Fear and loathing in Las Vegas, and other American stories Read Online Free Page A

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
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 sunglasses 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
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 piss out of him.”
    “Good,” I said. “But what about our room? And the golf shoes? We’re right in the middle of a fucking reptile zoo! And somebody’s giving
booze
to these goddamn things! It won’t be long before they tear us to shreds. Jesus, look at the floor! Have you ever
seen
so much blood? How many have they killed
already
?” I pointed across the room to a group that seemed to be staring at us. “Holy shit, 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. Shit, let’s get it over with. You handle that, and I’ll get the room.”

4.
Hideous Music and the Sound of Many Shotguns . . . Rude Vibes on a Saturday Evening in Vegas

    We finally got into the suite around dusk, and my attorney was immediately on the phone to room service—ordering four club sandwiches, four shrimp cocktails, a quart of rum and nine fresh grapefruits. “Vitamin C,” he explained. “We’ll need all we can get.”
    I agreed. By this time the drink was beginning to cut the acid and my hallucinations were down to a tolerable level. The room service waiter had a vaguely reptilian cast to his features, but I was no longer seeing huge pterodactyls lumbering around the corridors in pools of fresh blood. The only problem now was a gigantic neon sign outside the window, blocking our view of the mountains—millions of colored balls running around a very complicated track, strange symbols & filigree, giving off a loud hum. . . .
    “Look outside,” I said.
    “Why?”
    “There’s a big . . . machine in the sky, . . . some kind of electric snake . . . coming straight at us.”
    “Shoot it,” said my attorney.
    “Not yet,” I said. “I want to study its habits.”
    He went over to the corner and began pulling on a chain to close the drapes. “Look,” he said, “you’ve got to stop this talk about snakes and leeches and lizards and that stuff. It’s making me sick.”
    “Don’t worry,” I said.
    “Worry?
Jesus, I almost went crazy down there in the bar. They’ll never let us back in that place—not after your scene at the press table.”
    “What scene?”
    “You bastard,” he said. “I left you alone for
three minutes!
You scared the shit out of those people! Waving that goddamn marlin spike around and yelling about reptiles. You’re lucky I came back in time. They were ready to call the cops. I said you were only drunk and that I was taking you up to your room for a cold shower. Hell, the only reason they gave us the press passes was to get you out of there.”
    He was pacing around nervously. “Jesus, that scene straightened me right out! I
must
have some drugs. What have you done with the mescaline?”
    “The kit-bag,” I said.
    He opened the