Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas / Страх и отвращение в Лас-Вегасе. Хантер С. Томпсон

the car’s yours.” Give him the keys and then use the credit card to fly on a jet to some place like Miami[43] and rent another huge red convertible for a ride all the way to Key West[44]… and then exchange the car for a boat… Keep moving…

      But this crazy idea passed quickly. I had plans for this car. I was looking forward to driving around Las Vegas in it. Maybe do a bit of serious racing – pull up to a big stoplight and start screaming at the traffic: “All right, you suckers[45]! When this goddamn light turns green, I’m going to step on it[46] and blow every one of you off the road!” Right. Challenge the bastards, with a bottle of rum in one hand, revving the engine, skidding, waiting for the light to change. How often does one get a chance like that?

      But our trip was different. It was a declaration of everything right and true that is present in the national character. It was a salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country.

      My attorney understood this concept, despite his race, but our hitchhiker didn’t. He said he understood, but I could see in his eyes that he didn’t. He was lying to me.

* * *

      The car suddenly turned off the road and we stopped. My attorney was leaning over the wheel.

      “What’s wrong?” I yelled. “We can’t stop here. This is a bat country!”

      “My heart,” he groaned. “Where’s the medicine?”

      “Oh,” I said. “The medicine, yes, it’s right here.” I reached into the bag for the amyls.

      The kid seemed terrified.

      “Don’t worry,” I said. “This man has a bad heart. But we have the cure for it. Yes, here they are.” I took four amyls out of the tin box and handed two of them to my attorney. He cracked one under his nose and fell back on the seat, staring straight up at the sun. I did the same thing.

      “Turn up the goddamn music!” he screamed. “Volume! Bass! What’s wrong with us? Are we some goddamn old ladies?”

      I turned both the radio and the tape recorder up.

      “You bastard,” I said. “Watch your language! You’re talking to a Doctor of Journalism!”

      He was laughing out of control. “What the heck[47] are we doing out here on this desert?” he shouted. “Somebody call the police! We need help!”

      “Don’t pay attention to this pig,” I said to the hitchhiker. “He can’t handle the medicine. Actually, we’re both Doctors of Journalism, and we’re on our way to Las Vegas to cover the main story of our generation.” And then I began laughing.

      My attorney turned to the hitchhiker.

      “The truth is,” he said, “we’re going to Vegas to kill a drug baron named Savage Henry. I’ve known him for years, but he ripped us off – and you know what that means, right?”

      I wanted him to shut up, but we were both helpless with laughter. What the hell were we doing here, on this desert, when we both had bad hearts?

      “Savage Henry is a dead man!” my attorney yelled at the kid in the back seat. “We’re going to cut his heart out!”

      “And eat it!” I shouted. “That bastard won’t get away with this! What’s going on in this country when a sucker like that can rip off a Doctor of Journalism?”

      Nobody answered.

      My attorney was cracking another amyl when the kid climbed out of the back seat.

      “Thanks for the ride,” he yelled. “Thanks a lot. I like you guys. Don’t worry about me.”

      His feet hit the asphalt and he started running back. In the middle of the desert, not a tree in sight.

      “Wait a minute,” I yelled. “Come back and get a beer.”

      But probably he couldn’t hear me. The music was very loud, and he was moving away from us very fast.

* * *

      “Good riddance[48],” said my attorney. “That boy was a real freak. He made me nervous. Did you see his eyes?” He was still laughing. “Jesus, this is good medicine!”

      I opened the car door and went to the driver’s side.

      “I’ll drive,” I said. “We have to get out of California before that kid finds a cop.”

      “That’ll be hours,” said my attorney. “He’s a hundred miles from anywhere.”

      “So are we,” I said. “Open the tequila. We must get to the Mint Hotel before the end of the press registration, or we’ll have to pay for our suite.”

      He nodded. “But let’s forget that bullshit[49] about the American Dream,” he said. “I think it’s time to chew a blotter[50]. That cheap mescaline wore off a long time ago, and I don’t know if I can stand the smell of that ether any longer.”

      “Speaking of which,” I said. “I think it’s time to get into the ether and the cocaine.”

      “Forget ether,” he said. “Let’s save it for the rug in the suite. But here’s this. Your half of the blotter. Just chew it.”

      I took the blotter and ate it. My attorney was now taking out the salt shaker with the cocaine. Opening it. Spilling it. Then screaming and grabbing at the air, as our white dust blew up and across the desert highway. A very expensive little twister rising up from the Great Red Shark.

      “Oh, Jesus!” he cried. “Did you see what God just did to us?”

      “God didn’t do that!” I shouted. “You did it. You pig!”

      “You better be careful,” he said, and suddenly he was waving a black.357 Magnum[51] at me.

      “You fool,” I said. “When we get to Las Vegas, what do you think the local drug barons will do when I show up with a Samoan narcotics agent?”

      “They’ll kill us both,” he said. “Savage Henry knows who I am. I’m your attorney.” He started laughing wildly.

      “You’re full of acid, you idiot. It’ll be a miracle if we get to the hotel and check in before you turn into a wild animal. Are you ready for that?”

      He was laughing again, then he put his nose down the salt shaker, together with the thin green roll of a $20 bill, straight into what was left of the powder.

      “How long do we have?” I asked.

      “Maybe thirty more minutes,” he answered. “As your attorney I advise you to drive at top speed.”

* * *

      Las Vegas was just ahead of us. I could see the hotel skyline through the blue desert haze: The Sahara, the Landmark, the Americana and the Thunderbird – grey rectangles in the distance, rising out of the cactus.

43

Майами – город на побережье Атлантического океана в штате Флорида, США

44

Ки-Уэст – город на острове архипелага Флорида-Кис в штате Флорида, США

45

уроды / отморозки (груб.)

46

я сейчас как надавлю на газ

47

какого чёрта / хрена (груб.)

48

Избавились, и слава богу

49

чушь / брехня (груб.)

50

промокашка – кусочек бумаги, пропитанный ЛСД (жарг.)

51

Американский револьвер большой мощности