JК
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 202 из 255”
I swung theWhale into a turn that seemed to lead out of the maze - but instead of skidding, the bastard almost rolled.
"Holy shit!" my attorney screamed. "Turn on the fucking lights!" He was clinging to the top of the windshield… and suddenly he was doing the Big Spit again, leaning over the side.
I refused to slow down until I was sure nobody was following us - especially that Oklahoma Ford: those people were definitely dangerous, at least until they calmed down. Would they report that terrible quick encounter to the police? Probably not. It had happened too fast, with no witnesses, and the I were pretty good that nobody would believe them anyway. The idea that two heroin pushers in a white Cadillac convertible would be dragging up and down the Strip, abusing total strangers at stoplights, was prima facie absurd. Not even Sonny Liston ever got that far out of control.
We made another turn and almost rolled again. The Coupe de Ville is not your ideal machine for high speed cornering in residential neighborhoods. The handling is very mushy…
unlike the Red Shark, which had responded very nicely to situations requiring the quick four-wheel drift. But the Whale Bad of cutting loose at the critical moment - had a tendency to dig in, which accounted for that sickening "here we go' sensation.
At first I thought it was only because the tires were soft, so I took it into the Texaco station next to the Flamingo and had the tires pumped up to fifty pounds each - which alarmed the attendant, until I explained that these were "experimental" tires.
But fifty pounds each didn't help the cornering, so I swent back a few hours later and told him I wanted to try seventy five. He shook his head nervously. “Not me,” he said, handing me the air hgose. “Here. They’re your tires. You do it.”
"What's wrong?" I asked. "You think they can't take seventy-five?"
He nodded, moving away as I stooped to deal with the left front. “You’re damn right,” he said. “Those tires want twenty eight in the front and thirty two in the rear. Hell, fifty’s dangerous, but seventy five is crazy. They’ll explode!”
I shook my head and kept filling the left front. "I told you," I said, “Sandoz laboratories designed these tires. They're special. I could load them up to a hundred.
"God almighty!" he groaned. "Don't do that here."
"Not today," I replied. "I want to see how they corner with seventy-five."
He chuckled. "You won't even get to the corner, Mister."
"We'll see," I said, moving around to the rear with the air- hose.
I swung theWhale into a turn that seemed to lead out of the maze - but instead of skidding, the bastard almost rolled.
"Holy shit!" my attorney screamed. "Turn on the fucking lights!" He was clinging to the top of the windshield… and suddenly he was doing the Big Spit again, leaning over the side.
I refused to slow down until I was sure nobody was following us - especially that Oklahoma Ford: those people were definitely dangerous, at least until they calmed down. Would they report that terrible quick encounter to the police? Probably not. It had happened too fast, with no witnesses, and the I were pretty good that nobody would believe them anyway. The idea that two heroin pushers in a white Cadillac convertible would be dragging up and down the Strip, abusing total strangers at stoplights, was prima facie absurd. Not even Sonny Liston ever got that far out of control.
We made another turn and almost rolled again. The Coupe de Ville is not your ideal machine for high speed cornering in residential neighborhoods. The handling is very mushy…
unlike the Red Shark, which had responded very nicely to situations requiring the quick four-wheel drift. But the Whale Bad of cutting loose at the critical moment - had a tendency to dig in, which accounted for that sickening "here we go' sensation.
At first I thought it was only because the tires were soft, so I took it into the Texaco station next to the Flamingo and had the tires pumped up to fifty pounds each - which alarmed the attendant, until I explained that these were "experimental" tires.
But fifty pounds each didn't help the cornering, so I swent back a few hours later and told him I wanted to try seventy five. He shook his head nervously. “Not me,” he said, handing me the air hgose. “Here. They’re your tires. You do it.”
"What's wrong?" I asked. "You think they can't take seventy-five?"
He nodded, moving away as I stooped to deal with the left front. “You’re damn right,” he said. “Those tires want twenty eight in the front and thirty two in the rear. Hell, fifty’s dangerous, but seventy five is crazy. They’ll explode!”
I shook my head and kept filling the left front. "I told you," I said, “Sandoz laboratories designed these tires. They're special. I could load them up to a hundred.
"God almighty!" he groaned. "Don't do that here."
"Not today," I replied. "I want to see how they corner with seventy-five."
He chuckled. "You won't even get to the corner, Mister."
"We'll see," I said, moving around to the rear with the air- hose.