Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

We had sampled almost everything else, and now—yes, it was time for a long snort of ether, and then do the next hundred miles in a horrible, slobbering sort of spastic stupor. The only way to keep alert on ether is to do up a lot of amyls—not all at once, but steadily, just enough to maintain the focus at ninety miles an hour through Barstow. "'Man, this is the way to travel,' said my attorney. He leaned over to turn the volume up on the radio, humming along with the rhythm section and kind of moaning the words, "'One toke over the line, sweet Jesus, one toke over the line.' "'One toke, you poor fool! Wait'll you see those goddamn bats!' I could barely hear the radio, slumped over on the far side of the seat grappling with the tape recorder turned all the way up on sympathy for the devil. That was the only tape we had, so we played it constantly, over and over, as a kind of demented counterpoint to the radio, and also to maintain our rhythm on the road. A constant speed is good for gas mileage, and for some reason that seemed important at the time. Indeed, on a trip like this one must be careful about gas consumption, avoid those quick bursts of acceleration that drag blood to the back of the brain. My attorney saw the hitchhiker long before I did. "'Let's give this boy a lift,' he said, and before I could mount any argument, he was stopped, and this poor oaky kid was running up to the car with a big grin on his face, saying, "'Hot damn, I never rode in a convertible before.' "'Is that right?' I said. "'Well, I guess you're about ready, eh?' The kid nodded eagerly as we roared off. "'We're your friends,' said my attorney. "'We're not like the others.' "'Oh, Christ,' I thought, "'he's gone around the bend.' "'No more of that talk,' I said sharply, "'or I'll put the leeches on you.' He grinned, seeming to understand. Luckily, the noise in the car was so awful, between the wind and the radio and the tape machine, that the kid in the back seat couldn't hear a word we were saying. Or could he? "'How long can we maintain?' I wondered. "'How long before one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? "'This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family. Will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? "'If so, well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere. "'Because it goes without saying that we can't turn him loose. "'He'll report us at once to some kind of outback Nazi law enforcement agency, and they'll run us down like dogs.' "'Jesus, did I say that? Just thinking. Was I talking? Did they hear me?' I glanced over at my attorney, but he seemed oblivious, watching the road, driving our great red shark along at a hundred and ten or so. There was no sound from the back seat. "'Maybe I'd better have a chat with this boy, I thought. Perhaps if I explain things, he'll rest easy.' "'Of course.' I leaned around in the seat and gave him a fine big smile, admiring the shape of his skull. "'By the way,' I said, "'there's one thing you should probably understand.' He stared at me, not blinking. Was he gritting his teeth? "'Can you hear me?' I yelled. He nodded. "'That's good,' I said, "'because I want you to know that we're on our way to Las Vegas to find the American dream.' I smiled. "'That's why we rented this car. It was the only way to do it. Can you grasp that?' He nodded again, but his eyes were nervous. "'I want you to have all the background,' I said, "'because this is a very ominous assignment with overtones of extreme personal danger. Hell, I forgot all about this beer. You want one?' He shook his head. "'How about some ether?' I said. "'What?' "'Never mind. Let's get right to the heart of this thing. You see, about twenty-four hours ago we were sitting in the polo lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel, in the patio section, of course, and we were just sitting there under a palm tree when this uniformed dwarf came up to me with a pink telephone and said, "'This must be the call you've been waiting for all this time, sir.' I laughed and ripped open a beer can that foamed all over the back seat while I kept talking. And you know, he was right. I'd been expecting that call, but I didn't know who it would come from. Do you follow me?' The boy's face was a mask of pure fear and bewilderment. I blundered on. "'I want you to understand that this man at the wheel is my attorney. He's not just some dingbat I found on the strip. Shit, look at him! He doesn't look like you or me, right? That's because he's a foreigner. I think he's probably Samoan, but it doesn't matter, does it? Are you prejudiced?' "'Oh, hell no!' he blurted. "'I didn't think so,' I said, "'because in spite of his race, this man is extremely valuable to me.' I glanced over at my attorney, but his mind was somewhere else. I whacked the back of the driver's seat with my fist. "'This is important, goddammit! This is a true story!' The car swerved sickeningly, then straightened out. "'Keep your hands off my fuckin' neck!' my attorney screamed. The kid in the back looked like he was ready to jump right out of the car and take his chances. Our vibrations were getting nasty, but why? I was puzzled, frustrated. Was there no communication in this car? Had we deteriorated to the level of dumb beasts? Because my story was true, I was certain of that, and it was extremely important, I felt, for the meaning of our journey to be made absolutely clear. We had actually been sitting there in the polo lounge for many hours, drinking Singapore slings with mezcal on the side and beer chasers, and when the call came, I was ready. The dwarf approached our table cautiously, as I recall, and when he handed me the pink telephone, I said nothing, merely listened, and then I hung up, turning to face my attorney. "'That was headquarters,' I said. "'They want me to go to Las Vegas at once and make contact with a Portuguese photographer named Lacerda. He'll have the details. All I have to do is check into my suite, and he'll seek me out.' My attorney said nothing for a moment. Then he suddenly came alive in his chair. "'God, hell!' he exclaimed. "'I think I see the pattern. This one sounds like real trouble.' He tucked his khaki undershirt into his white rayon bell-bottoms and called for more drink. "'You're gonna need plenty of legal advice before this thing is over,' he said, "'and my first advice is that you should rent a very fast car with no top and get the hell out of L.A. for at least forty-eight hours.' He shook his head sadly. "'This blows my week in, because naturally I'll have to go with you, and we'll have to arm ourselves.' "'Why not?' I said. "'If a thing like this is worth doing at all, it's worth doing right. We'll need some decent equipment and plenty of cash on the line, if only for drugs and a super-sensitive tape recorder for the sake of a permanent record.' "'What kind of a story is this?' he asked. "'The Mint 400,' I said. "'It's the richest off-the-road race for motorcycles and dune buggies in the history of organized sport. A fantastic spectacle in honor of some fat-backed grossero named Del Webb, who owns the luxurious Mint Hotel in the heart of downtown Las Vegas. At least that's what the press release says. My man in New York just read it to me.' "'Well,' he said, "'as your attorney, I advise you to buy a motorcycle. How else can you cover a thing like this righteously?' "'No way,' I said. "'Where can we get hold of a Vincent Black Shadow?' "'What's that?' "'A fantastic bike,' I said. "'The new model is something like 2,000 cubic inches, developing 200 brake horsepower at 4,000 revolutions per minute on a magnesium frame with two Styrofoam seats and a total curb weight of exactly 200 pounds.' "'That sounds about right for this gig,' he said. "'It is,' I assured him. "'The fucker's not much for turning, but it's pure hell on the straightaway. It'll outrun the F-111 until takeoff.' "'Takeoff,' he said. "'Can we handle that much torque?' "'Absolutely,' I said. "'I'll call New York for some cash.'" Two. The seizure of $300 from a pig woman in Beverly Hills. The New York office was not familiar with the Vincent Black Shadow. They referred me to the Los Angeles Bureau, which is actually in Beverly Hills.