Inherent Vice (23 page)

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Authors: Thomas Pynchon

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Political, #Satire

BOOK: Inherent Vice
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Was it possible, that at every gathering—concert, peace rally, love-in,
be-in, and freak-in, here, up north, back East, wherever—those dark crews had been busy all along, reclaiming the music, the resistance to
power, the sexual desire from epic to everyday, all they could sweep up,
for the ancient forces of greed and fear?


Gee,

he said to himself out loud,

I dunno ...

At which point he ran into Jade just coming out of one of the bathrooms.

What, you again?


Drove up with Bambi—she heard that Spotted Dick were staying here, so I had to come along, try and keep her out of trouble?


Into these folks, is she?


Spotted Dick black-light posters on the walls, Spotted Dick sheets and pillowcases on the bed, Spotted Dick T-shirts, coffee cups, souvenir roach clips. And twenty-four hours a day, Spotted Dick albums on the stereo. Man. You know this English ukulele player named George Formby?


Sure, Hermans Hermits covered one of his.


Well these guys have covered everything else. I mean I try to be cool
with it. Spotted Dick are also known to be into some weird forms of rec
reation, and I think that

s the main attraction for Bambi.


Haven

t seen her around tonight.


Oh, she already split with the lead guitar, they

re on the way up to Leo Carrillo looking for some cricket game.


Night cricket?


Yeah, Somerset told her it was like baseball? Lights and so forth.
Unless ... oh no, do you think they were running a number on me?


Well if you do need a ride back, let me know. And if anybody asks,
I

m a rock n

roll reporter, okay?


You? Sure, I

ll tell
’em
about your Pat Boone cover interview.


Oh and hey—that guy I was talking to at the Club Asiatique the other night? You seen him around?


He

s here someplace. Try the rehearsal rooms upstairs.

Sure enough, wandering the hallways, Doc heard the sound of a tenor
sax practicing

Donna Lee.

He waited for a break and put his head in the room.


Howdy! It
’s
me again! Remember that chore you wanted me to do?


Wait.

Coy angled his thumb at a cluster of sound equipment over in the corner that may have had more wires than necessary running in
and out of it, and he shook his head.

What was the, uh,
make and model
you looked at again?

Doc went along.

You were asking about a older-type VW, flowers and bluebirds and hearts and shit all over it?


That

s the one I was interested in all right. No, uhm. ..

Coy paused, improvising,

no new replacement parts, nothin like that?


None I could see.


Street legal, no hassles with the registration?


Seemed that way.


Well thanks for lookin into that, you know, I just... wondered, the way people do.


Sure. Anytime. Any other rides you want me to check out, just let me know.

Coy was quiet for a while. Doc thought about reaching over and poking him. A look on his face so desperate, so longing, and way too
nervous, as if somehow inside this house he had actually been forbidden
to speak. Doc wanted to lay at least a quick
abrazo
on this guy, some reassurance, but that could be read by inquiring
eyes
as more emotion than anybody should invest in a used-car deal.

You have my number, right?


I

ll be in touch.

Just then a driveling of dopers burst into the room, any of whom could have been assigned to spy on Coy. Doc unfocused his eyes and allowed his face to sag into a loose grin, and next time he looked, Coy was invisible, though he might
’ve
still been in the room.

Back downstairs, a member of the company was going around jovially handing out joints. As people lit up and inhaled, he

d go,

Hey! Guess what

s in this grass?


No idea.


Come on, guess!


LSD?


No! it

s just grass! Hahahaha!

Approaching somebody else,

Hey! what do you thinks in this dope we

re smoking?


I don

t know, uh
...
mescaline!


No, nothin! pure grass! Hahahaha!

And so forth. Shredded psilocybe mushrooms? Angel dust? Speed? No, just marijuana! Hahahaha! Almost before Doc knew it, he

d gotten so stoned on the mystery weed that he flashed how it wasn

t just Coy whose vital signs were debatable—somebody had definitely been out harrowing the next world for Boards personnel, because Doc knew
now, beyond all doubt, that
every single one
of these Boards was a
zombie,
undead and unclean.

Dead and clean is okay?

Denis, who had materialized from someplace, wondered.


A-and that Spotted Dick—they

re zombies, too, only worse.


Worse?


English
zombies! look at them, man, American zombies are at least
out front about it, tend to stagger when they try to walk anywhere, usually in third ballet position, and they go, like

Uunnhh
...
uunnhh,

with that rising and falling tone, whereas English zombies are for the most part quite well spoken, they use long words and they glide every
where, like, sometimes you don

t even see them take steps, it

s like they

re
on ice skates
...

At which point Spotted Dick

s bass player, Trevor

Shiny Mac

McNutley, with a louche smile on his face and pursuing a confused young woman, entered in exactly this way, crossing smoothly from left to right.


You see, you see?


Aaahhh!

Denis running off in panic,

I

m outta here, man!

Denis having failed to provide him much of an anchor in reality, Doc
now proceeded to freak even further out. That dope with
it’s
extra ingredient which might not really have been there could also have had something to do with it—howsoever, Doc suddenly found himself fleeing through the corridors of the creepy old mansion with uncertain numbers of screaming flesh-eating creatures behind him..
..

Down in the vast kitchen, he ran pretty much head-on into Denis again, now busy looting the fridge and cabinets and filling a Safeway bag with cookies, frozen candy bars, Cheetos, and other munchies of opportunity.


Come on Denis, we got to split.


Tell me about it man, I snapped a picture a couple minutes ago and
they all went insane tryin to take away my camera, and now they

re after
me, so I figured I better grab what I can—


Actually, man, I think I hear them,

Doc, guiding Denis by the string of love beads around his neck, dragged him out a side exit into the grounds.

Come on.

They started running for where they

d parked the car.


Jeez Doc, you said free dope, maybe some chicks, you didt

n say noth

n about no zombies, man.


Denis,

advised Doc, already out of breath,

just run.

Passing a syc
amore tree, he was unexpectedly descended on by somebody who

d been
trying to hang on to a branch. It was Jade, in a state of panic.


What am I, the Skipper?

Doc muttering onto his feet again,

or some shit?


I really need a ride out of here,

Jade said,

please?

By some piece of luck, they found Doc

s car right where he

d parked it, and they piled in and went screeching out down the driveway. In the mirror Doc saw dark shapes with ghostly white incisors slithering into a 1949 Mercury woodie with a front end a
nd split windshield that looked
like the snout and pitiless eyes of a predator, which now came after them,
it’s
V-8 in a throbbing roar, gravel scattering off the driveway. At the can
yon road, Doc hooked a violent left, nearly rolling them over and fish-tailing once or twice before straightening out and proceeding down to Malibu on what in those days was not quite the multiple-lane suburban convenience it would later become, more you

d say of a life-threatening nightmare actually, full of blind driveways and serious hairpins, where Doc soon found himself putting to good use his refresher courses at the well-known Tex Wiener
É
cole de Pilotage, executing four-wheel drifts
and more heel-and-toe double-clutching than fully foreseen by the design
teams back at Chrysler Motors, while the radio played

Here Come the Hodads

by the Marketts.

Denis, despite the 3-D jolting around he was getting, sat good-naturedly putting together a joint without hardly spilling anything, lighting and presenting it to Jade once they were all the way downhill and headed for Santa Monica.


Nicely rolled Denis,

Doc remarked when it came his way at last.

Don

t know if I

d
’ve
had the presence of mind myself.


Basically just trying to keep from freaking out?


Listen, Doc,

Jade said,

what is with that guy from the Club Asiatique?


Coy Harlingen. You talk to him?


Yes and when they found us together, it really looked like somebody
meant to do me some harm. Not like I was trying to seduce him. Normally if Bambi

s around, I don

t worry when they come after me like that, but she was off at that night cricket,

so it

s a blessing you guys showed up when you did.

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