thunter.fearloathinglasvegas-第26章

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　　Let　the　chickens　e　home　to　roost；　I　thought　as　I　hurried　into　the　airport。　It　was　still　too　early　to　act　normal；　so　I　hunkered　down　in　the　coffee　shop　behind　the　LA。　Times。　Some　where　down　the　corridor　a　jukebox　was　playing　〃One　Toke　Over　the　Line。〃　I　listened　for　a　moment；　but　my　nerve　ends　no　longer　receptive。　The　only　song　I　might　have　been　to　relate　to；　at　that　point；　was　〃Mister　Tambourine　。〃　Or　maybe　〃Memphis　Blues　Again。。。〃Aww；　mama。。　。　can　this　really。。。　be　the　end。。。？〃　My　plane　left　at　eight；　which　meant　I　had　two　hours　to　kill。　Feeling　desperately　visible。　There　was　no　doubt　in　my　mind　they　were　looking　for　me；　the　net　was　closing　down。。。only　a　matter　of　time　before　they　ran　me　down　like　some　kind　of　rabid　animal。
　　I　checked　all　my　luggage　through　the　chute。　All　but　the　satchel；　which　was　full　of　drugs。　And　the　。357。　Did　they　have　the　goddamn　metal　detector　system　in　this　airport？　I　strolled　around　to　the　boarding　gate　and　tried　to　look　casual　while　I　cased　the　area　for　black　boxes。　None　were　visible。　I　to　take　the　chance…just　zip　through　the　gate　with　a　big　smile　on　my　face；　mumbling　distractedly　about　〃a　bad　slump　in　the　hardware　market。　。。
　　Just　another　failed　salesman　checking　out。　Blame　it　all　on　that　bastard　Nixon。　Indeed。　I　decided　it　might　look　more　natural　if　I　found　somebody　to　chat　with…a　routine　line　of　small　talk；　between　passengers：　〃Hy're　yew；　fella！　I　huess　you're　probably　wonderin'　what　make　sme　sweat　like　this？　Yeah！　Well；　god　damn；　man！　Have　you　read　the　newspapers　today？。。。You'd　never　believe　what　those　dirty　bastards　have　doen　this　time！〃　I　figured　that　would　cover　it。。。But　I　could'nt　find　anybody　who　looked　safe　enough　to　talk　to。　The　whole　airport　was　full　of　people　who　looked　like　they　might　go　for　my　float　ing　rib　if　I　made　a　false　move。　I　felt　very　paranoid。。。like　some　kind　of　criminal　skullsucker　on　the　lam　from　Scotland　Yard。
　　Everywhere　I　looked　I　saw　Pigs。。。because　on　that　morn　ing　the　Las　Vegas　airport　was　full　of　cops：　the　mass　exodus　after　the　climax　of　the　District　Attorneys'　Conference。　When　I　finally　put　this　together　I　felt　much　better　about　the　health　of　my　own　brain
　　
　　EVERYTHING　seems　to　be　ready。
　　Are　you　Ready？
　　Ready？
　　
　　Well；　why　not？　This　is　a　heavy　day　in　Vegas。　A　thousand　cops　are　checking　out　of　town；　scurrying　through　the　airport　in　groups　of　three　and　six。　They　are　heading　back　home。　The　drug　conference　is　finished。　The　Airport　Lounge　is　humming　with　mean　talk　and　bodies。　Short　beers　and　Bloody　Marys；　here　and　there　a　victim　of　chest　rash　rubbing　Mexsana　under　the　armpit　straps　of　a　thick　shoulder　holster。　No　point　hiding　this　business　any　longer。　Let　it　all　hang　out。。。or　at　least　get　some　air　to　it。
　　Yes；　thank　you　kindly。　。　I　think　I　busted　a　button　on　my　trousers。　I　hope　they　don't　fall　down。　You　don't　want　my　trousers　to　fall　down　now；　do　you？
　　Fuck　no。　Not　today。　N　ot　right　here　in　the　middle　of　the　Las　Vegas　airport；　on　this　sweaty　…hard　morning　at　the　tail　end　of　this　mass　meeting　on　the　Narcotics　and　Dangerous　Drugs。
　　〃When　the　train。。e　in　the　station。。。I　looked　her　in　the　eye。。。　〃　Grim　music　in　the　airport。　〃Yes；　it's　hard　to　tell　it''s　hard　to　tell；　when　all　your　love's　in　Vain。。。〃
　　
　　Every　now　and　then　you　run　up　on　one　of　those　days　when　everythings　in　vain　。　。　。　a　stone　bummer　from　start　to　finish；　if　you　know　what's　good　for　you；　on　days　like　these　you　sortof　hunker　down　in　a　safe　corner　and　watch。　Maybe　think　a　bit。　Lay　back　on　a　cheap　wooden　chair；　screened　off　from　traffic；　and　shrewdly　rip　the　poptops　out　of　five　or　eight　Budweisers。。。smoke　off　a　pack　of　King　Marlboros；　eat　a　nut…butter　sandwich；　and　finally　toward　evening　gobble　a　wad　of　good　mescaline　。　。。　then　drive　out；　later　on；　to　the　beach。　Get　out　in　the　surf；　in　the　fog；　and　slosh　along　on　numb…frozen　feet　about　ten　yards　out　from　the　tideline。。。　stomping　through　tribes　of　wild　sandpeckers。。。riderunners；　whorehoppers；　stupid　little　birds　and　crabs　and　saltsuckershere　and　there　a　big　pervert　or　woolly　reject　gimp　off　in　the　distance；　wandering　alone　by　themselves　behind　dunes　and　driftwood。。。。
　　These　are　the　ones　you　will　never　be　properly　introduced　to…at　least　not　if　your　luck　holds。　But　the　beach　is　less　plicated　than　a　boiling　fast　morning　in　the　Las　Vegas　airport。
　　I　felt　very　obvious。　Amphetamine　psychosis？　Paranoid　dementia？…What　is　it？　My　Argentine　luggage？　This　crippled；　walk　that　once　made　me　a　reject　from　the　Naval　ROTC？〃　Indeed。　This　man　will　never　be　able　to　walk　straight；　Captain！　Because　one　leg　is　longer　than　the　other。。。。Not　much。　Three　eighths　of　an　inch　or　so；　which　counted　out　to　about　two　eights　more　than　the　Captain　could　tolerate。
　　So　we　parted　pany。　He　accepted　a　mand　in　the　South　China　Sea；　and　I　became　a　Doctor　of　Gonzo　Journalism。。。andmany　years　later；　killing　time　in　the　Las　Vegas　airport　this　terrible　morning；　I　picked　up　a　newspaper　and　saw　where　teh　Captain　had　fucked　up　very　badly：　Ship　mander　Butchered　by　Natives　After　〃Accidental〃　Assault　on　Guam。
　　（AOP）…Aboard　the　USS。　Crazy　Horse：　Somewhere　in　the　Pactfic　（Sept。　25）…The　entire　3485…man　crew　of　this　newest　American　aircraft　carrier　is　in　violent　mourning　today；　after　five　crewmen　including　the　Captain　were　diced　uplike　pineapple　meat　in　a　brawl　with　the　Heroin　Police　at　the　neutral　port　of　Hong　See。　Dr。　Bboor；　the　ship's　chaplain；　presided　over　tense　funeral　services　at　dawn　on　the　flight　deck。　The　4th　Fleet　Service　Choir　sang　〃Tom　Thumb's　Blues〃　。　。　。　and　then；　while　the　ship's　bells　tolled　frantically；　the　remains　of　the　five　were　set　afire　in　a　gourd　and　hurled　into　the　Pacific　by　a　hooded　officer　known　only　as　〃The　mander。〃　Shortly　after　the　services　ended；　the　crewmen　fell　to　fighting　among　themselves　and　all　munications　with　the　ship　were　severed　for　an　indefinite　period。　Official　spokesmen　at　4th　Fleet　Headquarters　on　Guam　said　the　Navy　had　〃no　ment〃　on　the　situation；　pending　the　re　sults　of　a　top…level　investigation　by　a　team　of　civilian　specialists　headed　by　former　New　Orleans　district　attor　ney　James　Garrison。
　　。。。　Why　bother　with　newspapers；　if　this　is　all　they　offer？　Agnew　was　right。　The　press　is　a　gang　of　cruel　faggots。　Journalism　is　not　a　profession　or　a　trade。　It　is　a　cheap　catch…all　for　fuckoffs　and　misfits…　a　false　doorway　to　the　backside　of　life；　a　filthy　piss…ridden　little　hole　nailed　off　by　the　building　inspector；　but　just　deep　enough　for　a　wine　to　curl　up　from　the　sidewalk　and　masturbate　like　a　chimp　in　a　zoo…cage。
　　
　　　14。　Farewell　to　Vegas。。。〃God's　Mercy　on　You　Swine！〃
　　
　　I　skulked　around　the　airport；　I　realized　that　I　was　still　wearing　my　police　；identification　badge。　It　was　a　flat　orange　rectangle；　sealed　in　clear　plastic；　that　said：　〃Raoul　Duke；　Spe　cial　Investigator；　Los　Angeles。〃　I　saw　it　in　the　mirror　above　urinal。
　　Get　rid　of　this　thing；　I　thought。　Tear　it　off。　The　gig　is　finished。。　。　and　it　proved　nothing。　At　least　not　to　me。　And　certainly　not　to　my　attorney…who　also　had　a　badge…but　he　was　back　in　Malibu；　nursing　his　paranoid　sores。
　　It　been　a　waste　of　time；　a　lame　fuckaround　that　was　only…in　clear　retrospect…a　cheap　excuse　for　a　thousand　cops　to　spend　a　few　days　in　Las　Vegas　and　lay　the　bill　on　the　taxpayers。　Nobody　had　learned　anything…　or　at　least　nothing　except　new。　Except　maybe　me　。。　。　and　all　I　learned　was　that　the　District　Attorneys'　Association　is　about　ten　years　behind　the　grim　truth　and　harsh　kinetic　realities　of　what　they　just　recently　learned　to　call　〃the　Drug　Culture〃　in　tyhe　Year　of　Our　lord；　1971。
　　They　are　still　burning　the　taxpayers　for　thousands　of　dollars　to　make　films　about　〃the　dangers　of　LSD；〃　at　a　time　when　acid　is　widely　known…to　everybody　but　cops…to　be　the　Studenbaker　of　the　drug　market；　the　popularity　of　psychedelics　has　fallen　off　so　drastically　drastically　that　most　voluime　dealers　no　longer　even　handle　qualioty　acid　or　mescaline　except　as　a　favor　to　special　customers：　Mainly　jaded；　over　thirty　drug　dilettantes…likeme；　and　my　attorney。
　　The　big　market；　these　days；　is　in　Downers。　Reds　and　smack　…Seconal　and　heroin…and　a　hellbroth　of　bad　domestic　grass　sprayed　with　everything　from　arsenic　to　horse　tranquillizers。　What　sells；　today；　is　whateverFucks　You　Up…whatever　short…circuits　your　brain　and　grounds　it　out　for　the　longest　possible　time。　The　ghetto　market　has　mushroomed　into　subur　bia。　The　Miltown　man　has　turned；　with　a　vengeance；　to　skin…　popping　and　even　mainlining。。。　and　for　every　ex…speed　freak　who　drifted；　for　relief；　into　smack；　there　are　200　kids　who　went　straight　to　the　needle　off　Seconal。　They　never　even　bothered　to　try　speed。
　　Uppers　are　no　longer　stylish。　Methedrine　is　almost　as　rare；　on　the　1971　market；　as　pure　acid　or　DMT。　〃Consciousness　Ex　pansion〃　went　out　with　LBJ　。　。　and　it　is　worth　noting；　historically；　that　downers　came　in　with　Nixon。
　　
　　I　limped　onto　the　plane　with　no　problem　except　a　wave　of　ugly　vibrations　from　the　other　passengers。。。but　my　head　was　so　burned　out；　by　then；　that　I　wouldn't　have　cared　if　I'd　had　to　climb　aboard　stark　naked　and　covered　with　oozing　chancres。　It　would　have　taken　extreme　physical　force　to　keep　me　off　that　plane。　I　was　so　far　beyond　simple　fatigue　that　I　was　beginning　to　feel　nicely　adjusted　to　the　idea　of　perma　nent　hysteria。　I　felt　like　the　slightest　misunderstanding　with　the　stewardess　would　cause　me　to　either　cry　or　go　mad　。　。　。　and　the　woman　seemed　to　sense　this；　because　she　treated　me　very　gently。
　　When　I　wanted　more　Ice　Cubes　for　my　Bloody　Mary；　she　brought　them　quickly　。　。　and　when　I　ran　out　of　cigarettes；　she　gave　me　a　pack　from　her　own　purse。　The　only　time　she　seemed　nervous　was　when　I　pulled　a　grapefruita　grapefruit　out　of　my　satchel　and　began　slicing　it　up　with　a　hunting　knife。　I　noticed　her　watching　me　closely；　so　I　tried　to　smile。　〃I　never　go　anywhere　without　grapefruit；'　〃It's　hard　to　get　a　really　good　one…unless　you're　rich。〃　She　nodded。
　　I　flashed　her　the　grimace/smile　again；　but　it　was　hard　to　know　what　she　was　thinking。　It　was　entirely　possible；　I　knew；　that　sge'd　already　decided　to　have　me　taken　off　the　plane　iin　a　cage　when　we　got　to　Denver。　I　stared　fixedly　into　her　eyes　for　a　time；　but　she　kept　herself　under　control。
　　
　　I　was　asleep　when　our　plane　hit　the　runway；　but　the　jolt　brought　me　instantly　awake。　I　looked　out　the　window　and　saw　the　Rocky　Mountains。　What　the　fuck　was　I　doing　here？I　wondered。　I　t　made　so　sense　at　all。　I　decided　to　call　my　attorney　as　soon　as　possible。　Have　him　iwre　me　some　money　to　buy　a　huge　albino　Doberman。　Denver　is　a　national　clearinghouse　for　stolen　Dobermans；　they　e　from　all　parts　of　the　country。
　　Since　i　was　already　here；　I　though　I　might　as　well　pick　up　a　vicious　do。　But　first；　something　for　my　nerves。　Immediately　after　the　plane　landed　I　rushed　up　the　corridor　to　the　airport　drugstore　adn　asked　the　clerk　for　a　box　of　amyls。
　　She　began　to　fidget　and　shake　her　head。　〃Oh；　no；〃　she　said　finally。　〃I　can't　sell　you　those　things　except　by　precription。〃
　　〃I　know；〃　I　said。　〃But　you　see；　I'm　a　doctor。　I　don't　need　a　precription。〃　She　was　still　fidgeting。　〃Well。。。　you'll　have　to　show　me　some　I。D。；〃　she　moaned。
　　〃Of　course。〃　I　jerked　out　my　wallet　and　let　her　see　the　police　basge　while　I　flipped　through　the　deck　until　I　located　my