JК
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 200 из 255"The only way to do it is to take the bull by the horns - go to the mat with this scum!"
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"You know what I mean," said my attorney. "We've done it before, and we can damn well do it again.”
"Cut their goddamn heads off," I said. "Every one of them. That's what we're doing in California."
“ What? ”
"Sure," said my attorney. "It's all on the Q.T., but everybody who matters is with us all the way down the line."
"God! I had no idea it was that bad out there!" said our friend.
“We keep it quiet," I said. "It's not the kind of thing you'd to talk about upstairs, for instance. Not with the press around.”
Our man agreed. "Hell no!" he said. "We'd never hear the ~goddamn end of it."
"Dobermans don't talk," I said.
"What?"
"Sometimes it's easier to just rip out the backstraps," said attorney.
"They'll fight like hell if you try to take the I without dogs."
“God almighty!"
We left him at the bar, swirling the ice in his drink and not smiling. He was worried about whether or not to tell his wife It it. "She'd never understand," he muttered. "You know women are."
I nodded. My attorney was already gone, scurrying through of slot machines toward the front door. I said goodbye end, warning him not to say anything about what him.
8. Back Door Beauty… Finally a Bit of Serious Drag Racing on the Strip
»Sometime around midnight my attorney wanted coffee. He bad been vomiting fairly regularly as we drove around the Strip, and the right flank of the Whale was badly streaked. We were idling at a stoplight in front of the Silver Slipper beside a big blue Ford with Oklahoma plates… two hoggish- looking couples in the car, probably cops from Muskogee using the Drug Conference to give their wives a look at Vegas. They looked like they'd just beaten Caesar's Palace for about $38 at the blackjack tables, and now they were headed for the Circus-Circus to whoop it up…
but suddenly, they found themselves next to a white Cadillac convertible all covered with vomit and a 300-pound Samoan in a yellow fishnet T-shirt yelling at them: "Hey there! You folks want to buy some heroin?"
No reply. No sign of recognition. They'd been warned about this kind of crap: Just ignore it…
'Hey, honkies!" my attorney screamed. "Goddamnit, I'm serious! I want to sell you some pure fuckin' smack!" He was hanging out of the car, very close to them. But still nobody an swered.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"You know what I mean," said my attorney. "We've done it before, and we can damn well do it again.”
"Cut their goddamn heads off," I said. "Every one of them. That's what we're doing in California."
“ What? ”
"Sure," said my attorney. "It's all on the Q.T., but everybody who matters is with us all the way down the line."
"God! I had no idea it was that bad out there!" said our friend.
“We keep it quiet," I said. "It's not the kind of thing you'd to talk about upstairs, for instance. Not with the press around.”
Our man agreed. "Hell no!" he said. "We'd never hear the ~goddamn end of it."
"Dobermans don't talk," I said.
"What?"
"Sometimes it's easier to just rip out the backstraps," said attorney.
"They'll fight like hell if you try to take the I without dogs."
“God almighty!"
We left him at the bar, swirling the ice in his drink and not smiling. He was worried about whether or not to tell his wife It it. "She'd never understand," he muttered. "You know women are."
I nodded. My attorney was already gone, scurrying through of slot machines toward the front door. I said goodbye end, warning him not to say anything about what him.
8. Back Door Beauty… Finally a Bit of Serious Drag Racing on the Strip
»Sometime around midnight my attorney wanted coffee. He bad been vomiting fairly regularly as we drove around the Strip, and the right flank of the Whale was badly streaked. We were idling at a stoplight in front of the Silver Slipper beside a big blue Ford with Oklahoma plates… two hoggish- looking couples in the car, probably cops from Muskogee using the Drug Conference to give their wives a look at Vegas. They looked like they'd just beaten Caesar's Palace for about $38 at the blackjack tables, and now they were headed for the Circus-Circus to whoop it up…
but suddenly, they found themselves next to a white Cadillac convertible all covered with vomit and a 300-pound Samoan in a yellow fishnet T-shirt yelling at them: "Hey there! You folks want to buy some heroin?"
No reply. No sign of recognition. They'd been warned about this kind of crap: Just ignore it…
'Hey, honkies!" my attorney screamed. "Goddamnit, I'm serious! I want to sell you some pure fuckin' smack!" He was hanging out of the car, very close to them. But still nobody an swered.