thunter.fearloathinglasvegas-第1部分

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rine　Man
　　
　　〃He　who　makes　a　beast　of　himself　gets　rid　of　the　pain　of　being　a　man。〃
　　Dr。　Johnson
　　
　　　PART　ONE
　　
　　We　were　somewhere　around　Barstow　on　the　edge　of　the　desert　when　the　drugs　began　to　take　hold。　I　remember　saying　something　like　〃I　feel　a　bit　lightheaded；　maybe　you　should　drive。。。　。〃　And　suddenly　there　was　a　terrible　roar　all　around　us　and　the　sky　was　full　of　what　looked　like　huge　bats；　all　swooping　and　screeching　and　diving　around　the　car；　which　was　going　about　a　hundred　miles　an　hour　with　the　top　down　to　Las　Vegas。　And　a　voice　was　screaming：　〃Holy　Jesus！　What　are　these　goddamn　animals？〃　Then　it　was　quiet　again。　My　attorney　had　taken　his　shirt　off　and　was　pouring　beer　on　his　chest；　to　facilitate　the　tanning　process。　〃What　the　hell　are　you　yelling　about？〃　he　muttered；　staring　up　at　the　sun　with　his　eyes　closed　and　covered　with　wraparound　Spanish　sunglasses。　〃Never　mind；〃　I　said。　〃It's　your　turn　to　drive。〃　I　hit　the　brakes　and　aimed　the　Great　Red　Shark　toward　the　shoulder　of　the　highway。　No　point　mentioning　those　bats；　I　thought。　The　poor　bastard　will　see　them　soon　enough。
　　It　was　almost　noon；　and　we　still　had　more　than　a　hundred　miles　to　go。　They　would　be　tough　miles。　Very　soon；　I　knew；　we　would　both　be　pletely　twisted。　But　there　was　no　going　back；　and　no　time　to　rest。　We　would　have　to　ride　it　out。　Press　registration　for　the　fabulous　Mint　400　was　already　underway；　and　we　had　to　get　there　by　four　to　claim　our　sound…proof　suite。　A　fashionable　sporting　magazine　in　New　York　had　taken　care　of　the　reservations；　along　with　this　huge　red　Chevy　convertible　we'd　just　rented　off　a　lot　on　the　Sunset　Strip。。。and　I　was；　after　all；　a　professional　journalist；　so　I　had　an　obligation　to　cover　the　story；　for　good　or　ill。
　　The　sporting　editors　had　also　given　me　300　in　cash；　most　of　which　was　already　spent　on　extremely　dangerous　drugs。　The　trunk　of　the　car　looked　like　a　mobile　police　narcotics　lab。　We　had　two　bags　of　grass；　seventy…five　pellets　of　mescaline；　five　sheets　of　high…powered　blotter　acid；　a　salt　shaker　half　full　of　cocaine；　and　a　whole　galaxy　of　multi…colored　uppers；　downers；　screamers；　laughers　and　also　a　quart　of　tequila；　a　quart　of　rum；　a　case　of　Budweiser；　a　pint　of　raw　ether　and　two　dozen　amyls。All　this　had　been　rounded　up　the　night　before；　in　a　frenzy　of　high…speed　driving　all　over　Los　Angeles　County…from　Topanga　to　Watts；　we　picked　up　everything　we　could　get　our　hands　on。　Not　that　we　needed　all　that　for　the　trip；　but　once　you　get　locked　into　a　serious　drug　collection；　the　tendency　is　to　push　it　as　far　as　you　can。
　　The　only　thing　that　really　worried　me　was　the　ether。　There　is　nothing　in　the　world　more　helpless　and　irresponsible　and　depraved　than　a　man　in　the　depths　of　an　ether　binge。　And　I　knew　we'd　get　into　that　rotten　stuff　pretty　soon。　Probably　at　the　next　gas　station。　We　had　sampled　almost　everything　else；　and　now…yes；　it　was　time　for　a　long　snort　of　ether。　And　then　do　the　next　hundred　miles　in　a　horrible；　slobbering　sort　of　spastic　stupor。　The　only　way　to　keep　alert　on　ether　is　to　do　up　a　lot　of　amyls…not　all　at　once；　but　steadily；　just　enough　to　maintain　the　focus　at　ninety　miles　an　hour　through　Barstow。
　　〃Man；　this　is　the　way　to　travel；〃　said　my　attorney。　He　leaned　over　to　turn　the　volume　up　on　the　radio；　humming　along　withthe　rhythm　section　and　kind　of　moaning　the　words：　〃One　toke　over　the　line；　Sweet　Jesus。。。One　toke　over　the　line。。。　〃　One　toke？　You　poor　fool！　Wait　till　you　see　those　goddamn　bats。　I　could　barely　hear　the　radio。。。slumped　over　on　the　far　side　of　the　seat；　grappling　with　a　tape　recorder　turned　all　the　way　up　on　〃Sympathy　for　the　Devil。〃　That　was　the　only　tape　we　had；　so　we　played　it　constantly；　over　and　over；　as　a'kind　of　demented　counterpoint　to　the　radio。　And　also　to　maintain　our　rhythm　on　the　road。　A　constant　speed　is　good　for　gas　mileage…and　for　some　reason　that　seemed　important　at　the　time。　Indeed。　On　a　trip　like　this　one　must　be　careful　about　gas　consumption。　Avoid　those　quick　bursts　of　acceleration　that　drag　blood　to　the　back　of　the　brain。
　　My　attorney　saw　the　hitchhiker　long　before　I　did。　〃Let's　give　this　boy　a　lift；〃　he　said；　and　before　I　could　mount　any　argument　he　was　stopped　and　this　poor　Okie　kid　was　running　up　to　the　car　with　a　big　grin　on　his　face；　saying；　〃Hot　damn！　I　never　rode　in　a　convertible　before！〃
　　〃Is　that　right？〃　I　said。　〃Well；　I　guess　you're　about　ready；　eh？〃　The　kid　nodded　eagerly　as　we　roared　off。
　　〃We're　your　friends；〃　said　my　attorney。　〃We're　not　like　the　others。〃
　　〃O　Christ；　I　thought；　he's　gone　around　the　bend。　〃No　more　of　that　talk；〃　I　said　sharply。　〃Or　I'll　put　the　leeches　on　you。〃　He　grinned；　seeming　to　understand。　Luckily；　the　noise　in　the　car　was　so　awful…between　the　wind　and　the　radio　and　the　tape　machine…that　the　kid　in　the　back　seat　couldn't　hear　a　word　we　were　saying。　Or　could　he？
　　How　long　can　we　maintain？　I　wondered。　How　long　before　one　of　us　starts　raving　and　jabbering　at　this　boy？　What　will　he　think　then？　This　same　lonely　desert　was　the　last　known　home　of　the　Manson　family。　Will　he　make　that　grim　connection　when　my　attorney　starts　screaming　about　bats　and　huge　manta　rays　ing　down　on　the　car？　If　so…well；　we'll　just　have　to　cut　his　head　off　and　bury　him　somewhere。　Because　it　goes　without　saying　that　we　can't　turn　him　loose。　He'll　report　us　at　once　to　some　kind　of　outback　nazi　law　enforcement　agency；　and　they'll　run　us　down　like　dogs。

　　Jesus！　Did　I　say　that？　Or　just　think　it？　Was　I　talking？　Did　they　hear　me？　I　glanced　over　at　my　attorney；　but　he　seemed　oblivious…watching　the　road；　driving　our　Great　Red　Shark　along　at　a　hundred　and　ten　or　so。　There　was　no　sound　from　the　back　seat。Maybe　I'd　better　have　a　chat　with　this　boy；　I　thought。　Perhape　if　I　explain　things；　he'll　rest　easy。
　　Of　course。　I　leaned　around　in　the　seat　and　gave　him　a　fine　big　smile。。。admiring　the　shape　of　his　skull。〃By　the　way；〃　I　said。　〃There's　one　thing　you　should　probably　understand。〃　He　stared　at　me；　not　blinking。　Was　he　gritting　his　teeth？
　　〃Can　you　hear　me？〃　I　yelled。
　　He　nodded。
　　〃That's　good；〃　I　said。　〃Because　I　want　you　to　know　that　we're　on　our　way　to　Las　Vegas　to　find　the　American　Dream。〃　I　smiled。　〃That's　why　we　rented　this　car。　It　was　the　only　way　to　do　it。　Can　you　grasp　that？〃　He　nodded　again；　but　his　eyes　were　nervous。
　　〃I　want　you　to　have　all　the　background；〃　I　said。　〃Because　this　is　a　very　ominous　assignment…with　overtones　of　extreme　personal　danger。。。。Hell；　I　forgot　all　about　this　beer；　you　want　one？〃　He　shook　his　head。
　　〃How　about　some　ether？〃　I　said。
　　〃What？〃
　　〃Never　mind。　Let's　get　right　to　the　heart　of　this　thing。　You　see；　about　twenty…four　hours　ago　we　were　sitting　in　the　Polo　Lounge　of　the　Beverly　Hills　Hotel…in　the　patio　section；　of　course…and　we　were　just　sitting　there　under　a　palm　tree　when　this　uniformed　dwarf　came　up　to　me　with　a　pink　telephone　and　said；　'This　must　be　the　call　you've　been　waiting　for　all　this　time；　sir。'〃　I　laughed　and　ripped　open　a　beer　can　that　foamed　all　over　the　back　seat　while　I　kept　talking。　〃And　you　know？　He　was　right！　I'd　been　expecting　that　call；　but　I　didn't　know　who　it　would　e　from。　Do　you　follow　me？〃　The　boy's　face　was　a　mask　of　pure　fear　and　bewilderment。　I　blundered　on：　〃I　want　you　to　understand　that　this　man　at　the　wheel　is　my　attorney！　He's　not　just　some　dingbat　I　found　on　the　Strip。　Shit；　look　at　him！　He　doesn't　look　like　you　or　me；　right？　That's　because　he's　a　foreigner。　I　think　he's　probably　Samoan。　But　it　doesn't　matter；　does　it？　Are　you　prejudiced？〃
　　〃Oh；　hell　no！〃　he　blurted。
　　〃I　didn't　think　so；〃　I　said。　〃Because　in　spite　of　his　race；　this　man　is　extremely　valuable　to　me。〃　I　glanced　over　at　my　attorney；　but　his　mind　was　somewhere　else。
　　I　whacked　the　back　of　the　driver's　seat　with　my　fist。　〃This　is　important；　goddamnit！　This　is　a　true　story！〃　The　car　swerved　sickeningly；　then　straightened　out。　〃Keep　your　hands　off　my　fucking　neck！〃　my　attorney　screamed。　The　kid　in　the　back　looked　like　he　wasready　to　jump　right　out　of　the　car　and　take　his　chances。Our　vibrations　were　getting　nasty…but　why？　I　was　puzzled；　frustrated。　Was　there　no　munication　in　this　car？　Had　we　deteriorated　to　the　level　of　dumb　beasts？
　　Because　my　story　was　true。　I　was　certain　of　that。　And　it　was　extremely　important；　I　felt；　for　the　meaning　of　our　journey　to　be　made　absolutely　clear。　We　had　actually　been　sitting　there　in　the　Polo　Lounge…for　many　hours…drinking　Singapore　Slings　with　mescal　on　the　side　and　beer　chasers。　And　when　the　call　came；　I　was　ready。
　　The　Dwark　approached　our　table　cautiously；　as　I　recall；　and　when　he　handed　me　the　pink　telephone　I　said　nothing；　merely　listened。　And　then　I　hung　up；　turning　to　face　my　attorney。　〃That　was　headquarters；〃　I　said。　〃They　want　me　to　go　to　Las　Vegas　at　once；　and　make　contact　with　a　Portuguese　photographer　named　Lacerda。　He'll　have　the　details。　All　I　have　to　do　is　check　into　my　suite　and　he'll　seek　me　out。〃　My　attorney　said　nothing　for　a　moment；　then　he　suddenly　came　alive　in　his　chair。　〃God　hell！〃　he　exclaimed。　〃I　think　I　see　the　pattern。　This　one　sounds　like　real　trouble！〃　He　tucked　his　khaki　undershirt　into　his　white　rayon　bellbottoms　and　called　for　more　drink。　〃You're　going　to　need　plenty　of　legal　advice　b