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Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 180 из 255“You know, those little blue barrels. Jesus, she’s a religious freak. She’s running away from home for something like the fifth time in six months. It’s terrible. I gave her that cap before I realized… shit, she’s never even had adrinkf’
“Well,” I said, “it’ll probably work out. We can keep her loaded and peddle her ass at the drug convention.”
He stared at me.
“She’s perfect for this gig,” I said. “These cops will go fifty bucks a head to beat her into submission and then gang - fuck her. We can set her up in one of these back - street motels, hang pictures of Jesus all over the room, then turn these pigsloose on her… Hell, she’s strong; she’ll hold her own.”
His face was twitching badly. We were in the elevator now, descending into the lobby. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I knew you were sick, but I never expected to hear you actually say that kind of stuff.”
He seemed stunned.
I laughed. “It’s straight economics. This girl is a godsend!” I fixed him with a natural Bogart smile, all teeth… Shit, we’re almost broke! And suddenly you pick up some muscle - bound loony who can make us a grand a day.”
“No!” he shouted. “Stop talking like that!” The elevator door opened and we walked toward the parking lot.
“I figure she can do about four at a time,” I said.
“Christ, if we keep her full of acid that’s more like two grand a day; maybe three.”
“You filthy bastard!” he sputtered. “I should cave your fucking head in!” He was squinting at me, shielding his eyes from the sun. I spotted the Whale about fifty feet from the door. “There it is,” I said. “Not a bad looking car, for a pimp…
He groaned. His face reflected the struggle that I knew he was having, in his brain, with sporadic acid rushes: Bad waves of painful intensity, followed by total confusion.
When I opened the trunk of the Whale to get the bags, he got angry. “What the hell are you doing?” he snapped.
“This isn’t Lucy’s car.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s mine. This is my luggage.”
“The fuck it is!” he shouted. “Just because I’m a goddamn ‘I lawyer doesn’t mean you can walk around stealing stuff right in front of me!” He backed away. “What the hell is wrong with you? We’ll never beat a rap like this.”
After much difficulty, we got back to the room and tried to have a serious talk with Lucy. I felt like a Nazi, but it had to be done. She was not right for us - not in this fragile situation.
“Well,” I said, “it’ll probably work out. We can keep her loaded and peddle her ass at the drug convention.”
He stared at me.
“She’s perfect for this gig,” I said. “These cops will go fifty bucks a head to beat her into submission and then gang - fuck her. We can set her up in one of these back - street motels, hang pictures of Jesus all over the room, then turn these pigsloose on her… Hell, she’s strong; she’ll hold her own.”
His face was twitching badly. We were in the elevator now, descending into the lobby. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I knew you were sick, but I never expected to hear you actually say that kind of stuff.”
He seemed stunned.
I laughed. “It’s straight economics. This girl is a godsend!” I fixed him with a natural Bogart smile, all teeth… Shit, we’re almost broke! And suddenly you pick up some muscle - bound loony who can make us a grand a day.”
“No!” he shouted. “Stop talking like that!” The elevator door opened and we walked toward the parking lot.
“I figure she can do about four at a time,” I said.
“Christ, if we keep her full of acid that’s more like two grand a day; maybe three.”
“You filthy bastard!” he sputtered. “I should cave your fucking head in!” He was squinting at me, shielding his eyes from the sun. I spotted the Whale about fifty feet from the door. “There it is,” I said. “Not a bad looking car, for a pimp…
He groaned. His face reflected the struggle that I knew he was having, in his brain, with sporadic acid rushes: Bad waves of painful intensity, followed by total confusion.
When I opened the trunk of the Whale to get the bags, he got angry. “What the hell are you doing?” he snapped.
“This isn’t Lucy’s car.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s mine. This is my luggage.”
“The fuck it is!” he shouted. “Just because I’m a goddamn ‘I lawyer doesn’t mean you can walk around stealing stuff right in front of me!” He backed away. “What the hell is wrong with you? We’ll never beat a rap like this.”
After much difficulty, we got back to the room and tried to have a serious talk with Lucy. I felt like a Nazi, but it had to be done. She was not right for us - not in this fragile situation.