thunter.fearloathinglasvegas-第32部分

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nd　dunes　and　driftwood。。。。
　　These　are　the　ones　you　will　never　be　properly　introduced　to…at　least　not　if　your　luck　holds。　But　the　beach　is　less　plicated　than　a　boiling　fast　morning　in　the　Las　Vegas　airport。
　　I　felt　very　obvious。　Amphetamine　psychosis？　Paranoid　dementia？…What　is　it？　My　Argentine　luggage？　This　crippled；　walk　that　once　made　me　a　reject　from　the　Naval　ROTC？〃　Indeed。　This　man　will　never　be　able　to　walk　straight；　Captain！　Because　one　leg　is　longer　than　the　other。。。。Not　much。　Three　eighths　of　an　inch　or　so；　which　counted　out　to　about　two　eights　more　than　the　Captain　could　tolerate。
　　So　we　parted　pany。　He　accepted　a　mand　in　the　South　China　Sea；　and　I　became　a　Doctor　of　Gonzo　Journalism。。。andmany　years　later；　killing　time　in　the　Las　Vegas　airport　this　terrible　morning；　I　picked　up　a　newspaper　and　saw　where　teh　Captain　had　fucked　up　very　badly：　Ship　mander　Butchered　by　Natives　After　〃Accidental〃　Assault　on　Guam。
　　（AOP）…Aboard　the　USS。　Crazy　Horse：　Somewhere　in　the　Pactfic　（Sept。　25）…The　entire　3485…man　crew　of　this　newest　American　aircraft　carrier　is　in　violent　mourning　today；　after　five　crewmen　including　the　Captain　were　diced　uplike　pineapple　meat　in　a　brawl　with　the　Heroin　Police　at　the　neutral　port　of　Hong　See。　Dr。　Bboor；　the　ship's　chaplain；　presided　over　tense　funeral　services　at　dawn　on　the　flight　deck。　The　4th　Fleet　Service　Choir　sang　〃Tom　Thumb's　Blues〃　。　。　。　and　then；　while　the　ship's　bells　tolled　frantically；　the　remains　of　the　five　were　set　afire　in　a　gourd　and　hurled　into　the　Pacific　by　a　hooded　officer　known　only　as　〃The　mander。〃　Shortly　after　the　services　ended；　the　crewmen　fell　to　fighting　among　themselves　and　all　munications　with　the　ship　were　severed　for　an　indefinite　period。　Official　spokesmen　at　4th　Fleet　Headquarters　on　Guam　said　the　Navy　had　〃no　ment〃　on　the　situation；　pending　the　re　sults　of　a　top…level　investigation　by　a　team　of　civilian　specialists　headed　by　former　New　Orleans　district　attor　ney　James　Garrison。
　　。。。　Why　bother　with　newspapers；　if　this　is　all　they　offer？　Agnew　was　right。　The　press　is　a　gang　of　cruel　faggots。　Journalism　is　not　a　profession　or　a　trade。　It　is　a　cheap　catch…all　for　fuckoffs　and　misfits…　a　false　doorway　to　the　backside　of　life；　a　filthy　piss…ridden　little　hole　nailed　off　by　the　building　inspector；　but　just　deep　enough　for　a　wine　to　curl　up　from　the　sidewalk　and　masturbate　like　a　chimp　in　a　zoo…cage。
　　
　　　14。　Farewell　to　Vegas。。。〃God's　Mercy　on　You　Swine！〃
　　
　　I　skulked　around　the　airport；　I　realized　that　I　was　still　wearing　my　police　；identification　badge。　It　was　a　flat　orange　rectangle；　sealed　in　clear　plastic；　that　said：　〃Raoul　Duke；　Spe　cial　Investigator；　Los　Angeles。〃　I　saw　it　in　the　mirror　above　urinal。
　　Get　rid　of　this　thing；　I　thought。　Tear　it　off。　The　gig　is　finished。。　。　and　it　proved　nothing。　At　least　not　to　me。　And　certainly　not　to　my　attorney…who　also　had　a　badge…but　he　was　back　in　Malibu；　nursing　his　paranoid　sores。
　　It　been　a　waste　of　time；　a　lame　fuckaround　that　was　only…in　clear　retrospect…a　cheap　excuse　for　a　thousand　cops　to　spend　a　few　days　in　Las　Vegas　and　lay　the　bill　on　the　taxpayers。　Nobody　had　learned　anything…　or　at　least　nothing　except　new。　Except　maybe　me　。。　。　and　all　I　learned　was　that　the　District　Attorneys'　Association　is　about　ten　years　behind　the　grim　truth　and　harsh　kinetic　realities　of　what　they　just　recently　learned　to　call　〃the　Drug　Culture〃　in　tyhe　Year　of　Our　lord；　1971。
　　They　are　still　burning　the　taxpayers　for　thousands　of　dollars　to　make　films　about　〃the　dangers　of　LSD；〃　at　a　time　when　acid　is　widely　known…to　everybody　but　cops…to　be　the　Studenbaker　of　the　drug　market；　the　popularity　of　psychedelics　has　fallen　off　so　drastically　drastically　that　most　voluime　dealers　no　longer　even　handle　qualioty　acid　or　mescaline　except　as　a　favor　to　special　customers：　Mainly　jaded；　over　thirty　drug　dilettantes…likeme；　and　my　attorney。
　　The　big　market；　these　days；　is　in　Downers。　Reds　and　smack　…Seconal　and　heroin…and　a　hellbroth　of　bad　domestic　grass　sprayed　with　everything　from　arsenic　to　horse　tranquillizers。　What　sells；　today；　is　whateverFucks　You　Up…whatever　short…circuits　your　brain　and　grounds　it　out　for　the　longest　possible　time。　The　ghetto　market　has　mushroomed　into　subur　bia。　The　Miltown　man　has　turned；　with　a　vengeance；　to　skin…　popping　and　even　mainlining。。。　and　for　every　ex…speed　freak　who　drifted；　for　relief；　into　smack；　there　are　200　kids　who　went　straight　to　the　needle　off　Seconal。　They　never　even　bothered　to　try　speed。
　　Uppers　are　no　longer　stylish。　Methedrine　is　almost　as　rare；　on　the　1971　market；　as　pure　acid　or　DMT。　〃Consciousness　Ex　pansion〃　went　out　with　LBJ　。　。　and　it　is　worth　noting；　historically；　that　downers　came　in　with　Nixon。
　　
　　I　limped　onto　the　plane　with　no　problem　except　a　wave　of　ugly　vibrations　from　the　other　passengers。。。but　my　head　was　so　burned　out；　by　then；　that　I　wouldn't　have　cared　if　I'd　had　to　climb　aboard　stark　naked　and　covered　with　oozing　chancres。　It　would　have　taken　extreme　physical　force　to　keep　me　off　that　plane。　I　was　so　far　beyond　simple　fatigue　that　I　was　beginning　to　feel　nicely　adjusted　to　the　idea　of　perma　nent　hysteria。　I　felt　like　the　slightest　misunderstanding　with　the　stewardess　would　cause　me　to　either　cry　or　go　mad　。　。　。　and　the　woman　seemed　to　sense　this；　because　she　treated　me　very　gently。
　　When　I　wanted　more　Ice　Cubes　for　my　Bloody　Mary；　she　brought　them　quickly　。　。　and　when　I　ran　out　of　cigarettes；　she　gave　me　a　pack　from　her　own　purse。　The　only　time　she　seemed　nervous　was　when　I　pulled　a　grapefruita　grapefruit　out　of　my　satchel　and　began　slicing　it　up　with　a　hunting　knife。　I　noticed　her　watching　me　closely；　so　I　tried　to　smile。　〃I　never　go　anywhere　without　grapefruit；'　〃It's　hard　to　get　a　really　good　one…unless　you're　rich。〃　She　nodded。
　　I　flashed　her　the　grimace/smile　again；　but　it　was　hard　to　know　what　she　was　thinking。　It　was　entirely　possible；　I　knew；　that　sge'd　already　decided　to　have　me　taken　off　the　plane　iin　a　cage　when　we　got　to　Denver。　I　stared　fixedly　into　her　eyes　for　a　time；　but　she　kept　herself　under　control。
　　
　　I　was　asleep　when　our　plane　hit　the　runway；　but　the　jolt　brought　me　instantly　awake。　I　looked　out　the　window　and　saw　the　Rocky　Mountains。　What　the　fuck　was　I　doing　here？I　wondered。　I　t　made　so　sense　at　all。　I　decided　to　call　my　attorney　as　soon　as　possible。　Have　him　iwre　me　some　money　to　buy　a　huge　albino　Doberman。　Denver　is　a　national　clearinghouse　for　stolen　Dobermans；　they　e　from　all　parts　of　the　country。
　　Since　i　was　already　here；　I　though　I　might　as　well　pick　up　a　vicious　do。　But　first；　something　for　my　nerves。　Immediately　after　the　plane　landed　I　rushed　up　the　corridor　to　the　airport　drugstore　adn　asked　the　clerk　for　a　box　of　amyls。
　　She　began　to　fidget　and　shake　her　head。　〃Oh；　no；〃　she　said　finally。　〃I　can't　sell　you　those　things　except　by　precription。〃
　　〃I　know；〃　I　said。　〃But　you　see；　I'm　a　doctor。　I　don't　need　a　precription。〃　She　was　still　fidgeting。　〃Well。。。　you'll　have　to　show　me　some　I。D。；〃　she　moaned。
　　〃Of　course。〃　I　jerked　out　my　wallet　and　let　her　see　the　police　basge　while　I　flipped　through　the　deck　until　I　located　my　Ecclesiastical　Discount　Card…which　identifies　me　as　a　Doctor　of　Divinity；　a　certified　Minister　of　the　Church　of　the　New　Truth。
　　She　inspected　it　carefully；　then　handed　it　back。　I　sensed　a　new　respect　in　her　manner。　Her　eyes　grew　warm。　She　seemed　to　want　to　touch　me。　〃I　hope　you'll　forgive　me；　Doctor。〃　she　said　with　a　fine　smile。　〃But　I　had　to　ask。　We　get　some　real　freaks　in　this　place。　All　kinds　of　dangerous　addicts。　You'd　never　believe　it。〃
　　〃Don't　worry；〃　I　said。　〃I　understand　perfectly。　but　I　have　a　bad　heart；　and　I　hope…〃
　　〃Certainly！〃　she　exclaimed…and　within　seconds　she　was　back　with　a　dosen　amyls。　I　paid　without　quibbling　about　the　ecclesiastical　discount。　Then　I　opened　the　box　and　cracked　one　under　my　nose　immediately；　while　she　watched。
　　〃Just　be　thankful　your　heart　is　young　and　strong；〃　I　said。　〃If　I　were　you　I　would　never。。。ah。。。holy　shit！。。。what？　Yes；　you'll　have　to　excuse　me　now；　I　feel　it　ing　on。〃　I　turned　away　and　reeled　off　in　the　general　direction　of　the　bar。
　　〃God's　mercy　on　you　swine！〃　I　shouted　at　two　Marines　　ing　out　of　the　men's　room。
　　They　looked　at　me；　but　said　nothing。　By　this　time　I　was　laughing　crazily。　But　it　made　no　difference。　I　was　just　an　other　fucked…up　cleric　with　a　bad　heart。　Shit；　they'll　love　me　down　at　the　Brown　Palace。　I　took　another　big　hit　off　the　amyl；　and　by　the　time　I　got　to　the　bar　my　heart　was　full　of　joy。　I　felt　like　a　monster　reincarnation　of　Horatio　Alger。。。a　Man　on　the　Move；　and　just　sick　enough　to　be　totally　confident。



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