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Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
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His eyes narrowed. “Your driver ain’t the only one sick around here, buddy.”
“He has a bone in his throat,” I said.
“What?”
The man was getting ugly, but suddenly his eyes switched away. He was staring at something else
My attorney no longer wearing his Danish sunglasses, no longer wearing his Acapulco shirt… a very crazy looking,half - naked and breathing heavily.
“What’s the trouble here?” he croaked. “This man is my client - Are you prepared to go to court?” grabbed his shoulder and gently spun him around.
“Never “ I said. “It’s the Black Shadow - they won’t accept it.”
“Wait a minute!” he shouted. “What do you mean, they won’t accept it? Have you made a deal with these pigs?”
“Certainly not,” I said, pushing him along toward the gate. “But you notice they’re all armed. We’re the only people here without guns. Can’t you hear that shooting over there?”
He paused, listened for an instant, then suddenly began,running toward the car. “You cocksuckers!” he screamed over his shoulder. “We’ll be back!”
By the time we got the shark back on the highway he was able to talk. “Jesus christ! How did we get mixed up with that gang of psychotic bigots? Let’s get the fuck out of this town. Those scumbags were trying to kill us!
5.Covering the Story… A Glimpse of the Press in Action… Ugliness Failure
The racers were ready at dawn. Fine sunrise over the desert. Very tense. But the race didn’t start until nine, so we had to kill about three long hours in the casino next to the pits, and that’s where the trouble started.
The bar opened at seven. There was also a “koffee donut canteen” in the bunker, but those of us who had been up all night in places like the Circus - Circus were in no mood for coffee donuts. We wanted strong drink. Our tempers were ugly and there were at least two hundred of us, so they opened the bar early. By eight - thirty there were big crowds around the crap - tables. The place was full of noise and drunken shouting.
A boney, middle - aged hoodlum wearing a Harley - Davidson T - shirt boomed up to the bar and yelled: “God damn! What day is this - Saturday?”
“More like Sunday,” somebody replied.
“Hah! That’s a bitch, ain’t it?” the H - D boomer shouted to nobody in particular. “Last night I was out home in Long and somebody said they were runnin’ the Mint 400 so I says to my old lady, ‘Man, I’m goin’.” He laughed.
His eyes narrowed. “Your driver ain’t the only one sick around here, buddy.”
“He has a bone in his throat,” I said.
“What?”
The man was getting ugly, but suddenly his eyes switched away. He was staring at something else
My attorney no longer wearing his Danish sunglasses, no longer wearing his Acapulco shirt… a very crazy looking,half - naked and breathing heavily.
“What’s the trouble here?” he croaked. “This man is my client - Are you prepared to go to court?” grabbed his shoulder and gently spun him around.
“Never “ I said. “It’s the Black Shadow - they won’t accept it.”
“Wait a minute!” he shouted. “What do you mean, they won’t accept it? Have you made a deal with these pigs?”
“Certainly not,” I said, pushing him along toward the gate. “But you notice they’re all armed. We’re the only people here without guns. Can’t you hear that shooting over there?”
He paused, listened for an instant, then suddenly began,running toward the car. “You cocksuckers!” he screamed over his shoulder. “We’ll be back!”
By the time we got the shark back on the highway he was able to talk. “Jesus christ! How did we get mixed up with that gang of psychotic bigots? Let’s get the fuck out of this town. Those scumbags were trying to kill us!
5.Covering the Story… A Glimpse of the Press in Action… Ugliness Failure
The racers were ready at dawn. Fine sunrise over the desert. Very tense. But the race didn’t start until nine, so we had to kill about three long hours in the casino next to the pits, and that’s where the trouble started.
The bar opened at seven. There was also a “koffee donut canteen” in the bunker, but those of us who had been up all night in places like the Circus - Circus were in no mood for coffee donuts. We wanted strong drink. Our tempers were ugly and there were at least two hundred of us, so they opened the bar early. By eight - thirty there were big crowds around the crap - tables. The place was full of noise and drunken shouting.
A boney, middle - aged hoodlum wearing a Harley - Davidson T - shirt boomed up to the bar and yelled: “God damn! What day is this - Saturday?”
“More like Sunday,” somebody replied.
“Hah! That’s a bitch, ain’t it?” the H - D boomer shouted to nobody in particular. “Last night I was out home in Long and somebody said they were runnin’ the Mint 400 so I says to my old lady, ‘Man, I’m goin’.” He laughed.