Shuteye for the Timebroker (43 page)
Read Shuteye for the Timebroker Online
Authors: Paul Di Filippo
Be Here Now. Forever.
One of the beehive-haired waitresses roller-skated to my table and I ordered a platter of Big Boy Burgers, a side of fries, and an LSD shake.
While I was waiting for my food, a member of the Rat Fink tribe ambled over, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from me.
I gave the hairy, big-eared thing a soul grip. “Hey, Scuz, what’s shaking?”
The Fink grinned—a three-foot-wide expanse of rotten green teeth—and said, “Drag race on Roth Boulevard at noon. Cosmic Gearshifter versus Magwheel Marvin. The prize is ten keys of Maui Zowie. Free samples for the crowd.”
I yawned. “Done there, been that. What else you got?”
“There’s the regular tsunami due at dusk down at Laguna. Massive curls for all the happy groms.”
“Wipeout city, as far as I’m concerned.”
Rat Fink frowned. “Gee, Dutch, you’re no fun lately.”
My burgers showed up, but I wasn’t hungry anymore. I sighed. “I know, I know, Scuz. Even the joys of detailing hot rods have paled for me. Life has turned super-grotty in my eyes. I can’t find my kicks anymore.”
Rat Fink waved one arm around at the surrounding spectacle sprawled across the palm-tree-dotted landscape. Dragsters zoomed, orgies churned, be-ins and happenings exfoliated.
“Even with all this, you’re bored?”
“‘Fraid so, old bopster.”
“You are seriously harshing my mellow, Dutch. What do you want out of life?”
“Contrast. There’s no contrast anymore. How can we be cool if there are no squares to freak out?”
Rat Fink assumed a look of intense concentration. “I could pretend to be square…”
I regarded six hundred pounds of snaggle-toothed, ball-snouted monster affectionately, then clapped Rat Fink heartily on his wire-furred shoulder. “Thanks, pal, but it just wouldn’t work. I gotta split now. Catch you on the flip side.”
I rode the next eyeball out to Kesey’s place. When I got there Ken and the gang were just heading for the Fillmore. I went with them in the bus for lack of anything better to do. After the show, I fell asleep in the middle of making love to Janis Joplin.
Man, it was either put on a suit and get a job or kill myself! But there were no more suits, and no more jobs, and nobody had seen death lately, either.
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