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Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 98 из 255" I could see the big red and silver Western jetliner about 1000 yards ahead of us… and by this time we were skimming across smooth asphalt, past the incoming runway.
“No!” he shouted. "I can't get out! They'll crucify me. I'll have to take the blame!"
“Rediculous," I said. "Just say you were hitchhiking to the airport and I picked you up. You never saw me before. Shit, thos town is full of white Cadillac convertibles… and I plan to go through there so fast that nobody will even glimpse the goddamn license plate."
We were approaching the plane. I could see passengers but so far nobody had noticed us… approaching from this unlikely direction. "Are you ready?" I said.
"Why not? But for Christ's sake, let's do it fast! He was scanning the loading area, then he pointed: “Over there!” he said. “Drop me behind that big van. Just pull in behiond it ad I’ll jump out where they can’t see me, then you can make a run for it."
I nodded. So far, we had all the room we needed. No sign of alarm or pursuit. I wondered if maybe this kind of thing hap pened all the time in Vegas-cars full of late-arriving passengers screeching desperately across the runway, dropping off wild-eyed Samoans clutching mysterious canvas bags who would sprint onto planes at the last possible second and then roar off into the sunrise.
Maybe so, I thought. Maybe this kind of thing is standard procedure in this town
I swung in behind the van and hit the brakes just long enough for my attorney to jump out. "Don't take any guff from these swine," I yelled. "Remember, if you have any trouble you can always send a telegram to the Right People."
He grinned. "Yeah… Explaining my Position," he said. "Some asshole wrote a poem about that once. It's probably good advice, if you have shit for brains." He waved me off.
"Right," I said, moving out. I'd already spotted a break in the big hurricane fence-and now, with the Whale in low gear, I went for it. Nobody seemed to be chasing me. I couldn't understand it. I glanced in the mirror and saw my attorney climbing into the plane, no sign of a struggle… and then I was through the gate and out into the early morning traffic on Paradise Road.
I took a fast right on Russell, then a left onto Maryland Parkway… and suddenly I was cruising in warm anonym ity past the campus of the University of Las Vegas… no tension on these faces; I stopped at a red light and got lost, for a moment, in a sunburst of flesh in the cross-walk: fine sinewy thighs, pink mini-skirts, ripe young nipples, sleeveless blouses, long sweeps of blonde hair, pink lips and blue eyes- all the hallmarks of a dangerously innocent culture.
“No!” he shouted. "I can't get out! They'll crucify me. I'll have to take the blame!"
“Rediculous," I said. "Just say you were hitchhiking to the airport and I picked you up. You never saw me before. Shit, thos town is full of white Cadillac convertibles… and I plan to go through there so fast that nobody will even glimpse the goddamn license plate."
We were approaching the plane. I could see passengers but so far nobody had noticed us… approaching from this unlikely direction. "Are you ready?" I said.
"Why not? But for Christ's sake, let's do it fast! He was scanning the loading area, then he pointed: “Over there!” he said. “Drop me behind that big van. Just pull in behiond it ad I’ll jump out where they can’t see me, then you can make a run for it."
I nodded. So far, we had all the room we needed. No sign of alarm or pursuit. I wondered if maybe this kind of thing hap pened all the time in Vegas-cars full of late-arriving passengers screeching desperately across the runway, dropping off wild-eyed Samoans clutching mysterious canvas bags who would sprint onto planes at the last possible second and then roar off into the sunrise.
Maybe so, I thought. Maybe this kind of thing is standard procedure in this town
I swung in behind the van and hit the brakes just long enough for my attorney to jump out. "Don't take any guff from these swine," I yelled. "Remember, if you have any trouble you can always send a telegram to the Right People."
He grinned. "Yeah… Explaining my Position," he said. "Some asshole wrote a poem about that once. It's probably good advice, if you have shit for brains." He waved me off.
"Right," I said, moving out. I'd already spotted a break in the big hurricane fence-and now, with the Whale in low gear, I went for it. Nobody seemed to be chasing me. I couldn't understand it. I glanced in the mirror and saw my attorney climbing into the plane, no sign of a struggle… and then I was through the gate and out into the early morning traffic on Paradise Road.
I took a fast right on Russell, then a left onto Maryland Parkway… and suddenly I was cruising in warm anonym ity past the campus of the University of Las Vegas… no tension on these faces; I stopped at a red light and got lost, for a moment, in a sunburst of flesh in the cross-walk: fine sinewy thighs, pink mini-skirts, ripe young nipples, sleeveless blouses, long sweeps of blonde hair, pink lips and blue eyes- all the hallmarks of a dangerously innocent culture.