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By the time they arrive at the Holiday Inn it is dark out and the vibrations surrounding them feel no less menacing than the hidden eyes watching them in the boundless desert. ‘It’s too open here,’ Duke thinks, and sets his briefcase down on the bed. ‘Too many eyes, not enough places to hide.’ He also thinks: 'what more is there to hide from?' And he opens the case to scour for that multicolored pack of downers he’d placed in a pair of socks.
Gonzo is drawing a bath; he’d filled it with some old Japanese products smuggled out of a gift shop in San Bernardino. The water turned a rancid, oily green. On the small radio plugged into a wall outlet-a surely unsafe distance from the tub-Jimi Hendrix is playing at top volume. Duke goes into the bathroom and dials it down; Gonzo seems not to notice.
“It’s late,” Duke says, but it’s not an observation-it’s tainted with suggestion. Gonzo’s chest rises further out of the tub and he eyes Duke up and down.
“Not too late,” Gonzo supplies and then he pushes his legs against his chest, offering the rest of the space in the tub. Duke looks around the room like he thinks those wandering desert eyes might be peering through the little window in the corner.
“It’s pretty late,” Duke sighs as he shuffles out of his clothes, but he doesn't get in the bath and he doesn't look at Gonzo for a good while.
“As your attorney, I think you should join me,” he says so Duke does. The water is temperate; as he sinks into the tub mild green waves ripple across the surface. Duke finds himself relaxing quickly.
He wonders if the sort of lunacy they want to get into in this downtown hotel would be an issue. The bellboy had been eyeing the both of them incredulously; Duke reminds himself that’s because of his attorney, he’s very conspicuous looking. That said, how many crazy evenings could they afford to spend here, or anywhere else for that matter, in such addled states? Was it just the drugs, or was it something else that not even the drugs could touch? Are they too far gone to care?
It occurs to Duke, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they don’t check out until tomorrow afternoon and he feels more like a fugitive now than with half a salt shaker full of uncut cocaine in his briefcase; he’s sure the law would attend to agree.
“Just one more day,” says Duke’s attorney. “Just gotta get back on the road.”
Duke shivers, the tub is becoming cold.
Gonzo seems to think for a moment before pushing himself closer to Duke and leaning down. The request is explicit.
Duke is trembling, the sides of the tub are slick, and his behavior and that of his attorney’s have exceeded that of generic kinkiness expressed in the privacy of one’s home-this is borderline exhibitionist. Duke is sure that they will have gotten some sort of noise complaint come morning.
Yet, here they are, both naked, stretched out on the floor of their suite. The “do not disturb” hangs heavy on the door handle. The same cruelty of that outside force that had brought them to such desperation paradoxically brings them closer.
“As your attorney, I think you should take another shower,” Gonzo says after they finish. Duke ignores him in favor of more valium. It sure does the trick-it will have to, until tomorrow.