Хантер Стоктон Томпсон – Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas / Страх и отвращение в Лас-Вегасе (страница 3)

“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.

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