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Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 170 из 255Register at the Flamingo and have the WhiteCaddy sent over at once. Do it right; remember Horatio Alger…
I looked across the road and saw a huge red sign that said BEER. Wonderful. I left the Shark by the phone booth and reeled across the highway into the Hardware Barn. A Jew loomed up from behind a pile of sprockets and asked me what I wanted.
“Ballantine Ale,” I said… a very mystic long shot, unknown between Newark and San Francisco.
He served it up, ice - cold.
I relaxed. Suddenly everything was going right; I wasfinally getting the breaks.
The bartender approached me with a smile. “Where yaheadin’, young man?”
“Las Vegas,” I said.
He smiled. “A great town, that Vegas. You’ll have good luck there; you’re the type.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m a Triple Scorpio.”
He seemed pleased. “That’s a fine combination,” he said. “You can’t lose.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m actually the districtattorney from Ignoto county. Just another good American like yourself.”
His smile disappeared. Did he understand? I couldn’t be sure. But that hardly mattered now. I was going back to Vegas. I had no choice.
Part Two
About 20 miles east of Baker I stopped to check the drug bag. The sun was hot and I felt like killing something. Anything. Even a big lizard. Drill the fucker. I got my attorney’s.357 Magnum out of the trunk and spun the cylinder. It was loaded all the way around: Long, nasty little slugs - 158 grains with a fine flat trajectory and painted aztec gold on the tips. I blew the horn a few times, hoping to call up an iguana. Get the buggers moving. They were out there, I knew, in that goddamn sea of cactus - hunkered down, barely breathing, and every one of the stinking little bastards was loaded with deadly poison.
Three fast explosions knocked me off balance. Three deafening, double - action blasts from the.357 in my right hand. Jesus! Firing at nothing, for no reason at all. Bad craziness. I tossed the gun into the front seat of the Shark and stared nervously at the highway. No cars either way; the road was empty for two or three miles in both directions.Fine luck.
It would not do to be found in the desert under these circumstances: firing wildly into the cactus from a car full of drugs. And especially not now, on the lam from the Highway Patrol.
I looked across the road and saw a huge red sign that said BEER. Wonderful. I left the Shark by the phone booth and reeled across the highway into the Hardware Barn. A Jew loomed up from behind a pile of sprockets and asked me what I wanted.
“Ballantine Ale,” I said… a very mystic long shot, unknown between Newark and San Francisco.
He served it up, ice - cold.
I relaxed. Suddenly everything was going right; I wasfinally getting the breaks.
The bartender approached me with a smile. “Where yaheadin’, young man?”
“Las Vegas,” I said.
He smiled. “A great town, that Vegas. You’ll have good luck there; you’re the type.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m a Triple Scorpio.”
He seemed pleased. “That’s a fine combination,” he said. “You can’t lose.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m actually the districtattorney from Ignoto county. Just another good American like yourself.”
His smile disappeared. Did he understand? I couldn’t be sure. But that hardly mattered now. I was going back to Vegas. I had no choice.
Part Two
About 20 miles east of Baker I stopped to check the drug bag. The sun was hot and I felt like killing something. Anything. Even a big lizard. Drill the fucker. I got my attorney’s.357 Magnum out of the trunk and spun the cylinder. It was loaded all the way around: Long, nasty little slugs - 158 grains with a fine flat trajectory and painted aztec gold on the tips. I blew the horn a few times, hoping to call up an iguana. Get the buggers moving. They were out there, I knew, in that goddamn sea of cactus - hunkered down, barely breathing, and every one of the stinking little bastards was loaded with deadly poison.
Three fast explosions knocked me off balance. Three deafening, double - action blasts from the.357 in my right hand. Jesus! Firing at nothing, for no reason at all. Bad craziness. I tossed the gun into the front seat of the Shark and stared nervously at the highway. No cars either way; the road was empty for two or three miles in both directions.Fine luck.
It would not do to be found in the desert under these circumstances: firing wildly into the cactus from a car full of drugs. And especially not now, on the lam from the Highway Patrol.