No Country for Old Men-第11章

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n。　he　put　the　gun　back　in　his　belt　and　　pulled　his　shirt　over　it　and　walked　back　out　to　the　kitchen。

he　opened　the　refrigerator　and　took　out　a　carton　of　milk　and　opened　it　and　smelled　it　　and　drank。　he　stood　there　holding　the　carton　in　one　hand　and　looking　out　the　window。

he　drank　again　and　then　he　put　the　carton　back　in　the　refrigerator　and　shut　the　door。

he　went　into　the　livingroom　and　sat　on　the　sofa。　there　was　a　perfectly　good　twenty…one　　inch　television　on　the　table。　he　looked　at　himself　in　the　dead　gray　screen。

he　rose　and　got　the　mail　off　the　floor　and　sat　back　down　and　went　through　it。　he　folded　　three　of　the　envelopes　and　put　them　in　his　shirtpocket　and　then　rose　and　went　out。

he　drove　down　and　parked　in　front　of　the　office　and　went　in。　yessir；　the　woman　said。

im　looking　for　llewelyn　moss。

she　studied　him。　did　you　go　up　to　his　trailer？

yes　i　did。

well　id　say　hes　at　work。　did　you　want　to　leave　a　message？

where　does　he　work？

sir　i　aint　at　liberty　to　give　out　no　information　about　our　residents。

chigurh　looked　around　at　the　little　plywood　office。　he　looked　at　the　woman。

where　does　he　work。

sir？

i　said　where　does　he　work。

did　you　not　hear　me？　we　cant　give　out　no　information。

a　toilet　flushed　somewhere。　a　doorlatch　clicked。　chigurh　looked　at　the　woman　again。

then　he　went　out　and　got　in　the　ramcharger　and　left。

he　pulled　in　at　the　cafe　and　took　the　envelopes　out　of　his　shirtpocket　and　unfolded　them　　and　opened　them　and　read　the　letters　inside。　he　opened　the　phone　bill　and　looked　at　the　　charges。　there　were　calls　to　del　rio　and　to　odessa。

he　went　in　and　got　some　change　and　went　to　the　payphone　and　dialed　the　del　rio　　number　but　there　was　no　answer。　he　called　the　odessa　number　and　a　woman　answered　　and　he　asked　for　llewelyn。　the　woman　said　he　wasnt　there。

i　tried　to　reach　him　in　sanderson　but　i　dont　believe　hes　there　anymore。

there　was　a　silence。　then　the　woman　said：　i　dont　know　where　hes　at。　who　is　this？

chigurh　hung　up　the　phone　and　went　over　to　the　counter　and　sat　down　and　ordered　a　　cup　of　coffee。　has　llewelyn　been　in？　he　said。

when　he　pulled　up　in　front　of　the　garage　there　were　two　men　sitting　with　their　backs　to　　the　wall　of　the　building　eating　their　lunches。　he　went　in。　there　was　a　man　at　the　desk　　drinking　coffee　and　listening　to　the　radio。　yessir；　he　said。

i　was　looking　for　llewelyn。

he　aint　here。

what　time　do　you　expect　him？

i　dont　know。　he　aint　called　in　or　nothin　so　your　guess　is　as　good　as　mine。　he　leaned　his　　head　slightly。　as　if　hed　get　another　look　at　chigurh。　is　there　somethin　i　can　help　you　　with？

i　dont　think　so。

outside　he　stood　on　the　broken　oilstained　pavement。　he　looked　at　the　two　men　sitting　at　　the　end　of　the　building。

do　you　know　where　llewelyn　is？

they　shook　their　heads。　chigurh　got　into　the　ramcharger　and　pulled　out　and　went　back　　toward　town。

the　bus　pulled　into　del　rio　in　the　early　afternoon　and　moss　got　his　bags　and　climbed　　down。　he　walked　down　to　the　cab…stand　and　opened　the　rear　door　of　the　cab　parked　　there　and　got　in。　take　me　to　a　motel；　he　said。

the　driver　looked　at　him　in　the　mirror。　you　got　one　in　mind？

no。　just　someplace　cheap。

they　drove　out　to　a　place　called　the　trail　motel　and　moss　got　out　with　his　bag　and　the　　document　case　and　paid　the　driver　and　went　into　the　office。　a　woman　was　sitting　　watching　television。　she　got　up　and　went　around　behind　the　desk。

do　you　have　a　room？

i　got　more　than　one。　how　many　nights？

i　dont　know。

we　got　a　weekly　rate　is　the　reason　i　ask。　thirty…five　dollars　plus　a　dollar　seventy…five　　tax。　thirty…sieventy…five。

thirty…sieventy…five。

yessir。

for　the　week。

yessir。　for　the　week。

is　that　your　best　rate？

yessir。　theres　not　no　discounts　on　the　weekly　rate。

well　lets　just　take　it　one　day　at　a　time。

yessir。

he　got　the　key　and　walked　down　to　the　room　and　went　in　and　shut　the　door　and　set　the　　bags　on　the　bed。　he　closed　the　curtains　and　stood　looking　out　through　them　at　the　　squalid　little　court。　dead　quiet。　he　fastened　the　chain　on　the　door　and　sat　on　the　bed。　he　　unzipped　the　duffel　bag　and　took　out　the　machinepistol　and　laid　it　on　the　bedspread　and　　lay　down　beside　it。

when　he　woke　it　was　late　afternoon。　he　lay　there　looking　at　the　stained　asbestos　ceiling。

he　sat　up　and　pulled　off　his　boots　and　socks　and　examined　the　bandages　on　his　heels。

he　went　into　the　bathroom　and　looked　at　himself　in　the　mirror　and　he　took　off　his　shirt　　and　examined　the　back　of　his　arm。　it　was　discolored　from　shoulder　to　elbow。　he　walked　　back　into　the　room　and　sat　on　the　bed　again。　he　looked　at　the　gun　lying　there。　after　a　　while　he　climbed　up　onto　the　cheap　wooden　desk　and　with　the　blade　of　his　pocketknife　　set　to　unscrewing　the　airduct　grille；　putting　the　screws　in　his　mouth　one　by　one。　then　he　　pulled　the　grille　loose　and　laid　it　on　the　desk　and　stood　on　his　toes　and　looked　into　the　　duct。

he　cut　a　length　from　the　venetian　blind　cord　at　the　window　and　tied　the　end　of　the　cord　　to　the　case。　then　he　unlatched　the　case　and　counted　out　a　thousand　dollars　and　folded　　the　money　and　put　it　in　his　pocket　and　shut　the　case　and　fastened　it　and　fastened　the　　straps。

he　got　the　clothes　pole　out　of　the　closet；　sliding　the　wire　hangers　off　onto　the　floor；　and　　stood　on　the　dresser　again　and　pushed　the　case　down　the　duct　as　far　as　he　could　reach。　it　　was　a　tight　fit。　he　took　the　pole　and　pushed　it　again　until　he　could　just　reach　the　end　of　　the　rope。　he　put　the　grille　back　with　its　rack　of　dust　and　fastened　the　screws　and　　climbed　down　and　went　into　the　bathroom　and　took　a　shower。　when　he　came　out　he　lay　　on　the　bed　in　his　shorts　and　pulled　the　chenille　spread　over　himself　and　over　the　　submachinegun　at　his　side。　he　pushed　the　safety　off。　then　he　went　to　sleep。

when　he　woke　it　was　dark。　he　swung　his　legs　over　the　edge　of　the　bed　and　sat　listening。

he　rose　and　walked　to　the　window　and　pulled　the　curtain　back　slightly　and　looked　out。

deep　shadows。　silence。　nothing。

he　got　dressed　and　put　the　gun　under　the　mattress　with　the　safety　still　off　and　smoothed　　down　the　dustskirt　and　sat　on　the　bed　and　picked　up　the　phone　and　called　a　cab。

he　had　to　pay　the　driver　an　extra　ten　dollars　to　take　him　across　the　bridge　to　ciudad　　acu？a。　he　walked　the　streets；　looking　into　the　shopwindows。　the　evening　was　soft　and　　warm　and　in　the　little　alameda　grackles　were　settling　in　the　trees　and　calling　to　one　　another。　he　went　into　a　boot　shop　and　looked　at　the　exotics　—　crocodile　and　ostrich　and　　elephant　—　but　the　quality　of　the　boots　was　nothing　like　the　larry　mahans　that　he　wore。

he　went　into　a　farmacia　and　bought　a　tin　of　bandages　and　sat　in　the　park　and　patched　his　　raw　feet。　his　socks　were　already　bloody。　at　the　corner　a　cabdriver　asked　him　if　he　　wanted　to　go　see　the　girls　and　moss　held　up　his　hand　for　him　to　see　the　ring　he　wore　and　　kept　on　walking。

he　ate　in　a　restaurant　with　white　tablecloths　and　waiters　in　white　jackets。　he　ordered　a　　glass　of　red　wine　and　a　porterhouse　steak。　it　was　early　and　the　restaurant　was　empty　　save　for　him。　he　sipped　the　wine　and　when　the　steak　came　he　cut　into　it　and　chewed　　slowly　and　thought　about　his　life。

he　got　back　to　the　motel　a　little　after　ten　and　sat　in　the　cab　with　the　motor　running　while　　he　counted　out　money　for　the　fare。　he　handed　the　bills　across　the　seat　and　he　started　to　　get　out　but　he　didnt。　he　sat　there　with　his　hand　on　the　doorhandle。　drive　me　around　to　　the　side；　he　said。

the　driver　put　the　shifter　in　gear。　what　room？　he　said。

just　drive　me　around。　i　want　to　see　if　somebodys　here。

they　drove　slowly　past　his　room。　there　was　a　gap　in　the　curtains　he　was　pretty　sure　he　　hadnt　left　there。　hard　to　tell。　not　that　hard。　the　cab　tolled　slowly　past。　no　cars　in　the　lot　　that　hadnt　been　there。　keep　going；　he　said。

the　driver　looked　at　him　in　the　mirror。

keep　going；　said　moss。　dont　stop。

i　dont　want　to　get　in　some　kind　of　a　jackpot　here；　buddy。

just　keep　going。

why　dont　i　let　you　out　here　and　we　wont　argue　about　it。

i　want　you　to　take　me　to　another　motel。

lets　just　call　it　square。

moss　leaned　forward　and　held　a　hundred　dollar　bill　across　the　seat。　youre　already　in　a　　jackpot；　he　said。　im　tryin　to　get　you　out　of　it。　now　take　me　to　a　motel。

the　driver　took　the　bill　and　tucked　it　into　his　shirtpocket　and　turned　out　of　the　lot　and　　into　the　street。

he　spent　the　night　at　the　ramada　inn　out　on　the　highway　and　in　the　morning　he　went　　down　and　ate　breakfast　in　the　diningroom　and　read　the　paper。　then　he　just　sat　there。

they　wouldnt　be　in　the　room　when　the　maids　came　to　clean　it。

checkout　time　is　eleven　oclock。

they　could　have　found　the　money　and　left。

except　of　course　that　there　were　probably　at　least　two　parties　looking　for　him　and　　whichever　one　this　was　it　wasnt　the　other　and　the　other　wasnt　going　away　either。

by　the　time　he　got　up　he　knew　that　he　was　probably　going　to　have　to　kill　somebody。　he　　just　didnt　know　who　it　was。

he　took　a　cab　and　went　into　town　and　went　into　a　sporting　goods　store　and　bought　a　　twelve　gauge　winchester　pump　gun　and　a　box　of　double　ought　buckshot　shells。　the　box　　of　shells　contained　almost　exactly　the　firepower　of　a　claymore　min