thunter.fearloathinglasvegas-第16部分

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ption　in　either　eye　prior　to　surgery　and　the　possibility　he　will　ever　have　light　perception　is　extremely　poor。〃　Innes；　son　of　a　prominent　Massachusetts　Republican；　was　found　in　a　jail　cell　Thursday　by　a　turnkey　who　said　Innes　had　pulled　out　his　eyeballs。
　　Innes　was　arrested　Wednesday　night　while　walking　nude　through　a　neighborhood　near　where　he　lived。　He　was　examined　at　Mercy　Hospital　and　then　placed　in　a　jail　cell。　Police　and　one　of　Innes'　friends　said　he　had　taken　an　overdose　of　animal　tranquilizer。
　　Police　reported　the　drug　was　PCP；　a　Parke…Davis　product　not　sold　for　human　medical　purposes　since　1963。　However；　a　spokesman　for　Parke…Davis　said　he　thought　the　drug　might　be　available　on　the　black　market。
　　Taken　alone；　the　spokesman　said　PCP　effects　would　not　last　more　than　12　to　14　hours。　However；　the　effects　of　PCP　bined　with　an　hallucinogen　such　as　LSD　were　not　known。
　　Innes　told　a　neighbor　last　Saturday；　the　day　after　he　first　took　the　drug；　that　his　eyes　were　bothering　him　and　that　he　could　not　read。
　　Wednesday　night　police　said　Innes　seemed　to　be　in　a　deeply　depressed　state　and　so　impervious　to　pain　that　he　did　not　scream　when　he　pulled　out　his　eyes。
　　
　　　2。　Another　Day；　Another　Convertible。。。&　Another　Hotel　Full　of　Cops
　　
　　The　first　order　of　business　was　to　get　rid　of　the　Red　Shark。　It　was　too　obvious。　Too　many　people　might　recognize　it；　especially　the　Vegas　police；　although　as　far　as　they　knew；　the　thing　was　already　back　home　in　L。A。　It　was　last　seen　running　at　top　speed　across　Death　Valley　on　Interstate　15。　Stopped　and　warned　in　Baker　by　the　CHP。。。then　suddenly　disapeared。。。
　　The　last　place　they　would　look　for　it；　I　felt；　was　in　a　rental…car　lot　at　the　airport。　I　had　to　go　out　there　anyway；　to　meet　my　attorney。　He　would　be　arriving　from　L。A。　in　the　late　afternoon。
　　I　drove　very　quietly　on　the　freeway；　gripping　my　normal　instinct　for　bursts　of　acceleration　and　sudden　lane　changes…trying　to　remain　inconspicuous…and　when　I　got　there　I　parked　the　Shark　between　two　old　Air　Force　buses　in　a　〃utility　lot〃　about　half　a　mile　from　the　terminal。　Very　tall　buses。　Make　it　hard　as　possible　for　the　fuckers。　A　little　walking　never　hurt　anybody。
　　By　the　time　I　got　to　the　terminal　I　was　pouring　sweat。　But　nothing　abnormal。　I　tend　to　sweat　heavily　in　warm　climates。clothes　are　soaking　wet　from　dawn　to　dusk。　This　worried　at　first；　but　when　I　went　to　a　doctor　and　described　my　normal　daily　intake　of　booze；　drugs　and　poison　he　told　me　to　e　back　when　the　sweating　stopped。　That　would　be　the　danger　point；　he　said…a　sign　that　my　body's　desperately　overworked　flushing　mechanism　had　broken　down　pletely。　〃I　have　great　faith　in　the　natural　processes；〃　he　said。　〃But　in　your　case。。。well。。。I　find　no　precedent。　We'll　just　have　to　wait　and　see；　then　work　with　what's　left。〃　I　spent　about　two　hours　in　the　bar；　drinking　Bloody　Marys　for　the　V…8　nutritional　content　and　watching　the　flights　from　L。A。　I'd　eaten　nothing　but　grapefruit　for　about　twenty　hours　and　my　head　was　adrift　from　its　moorings。
　　You　better　watch　yourself；　I　thought。　There　are　limits　to　what　the　human　body　can　endure。　You　don't　want　to　break　down　and　start　bleeding　from　the　ears　right　here　in　the　terminal。　Not　in　this　town。　In　Las　Vegas　they　kill　the　weak　and　deranged。
　　I　realized　this；　and　kept　quiet　even　when　I　felt　symptoms　of　a　terminal　blood…sweat　ing　on。　But　this　passed。　I　saw　the　cocktail　waitress　getting　nervous；　so　I　forced　myself　to　get　up　and　walk　stiffly　out　of　the　bar。　No　sign　of　my　attorney。
　　Down　to　the　VIP　car…rental　booth；　where　I　traded　the　Red　Shark　in　for　a　White　Cadillac　Convertible。　〃This　goddamn　Chevy　has　caused　me　a　lot　of　trouble；〃　I　told　them。　〃I　get　the　feeling　that　people　are　putting　me　down…especially　in　gas　stations；　when　I　have　to　get　out　and　open　the　hood　manually。〃
　　〃Well。。。of　course；〃　said　the　man　behind　the　desk。　〃What　you　need；　I　think；　is　one　of　our　Mercedes　600　Towne…Cruiser　Specials；　with　air…conditioning。　You　can　even　carry　your　own　fuel；　if　you　want；　we　make　that　available。
　　〃Do　I　look　like　a　goddamn　Nazi？〃　I　said。　〃I'll　have　a　natural　American　car；　or　nothing　at　all！〃　They　called　up　the　white　Coupe　de　Ville　at　once。　Every…thing　was　automatic。　I　could　sit　in　the　red…leather　driver's　seat　and　make　every　inch　of　the　car　jump；　by　touching　the　proper　buttons。　It　was　a　wonderful　machine：　Ten　grand　worth　of　gimmicks　and　high…priced　Special　Effects。　The　rear…windows　leaped　up　with　a　touch；　like　frogs　in　a　dynamite　pond。　The　white　canvas　top　ran　up　and　down　like　a　roller…coaster。　The　dashboard　was　full　of　esoteric　lights　&　dials　&　meters　that　I　would　never　understand…but　there　was　no　doubt　in　my　mind　that　I　was　into　a　superior　machine。
　　The　Caddy　wouldn'　tget　off　the　line　quite　as　fast　as　the　RedShark；　but　once　it　got　rol　around　eighty…it　was　pure　smooth　hell。。。all　that　elegant；　upholstered　weight　lashing　across　the　desert　was　like　rolling　through　midnight　on　the　old　California　Zephyr。　I　handled　the　whole　transaction　with　a　credit　card　that　I　later　learned　was　〃banceled〃…pletely　bogus。　But　the　Big　puter　hsdn't　mixed　me　yet；　so　I　was　still　a　fat　gold　credit　risk。
　　Later；　looking　back　on　this　transaction；　I　knew　the　conversation　that　had　almost　certainly　etisued：　〃Hello。　This　is　VIP　car…rentals　in　Las　Vegas。　We're　calling　to　check　on　Number　875…045…6169。　Just　a　routine　credit　check；　nothing　urgent。。。（Long　pause　at　the　other　end。　Then：）　〃Holy　shit！〃
　　〃What？〃
　　〃Pardon　me。。。　Yes；　we　have　that　number。　It's　been　placed　on　emergency　redline　status。　Call　the　police　at　once　and　don't　let　him　out　of　your　sight！〃　（Another　long　pause）　〃Well。。。ah。。。you　see；　that　number　is　not　on　our　current　Red　List；　and。。。ah。。。Number875…045…616…B　just　left　our　lot　in　a　new　Cadillac　convertible。〃
　　〃No！〃
　　〃Yes。　He's　long　gone；　totally　insured。〃
　　〃Where？〃
　　〃I　think　he　said　St。　Louis。　Yes；　that's　what　the　card　says。
　　Raoul　Duke；　leftfielder　&　batting　champion　of　the　St。　Loui　sBrowns。　Five　days　at　25　per；　plus　twenty…five　cents　a　mile。His　card　was　valid；　so　of　course　we　had　no　choice。。。This　is　true。　The　car　rental　agency　had　no　legal　reason　to　hassle　me；　since　my　card　was　technically　valid。　During　the　next　four　days　I　drove　that　car　all　over　Las　Vegas…even　the　VIP　agency's　main　office　on　Paradise　Boulevard　several　times…and　at　no　time　was　I　bothered　by　any　show　of　rudeness。
　　This　is　one　of　the　hallmarks　of　Vegas　hospitality。　The　only　bedrock　rule　is　Don't　Burn　the　Locals。　Beyond　that；　nobody　cares。　They　would　rather　not　know。　If　Charlie　Manson　checked　into　the　Sahara　tomorrow　morning；　nobody　would　hassle　him　as　long　as　he　tipped　big。
　　
　　I　drove　straight　to　the　hotel　after　renting　the　car。　There　was　still　no　sign　of　my　attorney；　so　I　decided　to　check　in　on　my　own…if　only　to　get　off　the　street　and　avoid　a　public　breakdown。　I　left　the　Whale　in　a　VIP　parking　slot　and　shambled　self…consciously　into　the　lobby　with　one　small　leather　bag…a　hand…crafted；　custom…built　satchel　that　had　just　been　made　for　me　by　a　leathersmith　friend　in　Boulder。
　　Our　room　was　at　the　Flamingo；　in　the　nerve…center　of　theStrip：　right　across　the　street　from　Caesar's　Palace　and　the　Dunes…site　of　the　Drug　Conference。　The　bulk　of　the　conferees　were　staying　at　the　Dunes；　but　those　of　us　who　signed　up　fashionably　late　were　assigned　to　the　Flamingo。
　　The　place　was　full　of　cops。　I　saw　this　at　a　glance。　Most　of　them　were　just　standing　around　trying　to　look　casual；　all　dressed　exactly　alike　in　their　cut…rate　Vegas　casuals：　plaid　bermuda　shorts；　Arnie　Palmer　golf　shirts　and　hairless　white　legs　tapering　down　to　rubberized　〃beach　sandals。〃　It　was　a　terrifying　scene　to　walk　into…a　super　stakeout　of　some　kind。　If　I　hadn't　known　about　the　conference　my　mind　might　have　snapped。　You　got　the　impression　that　somebody　was　going　to　be　gunned　down　in　a　blazing　crossfire　at　any　moment…maybe　the　entire　Manson　Family。
　　My　arrival　was　badly　timed。　Most　of　the　national　DAs　and　other　cop…types　had　already　checked　in。　These　were　the　people　who　now　stood　around　the　lobby　and　stared　grimly　at　newers。　What　appeared　to　be　the　Final　Stakeout　was　only　about　two　hundred　vacationing　cops　with　nothing　better　to　do。　They　didn't　even　notice　each　other。
　　I　waded　up　to　the　desk　and　got　in　line。　The　man　in　front　of　me　was　a　Police　Chief　from　some　small　town　in　Michigan。　His　Agnew…style　wife　was　standing　about　three　feet　off　to　his　right　while　he　argued　with　the　desk　clerk：　〃Look；　fella…I　told　you　I　have　a　postcard　here　that　says　I　have　reservations　in　this　hotel。　Hell；　I'm　with　the　District　Attorneys'　Conference！　I've　already　paid　for　my　room。〃
　　〃Sorry；　sir。　You're　on　the　'late　list。'　Your　reservations　were　transferred　to　the。。。ah。。。Moonlight　Motel；　which　is　out　on　Paradise　Boulevard　and　actually　a　very　fine　place　of　lodging　and　only　sixteen　blocks　from　here；　with　its　own　pool　and。。。
　　〃You　dirty　little　faggot！　Call　the　manager！　I'm　tired　of　listening　to　this　dogshit！〃　The　manager　appeared　and　offered　to　call　a　cab。　This　was　obviously　the　second　or　maybe　even　the　third　act　in　a　cruel　drama　that　had　begun　long　before　I　showed　up。　The　police　chief's　wife　was　crying；　the　gaggle　of　friends　that　he'd　mustered　for　support　were　too　embarrassed　to　back　hi