs Zimmerman. I live next door. Lewis found himself staring into one of the rink Lius faces he had ever seen. But the eyes were friendly and all the wrinkles were drawn up into smile lines. He shook hands. This is Louis Florence, said Jonathan. You remember Charlie writing about him. The bus was on time for a change. They must have gotten the driver drunk. Hey, have you been stealing any of my gold coins? Relationships. 101 what every leader needs to know By John C. Maxwell. One. Why it Relationships important to success in the early 19 sixties, Michael Deaver was a young man with a political bent, looking for a leader he could believe in and follow. The person he found was an actor turned politician named Ronald Reagan. In 1966 Reagan was elected governor of California on office. He would hold for two terms, from 1967 to 1975. During that tenure, Deaver became Reagan's deputy chief of staff and office. He also held when Reagan became the nation's 40th president. Deeper admired many things about the man he worked with for 30 years. His conviction in love of country, his understanding of himself. His skill is a communicator and his honesty, Devers said. I would go as far as to say that he was actually incapable of dishonesty. But perhaps what was most impressive about Ronald Reagan was his ability to relate to people. Deaver commented. Ronald Reagan was one of the Cheyenne's men I'd ever met, Yet the president was able to connect with anyone, whether a head of state blue collar worker or a feisty member of the press. When asked about why Reagan had surgery poor with the press, diva remarked, Well, Reagan basically liked people, whether they were part of the press corps, whether they were just ordinary people that comes through. While many of the press wouldn't agree with Reagan's policy, they genuinely liked him as a person. Part of Reagan skill came from his natural charisma and glib verbal aptitude developed in Hollywood. But even greater was his ability to relate to people, something he home while traveling the country for a decade as the spokesman for General Electric. It said that Reagan could make anyone feel like his best friend, even someone he'd never met before. But more important, he connected with people closest to him. He truly cared about the people on his team. The chief of staff were gardener or a secretary would all be treated the same as far as he was concerned, remembered Deaver. They were all important. Deaver related, a story that tells much about the connection the two men experienced in 1975. Reagan gave us speak to a group of conservation minded hunters in San Francisco, and the organization gave him a small bronze line is a gift. At the time, Deaver admired and told Governor Reagan how beautiful he thought it Waas 10 years later, deeper prepared to bring his service to President Reagan to an end. After having written his letter of resignation, Reagan asked Deaver to come to the Oval Office. The next morning, As the deputy chief of staff entered the room, the president stood in front of his desk to greet him. Might you said all night I've been trying to think of something to give you. That would be a reminder of all the great times we had together. Then Reagan turned around and picked up something from his desk. He kind of like this little thing, as I recall, the president said, his eyes moist. And he handed the bronze Lion to Deaver, who was totally overcome. He couldn't believe that Reagan hit remembered that about him. All those years, that line has held a place of honor and Devers home ever since. Solid relationships. Everyone liked being around Ronald Reagan because he loved people and he connected with them. He understood that relationships were the glue that held his team members together. The more solid the relationships, the more cohesive his team. Just about everything you do depends on teamwork. It doesn't matter whether you are a leader or follower, culture player, teacher or student, parent or child CEO or nonprofit worker, you will be involved with other people. The question is, will your involvement with others be successful? Your best chance for leadership also depends upon connecting with those on your team. Here's how you know whether you have built a solid relationship with others. Look for the following five characteristics in your relationships. One respect. When it comes to relationships, everything begins with respect with desire to place value on other people. Human relations Author Less Giblin said. You can't make the other fellow feel important in your presence if you secretly feel that he is a nobody. The thing about respect is that you should show it to others even before they've done anything. Toe warn it simply because they're human beings. But at the same time, you should always expect toe have to earn it from others and the place you earn it. The quickest is on difficult ground. This is Stephen Marsden. Thank you for listening