The Great Shark Hunt Part 37

He stared at me, not blinking. Was he gritting his teeth?

"Can you hear hear me?" I yelled. 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 a.s.signment -- with overtones of extreme personal danger. . . h.e.l.l, 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 expecting that call, but I didn't know who it would come from. Do you follow me?" 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! attorney! He's not just some dingbat I found on the Strip. s.h.i.+t, He's not just some dingbat I found on the Strip. s.h.i.+t, look 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?" 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, h.e.l.l no!" no!" he blurted. 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, important, G.o.dd.a.m.nit! This is a G.o.dd.a.m.nit! This is a true story!" true story!" The car swerved sickeningly, then straightened out. The car swerved sickeningly, then straightened out.

"Keep your hands off my f.u.c.king 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? dumb beasts?

Because my story was was true. I was certain of that. And it was extremely important, I felt, for the true. I was certain of that. And it was extremely important, I felt, for the meaning 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 mescal on the side and beer chasers. And when the call came, I was ready. 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 mescal 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 my suite and he'll seek me out."

My attorney said nothing for a moment, then he suddenly came alive in his chair. "G.o.d h.e.l.l! h.e.l.l!" he exclaimed. "I think I see the he exclaimed. "I think I see the pattern. pattern. This one sounds like real trouble!" He tucked his khaki unders.h.i.+rt into his white rayon bellbottoms and called for more drink. "You're going to 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 h.e.l.l out of L.A. for at least forty-eight hours." He shook his head sadly. "This blows my weekend, because naturally I'll have to go with you -- and we'll have to arm ourselves." This one sounds like real trouble!" He tucked his khaki unders.h.i.+rt into his white rayon bellbottoms and called for more drink. "You're going to 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 h.e.l.l out of L.A. for at least forty-eight hours." He shook his head sadly. "This blows my weekend, 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 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 fatback grossero 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." 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 two thousand cubic inches, developing two hundred brake-horsepower at four thousand revolutions per minute on a magnesium frame with two styrofoam seats and a total curb weight of exactly two hundred pounds."

"That sounds about right for this gig," he said.

"It is," I a.s.sured him. "The f.u.c.ker's not much for turning, but it's pure h.e.l.l 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."

Strange Medicine on the Desert. . . a Crisis of Confidence I am still vaguely haunted by our hitchhiker's remark about how he'd "never rode in a convertible before." Here's this poor geek living in a world of convertibles zipping past him on the highways all the time, and he's never even ridden ridden in one. It made me feel like King Farouk. I was tempted to have my attorney pull into the next airport and arrange some kind of simple, common-law contract whereby we could just in one. It made me feel like King Farouk. I was tempted to have my attorney pull into the next airport and arrange some kind of simple, common-law contract whereby we could just give give the car to this unfortunate b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Just say: "Here, sign this and the car's yours." Give him the keys and then use the credit card to zap off on a jet to some place like Miami and rent another huge fireapple-red convertible for a drug-addled, top-speed run across the water all the way out to the last stop in Key West. . . and then trade the car off for a boat. Keep moving. the car to this unfortunate b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Just say: "Here, sign this and the car's yours." Give him the keys and then use the credit card to zap off on a jet to some place like Miami and rent another huge fireapple-red convertible for a drug-addled, top-speed run across the water all the way out to the last stop in Key West. . . and then trade the car off for a boat. Keep moving.

But this manic notion pa.s.sed quickly. There was no point in getting this harmless kid locked up -- and, besides, I had plans plans for this car. I was looking forward to flas.h.i.+ng around Las Vegas in the b.u.g.g.e.r. Maybe do a bit of serious drag-racing on the strip: Pull up to that big stoplight in front of the Flamingo and start screaming at the traffic: for this car. I was looking forward to flas.h.i.+ng around Las Vegas in the b.u.g.g.e.r. Maybe do a bit of serious drag-racing on the strip: Pull up to that big stoplight in front of the Flamingo and start screaming at the traffic: "Alright, you chickens.h.i.+t wimps! You pansies! When this G.o.dd.a.m.n light flips green, I'm gonna stomp down on this thing and blow every one of you gutless punks off the road!"

Right. Challenge the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds on their own turf. Come screeching up to the crosswalk, bucking and skidding with a bottle of rum in one hand and jamming the horn to drown out the music. . . glazed eyes insanely dilated behind tiny black, gold-rimmed greaser shades, screaming gibberish. . . a genuinely dangerous dangerous drunk, reeking of ether and terminal psychosis. Revving the engine up to a terrible high-pitched chattering whine, waiting for the light to change. . . drunk, reeking of ether and terminal psychosis. Revving the engine up to a terrible high-pitched chattering whine, waiting for the light to change. . .

How often does a chance like that come around? To jangle the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds right down to the core of their spleens. Old elephants limp off to the hills to die; old Americans go out to the highway and drive themselves to death with huge cars.

But our trip was different. It was a cla.s.sic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the national character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities possibilities of life in this country -- but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that. of life in this country -- but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that.

My attorney understood this concept, despite his racial handicap, but our hitchhiker was not an easy person to reach. He said said he understood, but I could see in his eyes that he didn't. He was lying to me. he understood, but I could see in his eyes that he didn't. He was lying to me.

The car suddenly veered off the road and we came to a sliding halt in the gravel. I was hurled against the dashboard. My attorney was slumped over the wheel. "What's wrong?" I yelled. "We can't stop here. here. This is bat country!" This is bat country!"

"My heart," he groaned. "Where's the medicine?"

"Oh," I said. "The medicine, yes, it's right here." I reached into the kit-bag for the amyls. The kid seemed petrified. "Don't worry," I said. "This man has a bad heart -- Angina Pectoris. But we have the cure for it. Yes, here they are." I picked four amyls out of the tin box and handed two of them to my attorney. He immediately cracked one under his nose, and I did likewise.

He took a long snort and fell back on the seat, staring straight up at the sun. "Turn up the f.u.c.king music!" he screamed. "My heart feels like an alligator! Volume! Clarity! Ba.s.s! We must have ba.s.s!" He flailed his naked arms at the sky. "What's wrong wrong with us? Are we G.o.dd.a.m.n with us? Are we G.o.dd.a.m.n old ladies?" old ladies?"

I turned both the radio and the tape machine up full bore. "You scurvy shyster b.a.s.t.a.r.d," I said. "Watch your language! You're talking to a doctor of journalism!"

He was laughing out of control. "What the f.u.c.k are we doing doing out here on this desert?" he shouted. "Somebody call the police! We need help!" out here on this desert?" he shouted. "Somebody call the police! We need help!"

"Pay no attention to this swine," I said to the hitchhiker. "He can't handle the medicine. Actually, we're both 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. . . 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 hunched around to face the hitchhiker. "The truth is," he said, "we're going to Vegas to croak a scag baron named Savage Henry. I've known him for years, but he ripped us off -- and you know what that means, right?"

I wanted to shut him off, but we were both helpless with laughter. What the f.u.c.k were were we doing out here on this desert, when we both had bad hearts? we doing out here on this desert, when we both had bad hearts?

"Savage Henry has cashed his check!" My attorney snarled at the kid in the back seat. "We're going to rip his lungs out!"

"And eat them!" I blurted. "That b.a.s.t.a.r.d won't get away with this! What's going on in this country when a sc.u.msucker like that can get away with sandbagging a doctor of journalism?"

n.o.body answered. My attorney was cracking another amyl and the kid was climbing out of the back seat, scrambling down the trunk lid. "Thanks for the ride," he yelled. "Thanks a lot lot. I I like like you guys. Don't worry about you guys. Don't worry about me." me." His feet hit the asphalt and he started running back towards Baker. Out in the middle of the desert, not a tree in sight. His feet hit the asphalt and he started running back towards Baker. Out in the middle of the desert, not a tree in sight.

"Wait a minute," I yelled. "Come back and get a beer." But apparently he couldn't hear me. The music was very loud, and he was moving away from us at good speed.

"Good riddance," said my attorney. "We had a real freak on our hands. That boy made me nervous. Did you see his eyes?" eyes?" He was still laughing. "Jesus," he said. "This is good medicine!" He was still laughing. "Jesus," he said. "This is good medicine!"

I opened the door and reeled around to the driver's side. "Move over," I said. "I'll drive. We have to get out of California before that kid finds a cop."

"s.h.i.+t, that'll be hours," said my attorney. "He's a hundred miles from anywhere."

"So are we," I said.

"Let's turn around and drive back to the Polo Lounge," he said. "They'll never look for us there."

I ignored him. "Open the tequila," I yelled as the wind-scream took over again; I stomped on the accelerator as we hurtled back onto the highway. Moments later he leaned over with a map. "There's a place up ahead called Mescal Springs," he said. "As your attorney, I advise you to stop and take a swim."

I shook my head. "It's absolutely imperative that we get to the Mint Hotel before the deadline for press registration," I said. "Otherwise, we might have to pay for our suite."

He nodded. "But let's forget that bulls.h.i.+t about the American Dream," he said. "The important important thing is the Great Samoan Dream." He was rummaging around in the kit-bag. "I think it's about time to chew up a blotter," he said. "That cheap mescaline wore off a long time ago, and I don't know if I can stand the smell of that G.o.dd.a.m.n ether any longer." thing is the Great Samoan Dream." He was rummaging around in the kit-bag. "I think it's about time to chew up a blotter," he said. "That cheap mescaline wore off a long time ago, and I don't know if I can stand the smell of that G.o.dd.a.m.n ether any longer."

"I like like it," I said. "We should soak a towel with the stuff and then put it down on the floorboard by the accelerator, so the fumes will rise up in my face all the way to Las Vegas." it," I said. "We should soak a towel with the stuff and then put it down on the floorboard by the accelerator, so the fumes will rise up in my face all the way to Las Vegas."

He was turning the tape ca.s.sette over. The radio was screaming: "Power to the People -- Right On!" John Lennon's political song, ten years too late. "That poor fool should have stayed where he was," said my attorney. "Punks like that just get in the way when they try to be serious."

"Speaking of serious," I said, "I think it's about time to get into the ether and the cocaine."

"Forget ether," he said. "Let's save it for soaking down the rug in the suite. But here's this. Your half of the suns.h.i.+ne blotter. Just chew it up like baseball gum."

I took the blotter and ate it. My attorney was now fumbling with the salt shaker containing the cocaine. Opening it. Spilling it. Then screaming and grabbing at the air, as our fine white dust blew up and out across the desert highway. A very expensive little twister rising up from the Great Red Shark. "Oh, jesus!" jesus!" he moaned. "Did you see what G.o.d just did to us?" he moaned. "Did you see what G.o.d just did to us?"

"G.o.d didn't do that!" I shouted. "You "You did it. You're a f.u.c.king narcotics agent! I was on to your stinking act from the start, you pig!" did it. You're a f.u.c.king narcotics agent! I was on to your stinking act from the start, you pig!"

"You better be careful," he said. And suddenly he was waving a fat black .357 magnum at me. One of those snub-nosed Colt Pythons with the beveled cylinder. "Plenty of vultures out here," he said. "They'll pick your bones clean before morning."

"You wh.o.r.e," I said. "When we get to Las Vegas I'll have you chopped into hamburger. What do you think the Drug Bund will do when I show up with a Samoan narcotics agent?"

"They'll kill us both," he said. "Savage Henry knows who I am. s.h.i.+t, I'm your attorney." attorney." He burst into wild laughter. "You're full of acid, you fool. It'll be a G.o.dd.a.m.n miracle if we can get to the hotel and check in before you turn into a wild animal. Are you ready for that? Checking into a Vegas hotel under a phony name with intent to commit capital fraud and a head full of acid?" He was laughing again, then he jammed his nose down toward the salt shaker, aiming the thin green roll of a $20 bill straight into what was left of the powder. He burst into wild laughter. "You're full of acid, you fool. It'll be a G.o.dd.a.m.n miracle if we can get to the hotel and check in before you turn into a wild animal. Are you ready for that? Checking into a Vegas hotel under a phony name with intent to commit capital fraud and a head full of acid?" He was laughing again, then he jammed his nose down toward the salt shaker, aiming the thin green roll of a $20 bill straight into what was left of the powder.

"How long do we have?" I said.

"Maybe thirty more minutes," he replied. "As your attorney I advise you to drive at top speed."

Las Vegas was just up ahead. I could see the strip/hotel skyline looming up through the blue desert ground-haze: The Sahara, the landmark, the Americana and the ominous Thunderbird -- a cl.u.s.ter of grey rectangles in the distance, rising out of the cactus.

Thirty minutes. It was going to be very close. The objective was the big tower of the Mint Hotel, downtown -- and if we didn't get there before we lost all control, there was also the Nevada State prison upstate in Carson City. I had been there once, but only for a talk with the prisoners -- and I didn't want to go back, for any reason at all. So there was really no choice: We would have to run the gauntlet, and acid be d.a.m.ned. Go through all the official gibberish, get the car into the hotel garage, work out on the desk clerk, deal with the bellboy, sign in for the press pa.s.ses -- all of it bogus, totally illegal, a fraud on its face, but of course it would have to be done.

"KILL THE BODY.

AND THE HEAD WILL DIE".

This line appears in my notebook, for some reason. Perhaps some connection with Joe Frazier. Is he still alive? Still able to talk? I watched that fight in Seattle -- horribly twisted about four seats down the aisle from the Governor. A very painful experience in every way, a proper end to the sixties: Tim Leary a prisoner of Eldridge Cleaver in Algeria, Bob Dylan clipping coupons in Greenwich Village, both Kennedys murdered by mutants, Owsley folding napkins on Terminal Island, and finally Ca.s.sius/Ali belted incredibly off his pedestal by a human hamburger, a man on the verge of death. Joe Frazier, like Nixon, had finally prevailed for reasons that people like me refused to understand -- at least not out loud.

. . . But that was some other era, burned out and long gone from the brutish realities of this foul year of Our Lord, 1971. A lot of things had changed in those years. And now I was in Las Vegas as the motor sports editor of this fine slick magazine that had sent me out here in the Great Red Shark for some reason that n.o.body claimed to understand. "Just check it out," they said, "and we'll take it from there. . ."

Indeed. Check it out. But when we finally arrived at the Mint Hotel my attorney was unable to cope artfully with the registration procedure. We were forced to stand in line with all the others -- which proved to be extremely difficult under the circ.u.mstances. I kept telling myself: "Be quiet, be calm, say nothing. . . speak only when spoken to: name, rank and press affiliation, nothing else, ignore this terrible drug, pretend it's not happening. . ."

There is no way to explain the terror I felt when I finally lunged up to the clerk and began babbling. All my well-rehea.r.s.ed lines fell apart under that woman's stoney glare. "Hi there," I said. "My name is. . . ah, Raoul Duke. . . yes, on the list, on the list, that's for sure. Free lunch, final wisdom, total coverage. . . why not? I have my attorney with me and I realize of course that that's for sure. Free lunch, final wisdom, total coverage. . . why not? I have my attorney with me and I realize of course that his his name is not on the list, but we name is not on the list, but we must must have that suite, yes, this man is actually my have that suite, yes, this man is actually my driver. driver. We brought this Red Shark all the way from the Strip and now it's time for the desert, right? Yes. Just check the list and you'll see. Don't worry. What's the score here? What's next?" We brought this Red Shark all the way from the Strip and now it's time for the desert, right? Yes. Just check the list and you'll see. Don't worry. What's the score here? What's next?"

The woman never blinked. "Your room's not ready yet," she said. "But there's somebody looking for you."

"No!" I shouted. "Why? We haven't done done anything yet!" My legs felt rubbery. I gripped the desk and sagged toward her as she held out the envelope, but I refused to accept it. The woman's face was anything yet!" My legs felt rubbery. I gripped the desk and sagged toward her as she held out the envelope, but I refused to accept it. The woman's face was changing: changing: swelling, pulsing. . . horrible green jowls and fangs jutting out, the face of a Moray Eel! Deadly poison! I lunged backwards into my attorney, who gripped my arm as he reached out to take the note. "I'll handle this," he said to the Moray woman. "This man has a bad heart, but I have plenty of medicine. My name is Doctor Gonzo. Prepare our suite at once. We'll be in the bar." swelling, pulsing. . . horrible green jowls and fangs jutting out, the face of a Moray Eel! Deadly poison! I lunged backwards into my attorney, who gripped my arm as he reached out to take the note. "I'll handle this," he said to the Moray woman. "This man has a bad heart, but I have plenty of medicine. My name is Doctor Gonzo. Prepare our suite at once. We'll be in the bar."

The woman shrugged as he led me away. In a town full of bedrock crazies, n.o.body even notices notices an acid freak. We struggled through the crowded lobby and found two stools at the bar. My attorney ordered two cuba libres with beer and mescal on the side, then he opened the envelope. "Who's Lacerda?" he asked. "He's waiting for us in a room on the twelfth floor." an acid freak. We struggled through the crowded lobby and found two stools at the bar. My attorney ordered two cuba libres with beer and mescal on the side, then he opened the envelope. "Who's Lacerda?" he asked. "He's waiting for us in a room on the twelfth floor."

I couldn't remember. Lacerda? The name rang a bell, but I couldn't concentrate. Terrible things were happening all around us. Right next to me a huge reptile was gnawing on a woman's neck, the carpet was a blood-soaked sponge -- impossible to walk on it, no footing at all. "Order some golf shoes," I whispered. "Otherwise, we'll never get out of this place alive. You notice these lizards don't have any trouble moving around in this muck -- that's because they have claws claws on their feet." on their feet."

"Lizards?" he said. "If you think we're in trouble now, wait till you see what's happening in the elevators." He took off his Brazilian sungla.s.ses and I could see he'd been crying. "I just went upstairs to see this man Lacerda," he said. "I told him we knew what he was up to. He says says he's a photographer, but when I mentioned Savage Henry -- well, that did it; he freaked. I could see it in his eyes. He knows we're onto him." he's a photographer, but when I mentioned Savage Henry -- well, that did it; he freaked. I could see it in his eyes. He knows we're onto him."

"Does he understand we have magnums?" I said.

"No. But I told him we had a Vincent Black Shadow. That scared the p.i.s.s out of him."

"Good," I said. "But what about our room? And the golf shoes? We're right in the middle of a f.u.c.king reptile zoo! And somebody's giving booze booze to these G.o.dd.a.m.n things! It won't be long before they tear us to shreds. Jesus, look at the floor! Have you ever to these G.o.dd.a.m.n things! It won't be long before they tear us to shreds. Jesus, look at the floor! Have you ever seen seen so much blood? How many have they killed so much blood? How many have they killed already already?" I pointed across the room to a group that seemed to be staring at us. "Holy s.h.i.+t, look at that bunch over there! They've spotted us!" I pointed across the room to a group that seemed to be staring at us. "Holy s.h.i.+t, look at that bunch over there! They've spotted us!"

"That's the press table," he said. "That's where you have to sign in for our credentials. s.h.i.+t, let's get it over with. You handle that, and I'll get the room."

Back Door Beauty. . . & Finally a Bit of Serious Drag Racing on the Strip Sometime around midnight my attorney wanted coffee. He had been vomiting fairly regularly as we drove around the Strip, and the right flank of the Whale was badly streaked. We were idling at a stoplight in front of the Silver Slipper beside a big blue Ford with Oklahoma plates. . . two hoggish-looking couples in the car, probably cops from Muskogee using the Drug Conference to give their wives a look at Vegas. They looked like they'd just beaten Caesar's Palace for about $33 at the blackjack tables, and now they were headed for the Circus-Circus to whoop it up. . .

. . . but suddenly, they found themselves next to a white Cadillac convertible all covered with vomit and a 300-pound Samoan in a yellow fishnet T-s.h.i.+rt yelling at them: "Hey there! You folks want to buy some heroin?"

No reply. No sign of recognition. They'd been warned about this kind of c.r.a.p: Just ignore it. . .

"Hey, honkies!" my attorney screamed. "G.o.dd.a.m.nit, I'm serious! I want to sell you some pure f.u.c.kin' smack smack!" He was leaning out of the car, very, close to them. But still n.o.body answered. I glanced over, very briefly, and saw four middle-American faces frozen with shock, staring straight ahead.

We were in the middle lane. A quick left turn would be illegal. We would have to go straight ahead when the light changed, then escape at the next corner. I waited, tapping the accelerator nervously. . .

My attorney was losing control: "Cheap heroin!" he was shouting. "This is the real stuff! You won't get hooked! G.o.d-d.a.m.nit, I know know what I have here!" He whacked on the side of the car, as if to get their attention .. . but they wanted no part of us. what I have here!" He whacked on the side of the car, as if to get their attention .. . but they wanted no part of us.

"You folks never talked to a vet vet before?" said my attorney. "I just got back from Veet Naam. This is before?" said my attorney. "I just got back from Veet Naam. This is scag, scag, folks! Pure scag!" folks! Pure scag!"

Suddenly the light changed and the Ford bolted off like a rocket. I stomped on the accelerator and stayed right next to them for about two hundred yards, watching for cops in the mirror while my attorney kept screaming at them: "Shoot! f.u.c.k! Scag! Blood! Heroin! Rape! Cheap! Communist! Jab it right into your f.u.c.king eyeb.a.l.l.s?"

We were approaching the Circus-Circus at high speed and the Oklahoma car was veering left, trying to muscle into the turn lane. I stomped the Whale into pa.s.sing gear and we ran fender to fender for a moment. He wasn't up to hitting me; there was horror in his eyes. . .

The man in the back seat lost control of himself. . . lunging across his wife and snarling wildly: "You dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! Pull over and I'll kill you! G.o.d d.a.m.n you! You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" He seemed ready to leap out the window and into our car, crazy with rage. Luckily the Ford was a two-door. He couldn't get out.

We were coming up to the next stoplight and the Ford was still trying to move left. We were both running full bore. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that we'd left other traffic far behind; there was a big opening to the right. So I mashed on the brake, hurling my attorney against the dashboard, and in the instant the Ford surged ahead I cut across his tail and zoomed into a side-street. A sharp right turn across three lanes of traffic. But it worked. We left the Ford stalled in the middle of the intersection, hung in the middle of a screeching left turn. With a little luck, he'd be arrested for reckless driving.

My attorney was laughing as we careened in low gear, with the lights out, through a dusty tangle of back streets behind the Desert Inn. "Jesus Christ," he said. "Those Okies were getting excited. That guy in the back seat was trying to bite bite me! s.h.i.+t, he was frothing at the mouth." He nodded solemnly. "I should have maced the f.u.c.ker. . . a criminal psychotic, total breakdown. . . you never know when they're likely to explode." me! s.h.i.+t, he was frothing at the mouth." He nodded solemnly. "I should have maced the f.u.c.ker. . . a criminal psychotic, total breakdown. . . you never know when they're likely to explode."

I swung the Whale into a turn that seemed to lead out of the maze -- but instead of skidding, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d almost rolled.