No Country for Old Men (11 page)

Who was it in the hotel do you reckon?

Some Mexican dopedealer.

The sheriff stood smoking. Bell walked off a ways down the street. He stood. He came back
up the sidewalk, his boots grinding in the glass. The sheriff flipped his cigarette into
the street. You go up Adams there about a half a block you'll see a blood trail.

Goin yon way, I reckon.

If he had any sense. I think them boys in the car got caught in a crossfire. It looks to
me like they was shootin towards the hotel and up the street yonder both.

What do you reckon their car was doin in the middle of the intersection thataway?

I got no idea, Ed Tom.

They walked up to the hotel.

What kind of shellcasins did you all pick up?

Mostly nine millimeter with some shotgun hulls and a few .380's. We got a shotgun and two
machineguns.

Fully automatic?

Sure. Why not?

Why not.

They walked up the stairs. The porch of the hotel was covered in glass and the woodwork
shot up.

The nightclerk got killed. About as bad a piece of luck as you could have, I reckon.
Caught a stray round.

Where'd he catch it?

Right between the eyes.

They walked into the lobby and stood. Somebody had thrown a couple of towels over the
blood in the carpet behind the desk but the blood had soaked through the towels. He wasnt
shot, Bell said.

Who wasnt shot.

The nightclerk.

He wasnt shot?

No sir.

What makes you say that?

You get the lab report and you'll see.

What are you sayin Ed Tom? That they drilled his brains out with a Black and Decker?

That's pretty close. I'll let you think about it.

Driving back to Sanderson it began to snow. He went to the courthouse and did some
paperwork and left just before dark. When he pulled up in the driveway behind the house
his wife was looking out from the kitchen window. She smiled at him. The falling snow
drifted and turned in the warm yellow light.

They sat in the little diningroom and ate. She'd put on music, a violin concerto. The
phone didnt ring.

Did you take it off the hook?

No, she said.

Wires must be down.

She smiled. I think it's just the snow. I think it makes people stop and think.

Bell nodded. I hope it comes a blizzard then.

Do you remember the last time it snowed here?

No, I cant say as I do. Do you?

Yes I do.

When was it.

It'll come to you.

Oh.

She smiled. They ate.

That's nice, Bell said.

What is?

The music. Supper. Bein home.

Do you think she was tellin the truth?

I do. Yes.

Do you think that boy is still alive?

I dont know. I hope he is.

You may never hear another word about any of this.

It's possible. That wouldnt be the end of it though, would it?

No, I guess it wouldnt.

You cant count on em to kill one another off like this on a regular basis. But I expect
some cartel will take it over sooner or later and they'll wind up just dealin with the
Mexican Government. There's too much money in it. They'll freeze out these country boys.
It wont be long, neither.

How much money do you think he has?

The Moss boy?

Yes.

Hard to say. Could be in the millions. Well, not too many millions. He carried it out of
there on foot.

Did you want some coffee?

Yes I would.

She rose and went to the sideboard and unplugged the percolator and brought it to the
table and poured his cup and sat down again. Just dont come home dead some evenin, she
said. I wont put up with it.

I better not do it then.

Do you think he'll send for her?

Bell stirred his coffee. He sat holding the steaming spoon above the cup, then he laid it
in the saucer. I dont know, he said. I know he'd be a damn fool if he didnt.

The office was on the seventeenth floor with a view over the skyline of Houston and the
open lowlands to the ship channel and the bayou beyond. Colonies of silver tanks. Gas
flares, pale in the day. When Wells showed up the man told him to come in and told him to
shut the door. He didnt even turn around. He could see Wells in the glass. Wells shut the
door and stood with his hands crossed before him at the wrist. The way a funeral director
might stand.

The man finally turned and looked at him. You know Anton Chigurh by sight, is that correct?

Yessir, that's correct.

When did you last see him?

November twenty-eighth of last year.

How do you happen to remember the date?

I dont happen to remember it. I remember dates. Numbers.

The man nodded. He was standing behind his desk. The desk was of polished stainless steel
and walnut and there wasnt anything on it. Not a picture or a piece of paper. Nothing.

We got a loose cannon here. And we're missing product and we're out a bunch of money.

Yessir. I understand that.

You understand that.

Yessir.

That's good. I'm glad I've got your attention.

Yessir. You have my attention.

The man unlocked a drawer in the desk and took out a steel box and unlocked that and took
out a card and closed the box and locked it and put it away again. He held up the card
between two fingers and looked at Wells and Wells stepped forward and took it.

You pay your own expenses if I remember correctly.

Yessir.

This account will only give up twelve hundred dollars in any twenty-four hour period.
That's up from a thousand.

Yessir.

How well do you know Chigurh.

Well enough.

That's not an answer.

What do you want to know?

The man tapped his knuckles on the desk. He looked up. I'd just like to know your opinion
of him. In general. The invincible Mr Chigurh.

Nobody's invincible.

Somebody is.

Why do you say that?

Somewhere in the world is the most invincible man. Just as somewhere is the most
vulnerable.

That's a belief that you have?

No. It's called statistics. Just how dangerous is he?

Wells shrugged. Compared to what? The bubonic plague? He's bad enough that you called me.
He's a psychopathic killer but so what? There's plenty of them around.

He was in a shoot-out at Eagle Pass yesterday.

A shoot-out?

A shoot-out. People dead in the streets. You dont read the papers.

No sir, I dont.

He studied Wells. You've led something of a charmed life, havent you Mr Wells?

In all honesty I cant say that charm has had a whole lot to do with it.

Yes, the man said. What else.

I guess that's it. Were these Pablo's men?

Yes.

You're sure.

Not in the sense that you mean. But reasonably sure. They werent ours. He killed two other
men a couple of days before and those two did happen to be ours. Along with the three at
that colossal goatfuck a few days before that. All right?

All right. I guess that will do it.

Good hunting, as we used to say. Once upon a time. In the long ago.

Thank you sir. Can I ask you something?

Sure.

I couldnt come back up in that elevator, could I?

Not to this floor. Why?

I was just interested. Security. Always interesting.

It recodes itself after every trip. A randomly generated five digit number. It doesnt
print out anywhere. I dial a number and it reads the code back over the phone. I give it
to you and you punch it in. Does that answer your question?

Nice.

Yes.

I counted the floors from the street.

And?

There's a floor missing.

I'll have to look into it.

Wells smiled.

You can see yourself out? the man said.

Yes.

All right.

One other thing.

What is that.

I wondered if I could get my parking ticket validated.

The man cocked his head slightly. This is an attempt at humor I suppose.

Sorry.

Good day, Mr Wells.

Right.

When Wells got to the hotel the plastic ribbons were gone and the glass and wood had been
swept up out of the lobby and the place was open for business. There was plywood nailed
over the doors and two of the windows and there was a new clerk standing at the desk where
the old clerk had been. Yessir, he said.

I need a room, Wells said.

Yessir. Is it just yourself?

Yes.

And for how many nights would that be.

Probably just the one.

The clerk pushed the pad toward Wells and turned to study the keys hanging on the board.
Wells filled out the form. I know you're tired of people asking, he said, but what
happened to your hotel?

I'm not supposed to discuss it.

That's all right.

The clerk laid the key on the desk. Will that be cash or credit card?

Cash. How much is it?

Fourteen plus tax.

How much is it. Altogether.

Sir?

I said how much is it altogether. You need to tell me how much it is. Give me a figure.
All in.

Yessir. That would be fourteen-seventy.

Were you here when all this took place?

No sir. I only started here yesterday. This is just my second shift.

Then what is it you're not supposed to discuss?

Sir?

What time do you get off?

Sir?

Let me rephrase that. What time is your shift over.

The clerk was tall and thin, maybe Mexican and maybe not. His eyes darted briefly over the
lobby of the hotel. As if there might be something out there to help him. I just came on
at six, he said. The shift is over at two.

And who comes on at two.

I dont know his name. He was the dayclerk.

He wasnt here the night before last.

No sir. He was the dayclerk.

The man who was on duty the night before last. Where is he?

He's not with us anymore.

Have you got yesterday's paper here?

He backed away and looked under the desk. No sir, he said. I think they threw it out.

All right. Send me up a couple of whores and a fifth of whiskey with some ice.

Sir?

I'm just pulling your leg. You need to relax. They're not coming back. I can pretty near
guarantee it.

Yessir. I hope to hell not. I didnt even want to take this job.

Wells smiled and tapped the fiberboard keyfob twice on the marble desktop and went up the
stairs.

He was surprised to find the police tape still across both of the rooms. He went on to his
own room and set his bag in the chair and got out his shavingkit and went in the bathroom
and turned on the light. He brushed his teeth and washed his face and went back into the
room and stretched out on the bed. After a while he got up and went to the chair and
turned the bag sideways and unzipped a compartment in the bottom and took out a suede
leather pistolcase. He unzipped the case and took out a stainless steel .357 revolver and
went back to the bed and took off his boots and stretched out again with the pistol beside
him.

When he woke it was almost dark. He rose and went to the window and pushed back the old
lace curtain. Lights in the street. Long reefs of dull red cloud racked over the darkening
western horizon. Roofs in a low and squalid skyline. He put the pistol in his belt and
pulled his shirt outside of his trousers to cover it and went out and down the hallway in
his sockfeet.

It took him about fifteen seconds to get into Moss's room and he shut the door behind him
without disturbing the tape. He leaned against the door and smelled the room. Then he
stood there just looking things over.

The first thing he did was to walk carefully over the carpet. When he came across the
depression where the bed had been moved he swung the bed out into the room. He knelt and
blew at the dust and he studied the nap of the carpet. He rose and picked up the pillows
and smelled them and put them back. He left the bed standing quarterwise in the room and
walked over to the wardrobe and opened the doors and looked in and closed them again.

He went into the bathroom. He ran his forefinger around the sink. A washcloth and
handtowel had been used but not the soap. He ran his finger down the side of the tub and
then wiped it along the seam of his trousers. He sat on the edge of the tub and tapped his
foot on the tiles.

The other room was number 227. He went in and closed the door and turned and stood. The
bed had not been slept in. The bathroom door was open. A bloody towel lay in the floor.

He walked over and pushed the door all the way back. There was a bloodstained washcloth in
the sink. The other towel was missing. Bloody handprints. A bloody handprint on the edge
of the showercurtain. I hope you havent crawled off in a hole somewhere, he said. I sure
would like to get paid.

He was abroad in the morning at first light walking the streets and making notes in his
head. The pavement had been hosed off but you could still see bloodstains in the concrete
of the walkway where Moss had been shot. He went back to Main Street and started again.
Bits of glass in the gutters and along the sidewalks. Some of it windowglass and some of
it from curbside automobiles. The windows that had been shot out were boarded up with
plywood but you could see the pocks in the brickwork or the teardrop smears of lead that
had come down from the hotel. He walked back to the hotel and sat on the steps and looked
at the street. The sun was coming up over the Aztec Theatre. Something caught his eye at
the second floor level. He got up and walked down and crossed the street and climbed the
stairs. Two bulletholes in the windowglass. He tapped at the door and waited. Then he
opened the door and went in.

A darkened room. Faint smell of rot. He stood until his eyes were accustomed to the
dimness. A parlor. A pianola or small organ against the far wall. A chifforobe. A
rockingchair by the window where an old woman sat slumped.