thunter.fearloathinglasvegas-第6节

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　　But　now…even　before　the　spectacle　got　under　way…there　were　signs　that　we　might　be　losing　control　of　the　situation。　Here　we　were　on　this　fine　Nevada　morning；　this　cool　bright　dawn　on　the　desert；　hunkered　down　at　some　greasy　bar　in　a　concrete　blockhouse　&　gambling　casino　called　the　〃Mint　Gun　Club〃　about　ten　miles　out　of　Vegas。。。and　with　the　race　about　to　start；　we　were　dangerously　disorganized。
　　Outside；　the　lunatics　were　playing　with　their　motorcycles；　taping　the　headlights；　topping　off　oil　in　the　forks；　last　minute　bolt…tightening　（carburetor　screws；　manifold　nuts；　etc。）　and　the　first　ten　bikes　blasted　off　on　the　stroke　of　nine。　It　was　extremely　exciting　and　we　all　went　outside　to　watch。　The　flag　went　down　and　these　ten　poor　buggers　popped　their　clutches　and　zoomed　into　the　first　turn；　all　together；　then　somebody　grabbed　the　lead　（a　405　Husquavarna；　as　I　recall）；　and　a　cheer　went　up　as　the　rider　screwed　it　on　and　disappeared　in　a　cloud　of　dust。
　　〃Well；　that's　that；〃　somebody　said。　〃They'll　be　back　around　in　an　hour　or　so。　Let's　go　back　to　the　bar。〃　But　not　yet。　No。　There　were　something　like　a　hundred　and　ninety　more　bikes　waiting　to　start。　They　went　off　ten　at　a　time；　every　two　minutes。　At　first　it　was　possible　to　watch　them　out　to　a　distance　of　some　two　hundred　yards　from　the　starting　line。　But　this　visibility　didn't　last　long。　The　third　brace　of　ten　disappeared　into　the　dust　about　a　hundred　yards　from　where　we　stood。。。and　by　the　time　they'd　sent　off　the　first　hundred　（with　still　another　hundred　to　go）；　our　visibility　was　down　to　something　like　fifty　feet。　We　could　see　as　far　as　the　hay…bales　at　the　end　of　the　pits。。。
　　Beyond　that　point　the　incredible　dustcloud　that　would　hang　over　this　part　of　the　desert　for　the　next　two　days　was　already　formed　up　solid。　None　of　us　realized；　at　the　time；　that　this　was　the　last　we　would　see　of　the　〃Fabulous　Mint　400〃…By　noon　it　was　hard　to　see　the　pit　area　from　the　bar/casino；　one　hundred　feet　away　in　the　blazing　sun。　The　idea　of　trying　to　〃cover　this　race〃　in　any　conventional　press…sense　was　absurd：　It　was　like　trying　to　keep　track　of　a　swimming　meet　in　an　Olympic…sized　pool　filled　with　talcum　powder　instead　of　water。　The　Ford　Motor　pany　had　e　through；　as　promised；　with　a　〃press　Bronco〃　and　a　driver；　but　after　a　few　savage　runs　across　the　desert…looking　for　motorcycles　and　occasionally　finding　one…I　abandoned　this　vehicle　to　the　photographers　and　went　back　to　the　bar。
　　It　was　time；　I　felt；　for　an　Agonizing　Reappraisal　of　the　whole　scene。　The　race　was　definitely　under　way。　I　had　witnessed　the　start；　I　was　sure　of　that　much。　But　what　now？　Rent　a　helicopter？　Get　back　in　that　stinking　Bronco？　Wander　out　on　that　goddamn　desert　and　watch　these　fools　race　past　the　checkpoints？　One　every　thirteen　minutes。。。　。
　　By　ten　they　were　spread　out　all　over　the　course。　It　was　no　longer　a　〃race〃；　now　it　was　an　Endurance　Contest。　The　only　visible　action　was　at　the　start/finish　line；　where　every　few　minutes　some　geek　would　e　speeding　out　of　the　dustcloud　and　stagger　off　his　bike；　while　his　pit　crew　would　gas　it　up　and　then　launch　it　back　onto　the　track　with　a　fresh　driver　for　another　fifty…mile　lap；　another　brutal　hour　of　kidney　killing　madness　out　there　in　that　terrible　dust…blind　limbo。
　　Somewhere　around　eleven；　I　made　another　tour　in　the　press　vehicle；　but　all　we　found　were　two　dune…buggies　full　of　what　looked　like　retired　petty…officers　from　San　Diego。　Theycut　us　off　in　a　dry…wash　and　demanded；　〃Where　is　the　damn　thing？〃
　　〃Beats　me；〃　I　said。　〃We're　just　good　patriotic　Americans　like　yourselves。〃　Both　of　their　buggies　were　covered　with　ominous　symbols：　Screaming　Eagles　carrying　American　Flags　in　their　claws；　a　slant…eyed　snake　being　chopped　to　bits　by　a　buzz…saw　made　of　stars　&　stripes；　and　one　of　the　vehicles　had　what　looked　like　a　machine…gun　mount　on　the　passenger　side。
　　They　were　having　a　bang…up　time…just　crashing　around　the　desert　at　top　speed　and　hassling　anybody　they　met。　〃What　outfit　you　fellas　with？〃　one　of　them　shouted。　The　engines　were　all　roaring；　we　could　barely　hear　each　other。〃The　sporting　press；〃　I　yelled。　〃We're　friendlies…hired　geeks。〃　Dim　smiles。
　　〃If　you　want　a　good　chase；〃　I　shouted；　〃you　should　get　after　that　skunk　from　CBS　News　up　ahead　in　the　big　black　jeep。　He's　the　man　responsible　for　The　Selling　Of　The　Pentagon。〃
　　〃Hot　damn！〃　two　of　them　screamed　at　once。　〃A　black　jeep；　you　say？〃　They　roared　off；　and　so　did　we。　Bouncing　across　the　rocks　&　scrub　oak/cactus　like　iron　tumbleweeds。　The　beer　in　my　hand　flew　up　and　hit　the　top；　then　fell　in　my　lap　and　soaked　my　crotch　with　warm　foam。
　　〃You're　fired；〃　I　said　to　the　driver。　〃Take　me　back　to　the　pits。〃　It　was　time；　I　felt；　to　get　grounded…to　ponder　this　rotten　assignment　and　figure　out　how　to　cope　with　it。　Lacerda　insisted　on　Total　Coverage。　He　wanted　to　goback　out　in　the　dust　storm　and　keep　trying　for　some　rare　bination　of　film　and　lense　that　might　penetrate　the　aweful　stuff。
　　〃Joe；〃　our　driver；　was　willing。　His　name　was　not　really　〃Joe；〃　but　that's　what　we'd　been　instructed　to　call　him。　I　had　talked　to　the　FOMOCO　boss　the　night　before；　and　when　we　mentioned　the　driver　he　was　assigning　to　us　he　said；　〃His　real　name　is　Steve；　but　you　should　just　call　him　Joe。〃
　　〃Why　not？〃　I　said；　We'll　call　him　anything　he　wants。　How　about　〃Zoom〃？〃
　　〃No　dice；〃　the　FOrd　man　said；　〃It　has　to　be　〃Joe〃。
　　Lacerda　agreed；　and　sometime　around　noon　he　went　out　on　the　desert　again；　in　the　pany　of　our　driver　Joe。　I　went　back　to　the　blockhouse　bar/casino　that　was　actually　the　Mint　Gun　Club…where　I　began　to　drink　heavily；　think　heavily；　and　make　many　heavy　notes。。。
　　
　　　6。　A　Night　on　the　Town。。nfrontation　at　the　Desert　Inn。。。Drug　Frenzy　at　the　Circus　Circus。。。
　　
　　Saturday　midnight。。。Memories　of　this　night　are　extremely　hazy。　All　I　have；　for　guide…pegs；　is　a　pocketful　of　keno　cards　and　cocktail　napkins；　all　covered　with　scribbled　notes。　Here　is　one：　〃Get　the　Ford　man；　demand　a　Bronco　for　race…observation　purposes　。　。。　photos？。。。Lacerda/call。。。why　not　a　helicopter？　。。。　Get　on　the　phone；　lean　on　the　fuckers。。。heavy　yelling。〃　Another　says：　〃Sign　on　Paradise　Boulevard…'Stopless　and　Topless'。。。bush…league　sex　pared　to　L。A。；　pasties　here…total　naked　public　humping　in　L。A。　。　。　。　Las　Vegas　is　a　society　of　armed　masturbators/gambling　is　the　kicker　here/sex　is　extra/weird　trip　for　high　rollers。。。house…whores　for　winners；　hand　jobs　for　the　bad　luck　crowd。〃　A　long　time　ago　when　I　lived　in　Big　Sur　down　the　road　from　Lionel　Olay　I　had　a　friend　who　liked　to　go　to　Reno　for　the　crap…shooting。　He　owned　a　sporting…goods　store　in　Carmel。　And　one　month　he　drove　his　Mercedes　highway…cruiser　to　Reno　on　three　consecutive　weekends…winning　heavilyinch　time。　After　three　trips　he　was　something　like　15；000　ahead；　so　he　decided　to　skip　the　fourth　weekend　and　take　friends　to　dinner　at　Nepenthe。　〃Always　quit　winners；〃　explained。　〃And　besides；　it's　a　long　drive。〃　On　Monday　morning　he　got　a　phone　call　from　Reno…from　the　general　manager　of　the　casino　he'd　been　working　out　on。　〃We　missed　you　this　weekend；〃　said　the　GM。　〃The　pit…men　were　bored。〃
　　〃Shucks；〃　said　my　friend。
　　So　the　next　weekend　he　flew　up　to　Reno　in　a　private　plane；　with　a　friend　and　two　girls…all　〃special　guests〃　of　the　GM。　Nothing　too　good　for　high　rollers。。。
　　And　on　Monday　morning　the　same　plane…the　casino's　plane…flew　him　back　to　the　Monterey　airport。　The　pilot　lent　him　a　dime　to　call　a　friend　for　a　ride　to　Carmel。　He　was　30；000　in　debt；　and　two　months　later　he　was　looking　down　the　barrel　of　one　of　the　world's　heaviest　collection　agendes。
　　So　he　sold　his　store；　but　that　didn't　make　the　nut。　They　could　wait　for　the　rest；　he　said…but　then　he　got　stomped；　which　convinced　him　that　maybe　he'd　be　better　off　borrowing　enough　money　to　pay　the　whole　wad。
　　Mainline　gambling　is　a　very　heavy　business…and　Las　Vegas　makes　Reno　seem　like　your　friendly　neighborhood　grocery　store。　For　a　loser；　Vegas　is　the　meanest　town　on　earth。　Until　about　a　year　ago；　there　was　a　giant　billboard　on　the　outskirts　of　Las　Vegas；　saying：
　　
　　DON'T　GAMBLE　WITH　MARIJUANA！　IN　NEVADA：　POSSESSION…20　YEARS　SALE…LIFE！
　　
　　So　I　was　not　entirely　at　ease　drifting　around　the　casinos　on　this　Saturday　night　with　a　car　full　of　marijuana　and　head　full　of　acid。　We　had　several　narrow　escapes：　at　one　point　I　tried　to　drive　the　Great　Red　Shark　into　the　laundry　room　of　the　Landmark　Hotel…but　the　door　was　too　narrow；　and　the　people　inside　seemed　dangerously　excited。
　　
　　We　drove　over　to　the　Desert　Inn；　to　catch　the　Debbie　Reynolds/Harry　James　show。　〃I　don't　know　about　you；〃　I　told　my　attorney；　〃but　in　my　line　of　business　it's　important　to　be　Hep。〃
　　〃Mine　too；〃　he　said。　〃But　as　your　attorney　I　advise　you　to　drive　over　to　the　Tropicana　and　pick　up　on　Guy　Lombardo。　He's　in　the　Blue　Room　with　his　Royal　Canadians。〃
　　〃Why？〃　I　asked。
　　〃Why　what？〃
　　〃Why　should　I　pay　out　my　hard…earned　dollars　to　watch　a　fucking　corpse？〃
　　〃Look；〃　he　said。　〃Why　are　we　out　here？　To　entertain　ourselves；　or　to　do　the　job？〃
　　〃The　job；　of　course；〃　I　replied。　We　were　driving　around　in　circles；　weaving　through　the　parking　lot　of　a　place　I　thought　was　the　Dunes；　but　it　turned　out　to　be　the　Thunderbir