thunter.fearloathinglasvegas-第22部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


endency　to　dig　in；　which　accounted　for　that　sickening　〃here　we　go'　sensation。
　　At　first　I　thought　it　was　only　because　the　tires　were　soft；　so　I　took　it　into　the　Texaco　station　next　to　the　Flamingo　and　had　the　tires　pumped　up　to　fifty　pounds　each…which　alarmed　the　attendant；　until　I　explained　that　these　were　〃experimental〃　tires。
　　But　fifty　pounds　each　didn't　help　the　cornering；　so　I　swent　back　a　few　hours　later　and　told　him　I　wanted　to　try　seventy　five。　He　shook　his　head　nervously。　〃Not　me；〃　he　said；　handing　me　the　air　hgose。　〃Here。　They're　your　tires。　You　do　it。〃
　　〃What's　wrong？〃　I　asked。　〃You　think　they　can't　take　seventy…five？〃　He　nodded；　moving　away　as　I　stooped　to　deal　with　the　left　front。　〃You're　damn　right；〃　he　said。　〃Those　tires　want　twenty　eight　in　the　front　and　thirty　two　in　the　rear。　Hell；　fifty's　dangerous；　but　seventy　five　is　crazy。　They'll　explode！〃　I　shook　my　head　and　kept　filling　the　left　front。　〃I　told　you；〃　I　said；　〃Sandoz　laboratories　designed　these　tires。　They're　special。　I　could　load　them　up　to　a　hundred。
　　〃God　almighty！〃　he　groaned。　〃Don't　do　that　here。〃
　　〃Not　today；〃　I　replied。　〃I　want　to　see　how　they　corner　with　seventy…five。〃　He　chuckled。　〃You　won't　even　get　to　the　corner；　Mister。〃
　　〃We'll　see；〃　I　said；　moving　around　to　the　rear　with　the　air…　hose。　In　truth；　I　was　nervous。　The　two　front　ones　were　tighter　than　snare　drums；　they　felt　like　teak　wood　when　I　tapped　on　them　with　the　rod。　But　what　the　hell？　I　thought。　If　they　ex　plode；　so　what？　It's　not　often　that　a　man　gets　a　chance　to　run　terminal　experiments　on　a　virgin　Cadillac　and　four　brand…　new　80　tires。　For　all　I　knew；　the　thing　might　start　cornering　like　a　Lotus　Elan。　If　not；　all　I　had　to　do　was　call　the　VIP　agency　and　have　another　one　delivered。。。maybe　threaten　them　with　a　lawsuit　because　all　four　tires　had　exploded　on　me；　while　driving　in　heavy　traffic。　Demand　an　Eldorado；　next　time；　with　four　Michelin　Xs。　And　put　it　all　on　the　card。。。charge　it　to　the　St　Louis　Browns。
　　As　it　turned　out；　the　Whale　behaved　very　nicely　with　the　altered　tire　pressures。　The　ride　was　a　trifle　rough；　I　could　feel　every　pebble　on　the　highway；　like　being　on　roller　skates　in　a　gravel　pit。。；　but　the　thing　began　cornering　in　a　very　stylish　manner；　very　much　like　driving　a　motorcycle　at　top　speed　in　a　hard　rain：　one　slip　and　ZANG；　over　the　high　side；　cartwheel　ing　across　the　landscape　with　your　head　in　your　hands。
　　
　　？　　？　　？
　　
　　About　thirty　minutes　after　our　brush　with　the　Okies　we　pulled　into　an　all…night　diner　on　the　Tonopah　highway；　on　the　kirts　of　a　mean/scag　ghetto　called　〃North　Las　Vegas。〃　Which　is　actually　outside　the　city　limits　of　Vegas　proper。　North　Vegas　is　where　you　go　when　you've　fucked　up　once　too　often　on　the　Strip；　and　when　you're　not　even　wele　in　the　cut…rate　downtown　places　around　Casino　Center。
　　This　is　Nevada's　answer　to　East　St。　Louis…a　slum　and　a　graveyard；　last　stop　before　permanent　exile　to　Ely　or　Winnemuca。　North　Vegas　is　where　you　go　if　you're　a　hooker　turning　thirty　and　the　syndicate　men　on　the　Strip　decide　you're　no　longer　much　good　for　business　out　there　with　the　high　rollers　。。　。　or　if　you're　a　pimp　with　bad　credit　at　the　Sands。。。or　what　they　still　call；　in　Vegas；　〃a　hophead。〃　This　can　mean　almost　anything　from　a　mean　drunk　to　a　junkie；　but　in　terms　of　mercial　acceptability；　it　means　you're　finished　all　the　right　places。
　　The　big　hotels　and　casinos　pay　a　lot　of　muscle　to　make　sure　high　rollers　don't　have　even　momentary　hassles　with　〃undesirables。〃　Security　in　a　place　like　Caesar's　Palace　is　super　tense　and　strict。　Probably　a　third　of　the　people　on　the　floor　at　given　time　are　either　shills　or　watchdogs。　Public　drunks　known　pickpockets　are　dealt　with　instantly…hustled　out　parking　lot　by　Secret　Service　type　thugs　and　given　a　impersonal　lecture　about　the　cost　of　dental　work　and　of　trying　to　make　a　living　with　two　broken　erms。
　　The　〃high　side〃　of　Vegas　is　probably　the　most　closed　society　west　of　Sicily…and　it　makes　no　difference；　in　terms　of　the　lay　life…style　of　the　place；　whether　the　Man　at　the　Top　is　Lucky　Luciano　or　Howard　Hughes。　In　an　economy　where　Tom　Jones　can　make　75；000　a　week　for　two　shows　a　night　at　Caeser's；　the　palace　guard　is　indispensable；　and　they　don't　care　who　signs　their　paychecks。　A　gold　mine　like　Vegas　breeds　it's　own　army；　like　any　other　gold　mine。　Hired　muscle　tends　to　accumulate　in　fast　layers　around　money/power　poles。。。and　big　money；　in　Vegas；　is　synonymous　with　the　Power　to　protect　it。
　　So　once　you　get　blacklisted　on　the　Strip；　for　any　reason　at　all；　you　either　get　out　of　town　or　retire　to　nurse　your　act　along；　on　the　cheap；　in　the　shoddy　limbo　of　North　Vegas。。。out　there　with　the　gunsels；　the　hustlers；　the　drug　cripples　and　all　the　other　losers。　North　Vegas；　for　instance；　is　where　you　go　if　you　need　to　score　smack　before　midnight　with　no　refer　ences。
　　But　if　you're　looking　for　cocaine；　and　you're　ready　up　front　with　some　bills　and　the　proper　code　words；　you　want　to　stay　on　the　Strip　and　get　next　to　a　well…connected　hooker；　which　will　take　at　least　one　bill　for　starters。
　　And　so　much　for　all　that。　We　didn't　fit　the　mold。　There　is　no　formula　for　finding　yourself　in　Vegas　with　a　white　Cadillac　full　of　drugs　and　nothing　to　mix　with　properly。　The　Fillmore　style　never　quite　caught　on　here。　People　like　Sinatra　and　Dean　Martin　are　still　considered　〃far　out〃　in　Vegas。　The　〃underground　newspaper〃　here…the　Las　Vegas　Free　Press…is　a　cautious　echo　of　The　People's　World；　or　maybe　the　National　Guardian。
　　A　week　in　Vegas　is　like　stumbling　into　a　Time　Warp；　a　regression　to　the　late　fifties。　Which　is　wholly　understandable　when　you　see　the　people　who　e　here；　the　Big　Spenders　from　places　like　Denver　and　Dallas。　Along　with　National　Elks　Club　conventions　（no　niggers　allowed）　and　the　All…West　Volunteer　Sheepherders'　Rally。　These　are　people　who　go　abso　lutely　crazy　at　the　sight　of　an　old　hooker　stripping　down　to　her　pasties　and　prancing　out　on　the　runway　to　the　big…beat　sound　of　a　dozen　50…year…old　junkies　kicking　out　the　jams　on　〃September　Song。〃
　　
　　It　was　some　time　around　three　when　we　pulled　into　the　parking　lot　of　the　North　Vegas　diner。　I　was　looking　for　a　copy　of　the　Los　Angeles　Times；　for　news　of　the　outside　world；　but　a　quick　glance　at　the　newspaper　racks　amde　a　bad　joke　of　that　notion。　They　don't　need　the　Times　in　North　Vegas。　No　news　is　good　news。
　　〃Fuck　newspapers；〃　said　my　attorney。　〃What　we　need　now　is　coffee。〃　I　agreed；　but　I　stole　a　copy　of　the　Vegas　Sun　anyway。　It　yesterday's　edition；　but　I　didn't　care。　The　idea　of　entering　a　coffee　shop　without　a　newspaper　in　my　hands　made　me　nervous。　There　was　always　the　Sports　Section；　get　wired　on　baseball　scores　and　pro…football　rumors：　〃Bart　Starr　Beaten　by　Thugs　in　Chicago　Tavern；　Packers　Seek　Trade〃。。。〃Namath　Quits　Jets　to　be　Governor　of　Alabama〃　。。。　and　a　speculative　piece　on　page　46　about　a　rookie　sensation　Harrison　Fire；　out　of　Grambling：　runs　the　hundred　in　nine　flat；　344　pounds　and　still　growing。
　　〃This　man　Fire　has　definite　promise；〃　says　the　coach。　〃Yesterday；　before　practice；　he　destroyed　a　Greyhound　Bus　with　bare　hands；　and　last　night　he　killed　a　subway。　He's　a　natural　for　color　TV。　I'm　not　one　to　play　favorites；　but　it　looks　like　i'll　have　to　make　room　for　him。〃　Indeed。　There　is　always　room　on　TV　for　a　man　who　can　beat　people　to　jelly　in　nine　flat。。。But　not　many　of　these　gathered；　on　this　night；　in　the　North　Star　Coffee　Lounge。　We　had　the　place　to　ourselves…which　proved　to　be　fortunate；　because　we'd　eaten　two　more　pellets　of　mescaline　on　way　over；　and　the　effects　were　beginning　to　manifest。
　　My　attorney　was　no　longer　vomiting；　or　even　acting　sick。　He　ordered　coffee　with　the　authority　of　a　man　long　accustmed　to　quick　service。　The　waitress　had　the　appearance　of　a　hooker　who　had　finally　found　her　place　in　life。　She　was　definitely　in　charge　here；　and　she　eyed　us　with　obvious　disapproval　as　we　settled　onto　our　stools。
　　I　was'nt　paying　much　attention。　The　North　Star　Coffee　Lounge　seemed　like　a　fairly　safe　haven　from　our　storms。　There　are　some　you　go　into…in　this　line　of　work…that　you　know　will　be　heavy。　The　details　don't　matter。　All　you　know；　for　sure；　is　that　your　brain　starts　humming　with　brutal　vibes　as　you　approach　the　front　door。　Something　wild　and　evil　is　about　to　happen；　and　it's　going　to　involve　you。
　　But　there　was　nothing　in　the　atmosphere　of　the　North　Star　to　put　me　on　my　guard。　The　waitress　was　passively　hostile；　but　I　was　accustomed　to　that。　She　was　a　big　woman。　Not　fat；　but　large　in　every　way；　long　sinewy　arms　and　a　brawler's　jawbone。　A　burned…out　caricature　of　Jane　Russell：　big　head　of　dark　hair；　face　slashed　with　lipstick　and　a　48　Double…E　chest　that　was　probably　spectacular　about　twenty　years　ago　when　she　might　have　been　a　Mama　for　the　Hell's　Angels　chapter　in　Berdoo。。。but　now　she　was　strapped　up　in　a　giant　pink　elastic　brassiere　that　showed　like　a　bandage　through　the　sweaty　white　rayon　of　her　uniform。
　　Probably　she　was　married　to　somebody；　but　I　didn't　feel　like　speculating。　All　I　wanted　from　her；　tonight；　was　a　cup　of　black　coffee　and　a　29　cent　hamburger　with　pickles　and　onions。　No　hassles；　no　talk…just　a　place　to　rest　and　re…group。　I　wasn't　even　hungry。
　　My　attorney　had　no　newspaper　or　anything　else　to　pel　his　attention。　So　he　focused；　out　of　boredom；　on　the　waitress。　She　was　taking　our　orders　like　a　robot　when　he　punched　through　her　crust　with　a　demand　for　〃two　glasses　of　ice　water…with　ice。〃　My　attorney　drank　his　in　one　long　gulp；　then　asked　for　an　other。　I　noticed　that　the　waitress　seemed　tense。
　　Fuck　it；　I　thought。　I　was　reading　the　funnies。
　　About　ten　minutes　later；　when　she　brought　the　hamburg　ers；　I　saw　my　attorney　hand　her　a　napkin　with　something　printed　on　it。　He　did　it　very　casually；　with　no　expression　at　all　on　his　face。　But　I　knew；　from　the　vibes；　that　our　peace　was　about　to　be　shattered。
　　〃What　was　that？〃　I　asked　him。
　　He　shrugged；　smiling　vaguely　at　the　waitress　who　was　standing　about　ten　feet　away；　at　the　end　of　the　counter；　keeping　her　back　to　us　while　she　pondered　the　napkin。　Finally　she　turned　and　stared。。。then　she　stepped　resolutely　forward　and　tossed　the　napkin　at　my　attorney。
　　〃What　is　this？〃　she　snapped。
　　〃A　napkin；〃　said　my　attorney。