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Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 58 из 255I saw the cocktail waitress getting nervous, so I forced myself to get up and walk stiffly out of the bar. No sign of my attorney.
Down to the VIP car - rental booth, where I traded the Red Shark in for a White Cadillac Convertible. “This goddamn Chevy has caused me a lot of trouble,” I told them. “I get the feeling that people are putting me down - especially in gas stations, when I have to get out and open the hood manually.”
“Well… of course,” said the man behind the desk.
“What you need, I think, is one of our Mercedes 600 Towne - Cruiser Specials, with air - conditioning. You can even carry your own fuel, if you want; we make that available.
“Do I look like a goddamn Nazi?” I said. “I’ll have a natural American car, or nothing at all!”
They called up the white Coupe de Ville at once. Every - thing was automatic. I could sit in the red - leather driver’s seat and make every inch of the car jump, by touching the proper buttons. It was a wonderful machine: Ten grand worth of gimmicks and high - priced Special Effects. The rear - windows leaped up with a touch, like frogs in a dynamite pond. The white canvas top ran up and down like a roller - coaster. The dashboard was full of esoteric lights dials meters that I would never understand - but there was no doubt
in my mind that I was into a superior machine.
The Caddy wouldn’ tget off the line quite as fast as the RedShark, but once it got rol around eighty - it was pure smooth hell… all that elegant, upholstered weight lashing across the desert was like rolling through midnight on the old California Zephyr. - -
I handled the whole transaction with a credit card that I later learned was “banceled” - completely bogus. But the Big Computer hsdn’t mixed me yet, so I was still a fat gold credit risk.
Later, looking back on this transaction, I knew the conversation that had almost certainly etisued:
“Hello. This is VIP car - rentals in Las Vegas. We’re calling to check on Number 875 - 045 - 6169. Just a routine credit check, nothing urgent… (Long pause at the other end. Then:) “Holy shit!”
“What?”
“Pardon me… Yes, we have that number. It’s been placed on emergency redline status. Call the police at once and don’t let him out of your sight!”
(Another long pause) “Well… ah… you see, that number is not on our current Red List, and… ah… Number875 - 045 - 616 - B just left our lot in a new Cadillac convertible.”
“No!”
“Yes. He’s long gone; totally insured.
Down to the VIP car - rental booth, where I traded the Red Shark in for a White Cadillac Convertible. “This goddamn Chevy has caused me a lot of trouble,” I told them. “I get the feeling that people are putting me down - especially in gas stations, when I have to get out and open the hood manually.”
“Well… of course,” said the man behind the desk.
“What you need, I think, is one of our Mercedes 600 Towne - Cruiser Specials, with air - conditioning. You can even carry your own fuel, if you want; we make that available.
“Do I look like a goddamn Nazi?” I said. “I’ll have a natural American car, or nothing at all!”
They called up the white Coupe de Ville at once. Every - thing was automatic. I could sit in the red - leather driver’s seat and make every inch of the car jump, by touching the proper buttons. It was a wonderful machine: Ten grand worth of gimmicks and high - priced Special Effects. The rear - windows leaped up with a touch, like frogs in a dynamite pond. The white canvas top ran up and down like a roller - coaster. The dashboard was full of esoteric lights dials meters that I would never understand - but there was no doubt
in my mind that I was into a superior machine.
The Caddy wouldn’ tget off the line quite as fast as the RedShark, but once it got rol around eighty - it was pure smooth hell… all that elegant, upholstered weight lashing across the desert was like rolling through midnight on the old California Zephyr. - -
I handled the whole transaction with a credit card that I later learned was “banceled” - completely bogus. But the Big Computer hsdn’t mixed me yet, so I was still a fat gold credit risk.
Later, looking back on this transaction, I knew the conversation that had almost certainly etisued:
“Hello. This is VIP car - rentals in Las Vegas. We’re calling to check on Number 875 - 045 - 6169. Just a routine credit check, nothing urgent… (Long pause at the other end. Then:) “Holy shit!”
“What?”
“Pardon me… Yes, we have that number. It’s been placed on emergency redline status. Call the police at once and don’t let him out of your sight!”
(Another long pause) “Well… ah… you see, that number is not on our current Red List, and… ah… Number875 - 045 - 616 - B just left our lot in a new Cadillac convertible.”
“No!”
“Yes. He’s long gone; totally insured.