Ellroy is a hulking presence. He is six foot three, with strong eyes and a tall, gruff face that reflexively composes itself into a frown. He does not walk so much as stomp. During rare pauses in conversation he makes deep guttural noises to fill the silence. His tone is relentlessly jocular, conspiratorial, wisecracking. He screams with laughter. Often he sounds like one of the characters from his novels about fifties-era LA: he has a gas or a blast, he vibes women, he digs it. Someone who doesn’t know the score is a dipshit or, worse, a geek. There is always a grin hidden behind his most brazen performances.