Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas Page #6

DUKE stares -- hears the drone of B52 BOMBERS...

On TV:
The LAOS INVASION -- A SERIES OF HORRIFYING

DISASTERS -- EXPLOSIONS AND TWISTED WRECKAGE.

Newsreel footage of MAI LAI MASSACRE and the LIEUTENANT

CALLEY court-martial.

DUKE:

What are you talking about?

GONZO:

You bastard! They'll never let us

back in that place. I leave you

alone for three minutes and you

start waving that goddamn marlin

spike around -- yelling about

reptiles! You scared the sh*t out

of those people! They were ready

to call the cops. Hell, the only

reason they gave us press passes

was to get you out of there...

A knock at the door. DUKE and GONZO break out in a sweat.

DUKE:

Oh my God! Who's that?!

GONZO STICKS HIS GUN IN HIS WAISTBAND -- opens the door to

LACERDA -- BOUNCING WITH PUPPY DOG ENTHUSIASM. GONZO stares

at a man he instantly hates -- watches him with deep

suspicion.

LACERDA:

Duke? I'm Lacerda your photographer.

Got your press passes? Good, good.

Too bad you missed the bikes

checking in. My, what a sight!

DUKE watches the B-52S DROP THEIR BOMB LOADS.

22.

Looking down to the thick, patterned carpet, DUKE sees the

BOMBS EXPLODE like vicious flowers.

DUKE looks up:
LACERDA is a war photographer -- bruised,

filthy and blood spattered. LACERDA approaches him --

talking a foreign language.

LACERDA:

Husquavarnas. Yamahas. Kawaskis.

Maicos. Pursang. Swedish Fireballs.

Couple of Triumphs, here and there

a CZ. All very fast. What a race

it's gonna be.

DUKE screws up his eyes -- WILLS NORMALITY BACK. LACERDA is

now just a keen photographer.L

LACERDA:

Well, we start at dawn. Get a good

night's sleep. I know I will.

And with a cheerful wave, he's gone. DUKE is in shock.

DUKE:

(weakly)

That's good...

GONZO:

I think he's lying to us. I could

see it in his eyes.

DUKE:

(even weaker)

They'll probably have a big net for

us when we show up.

DUKE's attention returns to the devastation on the TV...

GONZO:

Turn that sh*t off!

GONZO kills the TV.

Black screen.

DUKE (V/O)

Never lose sight of the primary

responsibility. Cover the story.

But what was the story? Nobody had

bothered to say.

23.

EXT. DESERT - DAWN

Against A BIG ORANGE SUN, on a concrete slab, MEN FIRE

SHOTGUNS into the dawn sky. Clay pigeons shatter. The Mint

Gun Club.

Next to them, MOTORCYCLES REV -- preparing for the MINT 400

RACE:
A hundred BIKERS, MECHANICS and assorted MOTORSPORT

TYPES milling around in the pit area; taping headlights,

topping off oil in the forks, last minute bolt tightening.

DUKE wanders through.

DUKE (V/O)

The racers were ready at dawn.

Very tense. But the race didn't

start until nine so we had three

long hours to kill.

A sign by a long trestle table: "KOFFEE & DONUTS." DUKE

walks past -- ignoring the SMILING LADY behind the stall.

DUKE (V/O CONT'D)

Those of us who had been up all

night were in no mood for coffee

and donuts. We wanted strong drink.

We were, after all, the Absolute

Cream of the National Sporting

Press and we were gathered here, in

Las Vegas, for a very special

assignment. And when it comes to

things like this you don't fool

around.

INT. RACE BAR TENT - DAY

A real pit of iniquity. Slot Machines. Crap tables. Smoke.

Drunken shouting. The absolute cream of the NATIONAL

SPORTING PRESS.

DUKE is at the bar, engaged in drunken conversation with a

LIFE REPORTER...showing him his notebook.

DUKE:

See..."Kill the body and the head

will die"... the Frazier/Ali fight...

MAGAZINE REPORTER

A proper end to the 60's... Ali

beaten by a human hamburger!

DUKE:

And both Kennedy's murdered by

mutants.

24.

A SHOUT goes up from outside. The sound of engines revving.

REPORTER:

That's it! They're starting!

In a sudden rush the PRESS CROWD make for the door taking

DUKE with them.

EXT. DESERT - DAY

MOTORCYCLES REV -- tension builds...

A flag goes down. The CROWD cheers. The MOTORCYCLES ROAR

AWAY. A great cloud of dust goes up -- obscuring the RACERS

as they disappear into the desert...

A moment...

REPORTER:

Well, that's that. They'll be back

in an hour or so. Let's go back to

the bar.

The CROWD turns and streams back into the tent.

INT. RACE BAR TENT - DAY

DUKE heads for the bar along with the REST. It's packed.

Drinks are ordered.

A shout from outside the tent goes up:

VOICE OFF:

Group 2!

The CROWD rushes for the door. DUKE gets swept along.

EXT. DESERT - DAY

MOTORCYCLES REV. A flag goes down. The CROWD cheers. The

MOTORCYCLES ROAR AWAY. Another great cloud of dust goes up...

The CROWD head back for the bar.

INT. RACE BAR TENT - DAY

The CROWD surge back to the bar.

VOICE OFF:

Group 3!

This time DUKE fights his way free of the CROWD.

25.

DUKE (V/O)

There was something like 190 more

bikes waiting to start. They were

due to go off 10 at a time every 2

minutes.

DUKE hits the bar.

DUKE:

Beer!

A middle-aged HOODLUM in a T-shirt booms up to the bar.

HOODLUM:

God damn! What day is this --

Saturday?

DUKE:

More like Sunday.

HOODLUM:

Hah! That's a b*tch, ain't it?

Last night I was home in Long Beach

and somebody said they were runnin'

the Mint 400 today, so I says to my

old lady, "Man, I'm goin'." So she

gives me a lot of crap about it, so

I start slappin' her around, and

the next thing you know two guys I

never seen before are beating me

stupid.

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