JК
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 186 из 255”
“What?” He seemed to be stuttering. “Ah… yes, yes, I see what you meen… yes… so you’ll be responsible then?"
"Of course," I said. "And now I have to get back to the news."
"Thank you," he muttered.
"Send the ice," I said, and hung up.
My attorney was smiling peacefully at the TV set. "Good work," he said. "They'll treat us like goddamn lepers, after that." I nodded, filling a tall glass with Chivas Regal.
"There hasn't been any news on the tube for three hours," he said absently.
"That poor fool probably thinks we're plugged into some kind of special cop channel. You should call back and ask him to send up a 3000 watt sensing capacitator, along with the ice. Tell him ours just burned out…
"You forgot about Lucy," I said. "She's looking for you."
He laughed. "No, she's looking for you."
"Me?"
"Yeah. She really flipped over you. The only way I could get rid of her, out there in the airport, was by saying you were taking me out to the desert for a showdown - that you wanted me out of the way so you could have her all to yourself." He shrugged. "Shit, I had to tell her something. I said she should go to the Americana and wait to see which one of us came back." He laughed again. "I guess she figures you won. That phone message wasn't for me, was it?"
I nodded. It made no sense at all, but I knew it was true. Drug reasoning. The rhythms were brutally clear - and, to him, they made excellent sense.
He was slumped in the chair, concentrating on Mission Im possible.
I thought for a while, then stood up and began stuffing things into my suitcase.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Never mind," I said. The zipper stuck momentarily, butl yanked it shut. Then I put on my shoes.
"Walt a minute," he said. “Jesus, you’re not leaving?”
I nodded. "You're goddamn right, I'm leaving. But don't worry. I'll stop at the desk on my way out. You'll be taken care of."
He stood up quickly, kicking his drink over. "OK, god damnit, this is serious! Where's my.357?"
I shrugged, not looking at him as I crammed the Chivas Regal bottles into my hand-satchel. "I sold it in Baker," I said. "I owe you 35 bucks."
"Jesus Christ!" he shouted. "That thing cost me a hundred and ninety goddamn dollars!"
I smiled. "You told me where you got that gun," I said. "Remember?"
He hesitated, pretending to think. "Oh yeah," he said finally. "Yeah… that punk out in Pasadena…" Then he flared again. "So it cost me a goddamn grand.
“What?” He seemed to be stuttering. “Ah… yes, yes, I see what you meen… yes… so you’ll be responsible then?"
"Of course," I said. "And now I have to get back to the news."
"Thank you," he muttered.
"Send the ice," I said, and hung up.
My attorney was smiling peacefully at the TV set. "Good work," he said. "They'll treat us like goddamn lepers, after that." I nodded, filling a tall glass with Chivas Regal.
"There hasn't been any news on the tube for three hours," he said absently.
"That poor fool probably thinks we're plugged into some kind of special cop channel. You should call back and ask him to send up a 3000 watt sensing capacitator, along with the ice. Tell him ours just burned out…
"You forgot about Lucy," I said. "She's looking for you."
He laughed. "No, she's looking for you."
"Me?"
"Yeah. She really flipped over you. The only way I could get rid of her, out there in the airport, was by saying you were taking me out to the desert for a showdown - that you wanted me out of the way so you could have her all to yourself." He shrugged. "Shit, I had to tell her something. I said she should go to the Americana and wait to see which one of us came back." He laughed again. "I guess she figures you won. That phone message wasn't for me, was it?"
I nodded. It made no sense at all, but I knew it was true. Drug reasoning. The rhythms were brutally clear - and, to him, they made excellent sense.
He was slumped in the chair, concentrating on Mission Im possible.
I thought for a while, then stood up and began stuffing things into my suitcase.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Never mind," I said. The zipper stuck momentarily, butl yanked it shut. Then I put on my shoes.
"Walt a minute," he said. “Jesus, you’re not leaving?”
I nodded. "You're goddamn right, I'm leaving. But don't worry. I'll stop at the desk on my way out. You'll be taken care of."
He stood up quickly, kicking his drink over. "OK, god damnit, this is serious! Where's my.357?"
I shrugged, not looking at him as I crammed the Chivas Regal bottles into my hand-satchel. "I sold it in Baker," I said. "I owe you 35 bucks."
"Jesus Christ!" he shouted. "That thing cost me a hundred and ninety goddamn dollars!"
I smiled. "You told me where you got that gun," I said. "Remember?"
He hesitated, pretending to think. "Oh yeah," he said finally. "Yeah… that punk out in Pasadena…" Then he flared again. "So it cost me a goddamn grand.