thunter.fearloathinglasvegas-第25部分

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y　drawn　a　goodly　contingent　of　undercover　narcs　and　other　twilight　types。　An　assistant　DA　from　Chicago　wore　a　light…tan　sleeve　less　knit　suit：　His　lady　was　the　star　of　the　Dunes　casino；　she　flashed　through　the　place　like　Grace　Slick　at　a　Finch　College　class　reunion。　They　were　a　classic　couple；　stone　swingers。
　　Just　because　you're　a　cop；　these　days；　doesn't　mean　you　can't　be　With　It。　And　this　conference　attracted　some　real　peacocks。　But　my　own　costume…40　FBI　wingtips　and　a　Pat　Boone　madras　sportcoat…was　just　about　right　for　the　mass　median；　because　for　every　urban…hipster；　there　were　about　twenty　crude…looking　rednecks　who　could　have　passed　for　assistant　football　coaches　at　Mississippi　State。
　　These　were　the　people　who　made　my　attorney　nervous。　Like　most　Californians；　he　was　shocked　to　actually　see　these　people　from　The　Outback。　Here　was　the　cop…cream　from　Middle　America。。。and；　Jesus；　they　looked　and　talked　like　a　gang　of　drunken　pig　farmers！
　　
　　I　tried　to　console　him。　〃They're　actually　nice　people；〃　I　said；　〃once　you　get　to　know　them。〃　He　smiled：　〃Know　them？　Are　you　kidding？　Man；　I　know　these　people　in　my　goddamn　blood！〃
　　〃Don't　mention　that　word　around　here；〃　I　said。　〃You'll　get　them　excited。〃　He　nodded。　〃You're　right。　I　saw　these　bastards　in　Easy　Rider；　but　I　didn't　believe　they　were　real。　Not　like　this。　Not　hundreds　of　them！〃　My　attorney　was　wearing　a　duoble…breasted　blue　pinstripe　suit；　a　far　more　stylish　outfit　than　my　own。。；　but　it　made　him　exceedingly　nervous。　Because　to　be　stylishly　dressed　in　this　crowd　meant　that　you　were　probably　an　undercover　cop；　and　my　attorney　makes　his　living　with　people　who　are　very　sensitive　in　that　area。　〃This　is　a　fucking　nightmare！〃　he　kept　muttering。
　　〃Here　I　am　infiltrating　a　goddamn　Pig　confer　ence；　but　sure　as　hell　there's　some　dope…dealing　bomb　freak　in　this　town　who's　going　to　recognize　me　and　put　the　word　out　that　I'm　out　here　partying　with　a　thousand　cops！'　We　all　wore　name　tags。　They　came　with　the　100　〃registra　tion　fee。〃　Mine　said　I　was　a　〃private　investigator〃　from　L。A。…which　was　true；　in　a　sense；　and　my　attorney's　name…tag　identified　him　as　an　expert　in　〃Criminal　Drug　Analysis。〃　Which　was　also　true；　in　a　sense。
　　But　nobody　seemed　to　care　who　was　what；　or　why。　Security　was　too　loose　for　that　kind　of　gritty　paranoia。　But　we　were　also　a　bit　tense　because　we'd　given　the　registrar　a　bad　check　for　our　dual　registration　fee。　It　was　a　check　from　one　of　my　attorney's　pimp/drug　underworld　clients　that　he　assumed；　from　long　experience；　was　absolutely　worthless。
　　
　　　7。　If　You　Don't　Know；　e　To　Learn。。。If　You　Know；　e　To　Teach
　　
　　The　first　session…the　opening　remarks…lasted　most　of　the　afternoon。　We　sat　patiently　through　the　first　two　hours；　al　though　it　was　clear　from　the　start　that　we　weren't　going　to　Learn　anything　and　it　was　equally　clear　that　we'd　be　crazy　to　try　any　Teaching。　It　was　easy　enough　to　sit　there　with　a　head　full　of　mescaline　and　listen　to　hour　after　hour　of　irrelevant　gibberish。。。　There　was　certainly　no　risk　involved。　These　poor　bastards　didn't　know　mescaline　from　macaroni。
　　I　suspect　we　could　have　done　the　whole　thing　on　acid。。。　for　some　of　the　people；　there　were　faces　and　bodies　in　that　group　who　would　have　been　absolutely　unendurable　on　acid。　The　sight　of　a　344…pound　police　chief　from　Waco；　Texas；　necking　openly　with　his　290…pound　wife　（or　whatever　woman　he　had　with　him）　when　the　lights　were　turned　off　for　a　Dope　Film　was　just　barely　tolerable　on　mescaline…which　is　mainly　sensual/surface　drug　that　exaggerates　reality；　instead　of　altering　it…but　with　head　full　of　acid；　the　sight　of　two　fantastically　obese　human　beings　far　gone　in　a　public　grope　while　a　thousand　cops　all　around　them　watched　a　movie　about　of　the　〃dangers　of　marijuana〃　would　not　be　emotionally　acceptable。　The　brain　would　reject　it：　The　medulla　would　attempt　to　close　itself　off　from　the　signals　it　was　getting　from　the　frontal　lobes。。。　and　the　middle…brain；　meanwhile；　would　be　trying　desperately　to　put　a　different　interpretation　on　the　scene；　before　passing　it　back　to　the　medulla　and　the　risk　of　physical　action。
　　Acid　is　a　relatively　plex　drug；　in　its　effects；　while　mesca　line　is　pretty　simple　and　straightforward…but　in　a　scene　like　this；　the　difference　was　academic。　There　was　simply　no　call；　at　this　conference；　for　anything　but　a　massive　consumption　of　Downers：　Reds；　Grass　and　Booze；　because　the　whole　program　had　apparently　been　set　up　by　people　who　had　been　in　a　Seconal　stupor　since　1964。
　　Here　were　more　than　a　thousand　top…level　cops　telling　each　other　〃we　must　e　to　terms　with　the　drug　culture；〃　but　they　had　no　idea　where　to　start。　They　couldn't　even　find　the　goddamn　thing。　There　were　rumors　in　the　hallways　that　maybe　the　Mafia　was　behind　it。　Or　perhaps　the　Beatles。　At　one　point　somebody　in　the　audience　asked　Bboomquist　if　he　thought　Margaret　Mead's　〃strange　behavior；〃　of　late；　might　possibly　be　explained　by　a　private　marijuana　addiction。
　　〃I　really　don't　know；〃　Bboomquist　replied。　〃But　at　her　age；　if　she　did　smoke　grass；　she'd　have　one　hell　of　a　trip。〃　The　audience　roared　with　laughter　at　this　remark。
　　
　　My　attorney　leaned　over　to　whisper　that　he　was　leaving。　〃I'll　be　down　in　the　casino；〃　he　said。　〃I　know　a　hell　of　a　lot　better　ways　to　waste　my　time　than　listening　to　this　bullshit。〃　He　stood　up；　knocking　his　ashtray　off　the　arm　of　his　chair；　and　plunged　down　the　aisle　toward　the　door。
　　The　seats　were　not　arranged　for　random　movement。　People　tried　to　make　a　path　for　him；　but　there　was　no　room　to　move。
　　〃Watch　yourself！〃　somebody　shouted　as　he　bulled　over　them。
　　〃Fuck　you！〃　he　snarled。
　　〃Down　in　front！〃　somebody　else　yelled。
　　By　now　he　was　almost　to　the　door。　〃I　have　to　get　out！〃　he　shouted。。　〃I　don't　belong　here！〃
　　〃Good　riddance；〃　said　a　voice。
　　He　paused；　looking　around…then　he　seemed　to　think　better　of　it；　and　kept　moving。　By　the　time　he　got　to　the　exit　the　whole　rear　of　the　room　was　in　turmoil。　Even　Bloomquist；　far　up　front　on　the　stage；　seemed　aware　of　a　distant　trouble。　He　stopped　talking　and　peered　nervously　in　the　direction　of　the　noise。　Probably　he　thought　a　brawl　had　erupted…maybe　a　racial　conflict　of　some　kind；　something　that　couldn't　be　helped。
　　I　stood　up　and　plunged　toward　the　door。　It　seemed　like　as　good　a　time　as　any　to　flee。　〃Pardon　me；　I　feel　sick；〃　I　said　to　the　first　leg　I　stepped　on。　It　jerked　back；　and　I　said　it　again：　〃Sorry；　I'm　about　to　be　sick。。。sorry；　sick。。；　beg　pardon；　yes；　feeling　sick　。。。　This　time　a　path　opened　very　nicely。　Not　a　word　of　protest。　Hands　actually　helped　me　along。　They　feared　I　was　about　to　vomit；　and　nobody　wanted　it…at　least　not　on　them。　I　made　it　to　the　door　in　about　forty…five　seconds。
　　
　　My　attorney　was　downstairs　at　the　bar；　talking　to　a　sporty…looking　cop　about　forty　whose　plastic　name…tag　said　he　was　the　DA　from　someplace　in　Georgia。　〃I'm　a　whiskey　man；　myself；〃　he　was　saying。　〃We　don't　have　much　problem　with　drugs　down　where　I　e　from。〃
　　〃You　will；〃　said　my　attorney。　〃One　of　these　nights　you'll　wake　up　and　find　a　junkie　tearing　your　bedroom　apart。〃
　　〃Naw！〃　said　the　Georgia　man。　〃Not　down　in　my　parts。〃　I　joined　them　and　ordered　a　tall　glass　of　rum；　with　ice。
　　〃You're　another　one　of　these　California　boys；〃　he　said。　Your　friend　here's　been　tellin'　me　about　dope　fiends。〃
　　〃They're　everywhere；〃　I　said。　〃Nobody's　safe。　And　sure　as　not　in　the　South。　They　like　the　warm　weather。〃　They　work　in　pairs；〃　said　my　attorney。　〃Sometimes　in　gangs。　They'll　climb　right　into　your　bedroom　and　sit　on　your　chest；　with　big　Bowie　knives。〃　He　nodded　solemniy。　'〃They　might　even　sit　your　wife's　chest…put　the　blade　right　down　on　her　throat。〃
　　〃Jesus　god　almighty；〃
　　〃said　the　southerner。　〃What　the　hell's　goin'　on　in　this　country？〃
　　〃You'd　never　believe　it；〃　said　my　attorney。　〃In　L。A。　it's　out　of　control。　First　it　was　drugs；　now　it's　witchcraft。〃
　　〃Witchcraft？　Shit；　you　can't　mean　it！〃
　　〃Read　the　newspapers；〃　I　said。　〃Man；　you　don't　know　trouble　until　you　have　to　face　down　a　bunch　of　these　addicts　gone　crazy　for　human　sacrifice！〃
　　〃Naw！〃　he　said。　〃That's　science　fiction　stuff！〃
　　〃Not　where　we　operate；〃　said　my　attorney。　〃Hell；　in　Malibu　alone；　t