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Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 55 из 255I tossed the gun into the front seat of the Shark and stared nervously at the highway. No cars either way; the road was empty for two or three miles in both directions.Fine luck.
It would not do to be found in the desert under these circumstances: firing wildly into the cactus from a car full of drugs. And especially not now, on the lam from the Highway Patrol.
Awkward questions would arise: “Well now, Mister… ah… Duke; you understand, of course, that it is illegal to dise a firearm of any kind while standing on a federal way?”
What? Even in self - defense? This goddamn gun has a hair trigger, officer. The truth is I only meant to fire once - just to scare the little bastards.”
A heavy stare, then speaking very slowly: “Are you saying, Mister Duke… that you were attacked out here?”
“Well… no… not literally attacked, officer, but seriously menaced. I stopped to piss, and the minute I stepped out of the car these filthy little bags of poison were all around me. They moved like greased lightning! ”
Would this story hold up?
No. They would place me under arrest, then routinely search the car - and when that happened all kinds of savage hell would break loose. They would never believe all these drugs were necessary to my work; that in truth I was a professional journalist on my way to Las Vegas to cover the National District Attorneys’ Conference on Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.
“Just samples, officer. I got this stuff off a road man for the Neo - American Church back in Barstow. He started acting funny, so I worked him over.”
Would they buy this?
No. They would lock me in some hellhole of a jail and beat me on the kidneys with big branches - causing me to piss blood for years to come.
Luckily, nobody bothered me while I ran a quick inventory on the kit - bag. The stash was a hopeless mess, all churned together and half - crushed. Some of the mescaline pellets had disintegrated into a reddish - brown powder, but I counted about thirty - five or forty still intact. My attorney had eaten all the reds, but there was quite a bit of speed left… no more grass, the coke bottle was empty, one acid blotter, a nice brown lump of opium hash and six loose amyls… Not enough for anything serious, but a careful rationing of the mescaline would probably get us through the four - day Drug Conference.
On the outskirts of Vegas I stopped at a neighborhood pharmacy and bought two quarts of Gold tequila, two fifths of Chivas Regal and a pint of ether. I was tempted to ask for some amyls. My angina pectoris was starting to act up.
It would not do to be found in the desert under these circumstances: firing wildly into the cactus from a car full of drugs. And especially not now, on the lam from the Highway Patrol.
Awkward questions would arise: “Well now, Mister… ah… Duke; you understand, of course, that it is illegal to dise a firearm of any kind while standing on a federal way?”
What? Even in self - defense? This goddamn gun has a hair trigger, officer. The truth is I only meant to fire once - just to scare the little bastards.”
A heavy stare, then speaking very slowly: “Are you saying, Mister Duke… that you were attacked out here?”
“Well… no… not literally attacked, officer, but seriously menaced. I stopped to piss, and the minute I stepped out of the car these filthy little bags of poison were all around me. They moved like greased lightning! ”
Would this story hold up?
No. They would place me under arrest, then routinely search the car - and when that happened all kinds of savage hell would break loose. They would never believe all these drugs were necessary to my work; that in truth I was a professional journalist on my way to Las Vegas to cover the National District Attorneys’ Conference on Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.
“Just samples, officer. I got this stuff off a road man for the Neo - American Church back in Barstow. He started acting funny, so I worked him over.”
Would they buy this?
No. They would lock me in some hellhole of a jail and beat me on the kidneys with big branches - causing me to piss blood for years to come.
Luckily, nobody bothered me while I ran a quick inventory on the kit - bag. The stash was a hopeless mess, all churned together and half - crushed. Some of the mescaline pellets had disintegrated into a reddish - brown powder, but I counted about thirty - five or forty still intact. My attorney had eaten all the reds, but there was quite a bit of speed left… no more grass, the coke bottle was empty, one acid blotter, a nice brown lump of opium hash and six loose amyls… Not enough for anything serious, but a careful rationing of the mescaline would probably get us through the four - day Drug Conference.
On the outskirts of Vegas I stopped at a neighborhood pharmacy and bought two quarts of Gold tequila, two fifths of Chivas Regal and a pint of ether. I was tempted to ask for some amyls. My angina pectoris was starting to act up.