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Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 76 из 255Just sitting there on the bed, unable to move… well at least there’s no pain.
Probably, I'll black out in a few seconds, and after that it won't matter.
My attorney had gone back to watching television. The news was on again. Nixon's face filled the screen, but his speech was hopelessly garbled. The only word I could make out was "sacrifice." Over and over again: "Sacrifice… sacrifice… sacrificeI could hear myself breathing heavily. My attorney seemed to notice. "Just stay relaxed," he said over his shoulder, with out looking at me. "Don't try to fight it, or you'll start getting brain bubbles… strokes, aneurisms… you'll just wither up and die." His hand snaked out to change channels.
It was after midnight when I finally was able to talk and move around… but I was still not free of the drug; the voltage had merely been cranked down from 220 to 110. I was a babbling nervous wreck, flapping around the room like a wild animal, pouring sweat and unable to concentrate on any one thought for more than two or three seconds at a time.
My attorney put down the phone after making several calls. "There's only one place where we can get fresh salmon," he said, "and it's closed on Sunday."
"Of course," I snapped. "These goddamn Jesus freaks! They're multiplying like rats!"
He eyed me curiously.
"What about the Process?" I said. "Don't they have a place here? Maybe a delicatessen or something? With a few tables in back? They have a fantastic menu in London. I ate there once; incredible food "
"Get a grip on yourself," he said. "You don't want to even mention the Process in this town."
"You're right," I said. "Call Inspector Bloor. He knows about food. I think he has a list. "
"Better to call room service," he said. "We can get the crab looey and a quart of Christian Brothers muscatel for about twenty bucks.
“No!” I said. “We must get out of this place. I need air. Let's drive up to Reno and get a big tuna fish salad… hell, it won't take long. Only about four hundred miles; no traffic out there on the desert… ”
"Forget it," he said. "That's Army territory. Bomb tests, nerve gas - we'd never make it."
We wound up at a place called The Big Flip about halfway downtown. I had a "New York steak" for $1.88. My attorney ordered the "Coyote Bush Basket" for $2.09… and after that we drank off a pot of watery "Golden West" coffee and watched four boozed-up cowboy types kick a faggot half to death between the pinball machines.
"The action never stops in this town," said my attorney as we shuffled out to the car.
Probably, I'll black out in a few seconds, and after that it won't matter.
My attorney had gone back to watching television. The news was on again. Nixon's face filled the screen, but his speech was hopelessly garbled. The only word I could make out was "sacrifice." Over and over again: "Sacrifice… sacrifice… sacrificeI could hear myself breathing heavily. My attorney seemed to notice. "Just stay relaxed," he said over his shoulder, with out looking at me. "Don't try to fight it, or you'll start getting brain bubbles… strokes, aneurisms… you'll just wither up and die." His hand snaked out to change channels.
It was after midnight when I finally was able to talk and move around… but I was still not free of the drug; the voltage had merely been cranked down from 220 to 110. I was a babbling nervous wreck, flapping around the room like a wild animal, pouring sweat and unable to concentrate on any one thought for more than two or three seconds at a time.
My attorney put down the phone after making several calls. "There's only one place where we can get fresh salmon," he said, "and it's closed on Sunday."
"Of course," I snapped. "These goddamn Jesus freaks! They're multiplying like rats!"
He eyed me curiously.
"What about the Process?" I said. "Don't they have a place here? Maybe a delicatessen or something? With a few tables in back? They have a fantastic menu in London. I ate there once; incredible food "
"Get a grip on yourself," he said. "You don't want to even mention the Process in this town."
"You're right," I said. "Call Inspector Bloor. He knows about food. I think he has a list. "
"Better to call room service," he said. "We can get the crab looey and a quart of Christian Brothers muscatel for about twenty bucks.
“No!” I said. “We must get out of this place. I need air. Let's drive up to Reno and get a big tuna fish salad… hell, it won't take long. Only about four hundred miles; no traffic out there on the desert… ”
"Forget it," he said. "That's Army territory. Bomb tests, nerve gas - we'd never make it."
We wound up at a place called The Big Flip about halfway downtown. I had a "New York steak" for $1.88. My attorney ordered the "Coyote Bush Basket" for $2.09… and after that we drank off a pot of watery "Golden West" coffee and watched four boozed-up cowboy types kick a faggot half to death between the pinball machines.
"The action never stops in this town," said my attorney as we shuffled out to the car.