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Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 148 из 255I drove around to the garage and checkedit in - Dr. Gonzo’s car, no problem, and if any of your men fall idle we can use awax job before morning. Yes, of course - just bill the room.
• • •
My attorney was in the bathtub when I returned. Submerged in green water - the oily product of some Japanese bath salts he’d picked up in the hotel gift shop, along with a new AM/FM radio plugged into the electric razor socket. Top volume. Some gibberish by a thing called “Three Dog Night,” about a frog named Jeremiah who wanted “Joy to the World.”First Lennon, now this, I thought. Next we’ll have Glenn Campbell screaming “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”
Where indeed? No flowers in this town. Only carnivorous plants. I turned the volume down and noticed a hunk of chewed - up white paper beside the radio. My attorney seemed not to notice the sound - change. He was lost in a fog of green steam; only half his head was visible above the water line.
“You ate this?” I asked, holding up the white pad.
He ignored me. But I knew. He would be very difficult to reach for the next six hours. The whole blotter was chewed up.
“You evil son of a bitch,” I said. “You better hope there’s some thorazine in that bag, because if there’s not you’re in bad trouble tomorrow.”
“Music!” he snarled. “Turn it up. Put that tape on.”
“What tape?”
“The new one. It’s right there.”
I picked up the radio and noticed that it was also a tape recorder - one of those things with a cassette - unit built in. And the tape, Surrealistic Pillow, needed only to be flipped over. He had already gone through side one - at a volume that must have been audible in every room within a radius of one hundred yards, walls and all.
“‘White Rabbit,”’ he said. “I want a rising sound.”
“You’re doomed,” I said. “I’m leaving here in two hours - and then they’re going to come up here and beat the mortal shit out of you with big saps. Right there in the tub.”
“I dig my own graves,” he said. “Green water and the White Rabbit… put it on; don’t make me use this.” His arm lashed out of the water, the hunting knife gripped in his fist.
“Jesus,” I muttered. And at that point I figured he was I help - lying there in the tub with a head full of acidand the sharpest knife I’ve ever seen, totally incapable of reason, demanding the White Rabbit. This is it, I thought. “I’ve gone as far as I can with this waterhead. This time it’s a suicide trip. This time he wants it.
• • •
My attorney was in the bathtub when I returned. Submerged in green water - the oily product of some Japanese bath salts he’d picked up in the hotel gift shop, along with a new AM/FM radio plugged into the electric razor socket. Top volume. Some gibberish by a thing called “Three Dog Night,” about a frog named Jeremiah who wanted “Joy to the World.”First Lennon, now this, I thought. Next we’ll have Glenn Campbell screaming “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”
Where indeed? No flowers in this town. Only carnivorous plants. I turned the volume down and noticed a hunk of chewed - up white paper beside the radio. My attorney seemed not to notice the sound - change. He was lost in a fog of green steam; only half his head was visible above the water line.
“You ate this?” I asked, holding up the white pad.
He ignored me. But I knew. He would be very difficult to reach for the next six hours. The whole blotter was chewed up.
“You evil son of a bitch,” I said. “You better hope there’s some thorazine in that bag, because if there’s not you’re in bad trouble tomorrow.”
“Music!” he snarled. “Turn it up. Put that tape on.”
“What tape?”
“The new one. It’s right there.”
I picked up the radio and noticed that it was also a tape recorder - one of those things with a cassette - unit built in. And the tape, Surrealistic Pillow, needed only to be flipped over. He had already gone through side one - at a volume that must have been audible in every room within a radius of one hundred yards, walls and all.
“‘White Rabbit,”’ he said. “I want a rising sound.”
“You’re doomed,” I said. “I’m leaving here in two hours - and then they’re going to come up here and beat the mortal shit out of you with big saps. Right there in the tub.”
“I dig my own graves,” he said. “Green water and the White Rabbit… put it on; don’t make me use this.” His arm lashed out of the water, the hunting knife gripped in his fist.
“Jesus,” I muttered. And at that point I figured he was I help - lying there in the tub with a head full of acidand the sharpest knife I’ve ever seen, totally incapable of reason, demanding the White Rabbit. This is it, I thought. “I’ve gone as far as I can with this waterhead. This time it’s a suicide trip. This time he wants it.