No Country for Old Men-第19章

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yessir。

this　account　will　only　give　up　twelve　hundred　dollars　in　any　twenty…four　hour　period。

thats　up　from　a　thousand。

yessir。

how　well　do　you　know　chigurh。

well　enough。

thats　not　an　answer。

what　do　you　want　to　know？

the　man　tapped　his　knuckles　on　the　desk。　he　looked　up。　id　just　like　to　know　your　　opinion　of　him。　in　general。　the　invincible　mr　chigurh。

nobodys　invincible。

somebody　is。

why　do　you　say　that？

somewhere　in　the　world　is　the　most　invincible　man。　just　as　somewhere　is　the　most　　vulnerable。

thats　a　belief　that　you　have？

no。　its　called　statistics。　just　how　dangerous　is　he？

wells　shrugged。　pared　to　what？　the　bubonic　plague？　hes　bad　enough　that　you　　called　me。　hes　a　psychopathic　killer　but　so　what？　theres　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。　youve　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　thats　it。　were　these　pablos　men？

yes。

youre　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　e　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？

theres　a　floor　missing。

ill　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　youre　tired　of　people　asking；　he　said；　but　what　　happened　to　your　hotel？

im　not　supposed　to　discuss　it。

thats　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　youre　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　es　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？

hes　not　with　us　anymore。

have　you　got　yesterdays　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？

im　just　pulling　your　leg。　you　need　to　relax。　theyre　not　ing　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　partment　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　mosss　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　e　down　from　the　hotel。　he　walked　back　to　the　　hotel　and　sat　on　the　steps　and　looked　at　the　street。　the　sun　was　ing　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。

wells　stood　over　the　woman　studying　her。　shed　been　shot　through　the　forehead　and　had　　tilted　forward　leaving　part　of　the　back　of　her　skull　and　a　good　bit　of　dried　brainmatter　　stuck　to　the　slat　of　the　rocker　behind　her。　she　had　a　newspaper　in　her　lap　and　she　was　　wearing　a　cotton　robe　that　was　black　with　dried　blood。　it　was　cold　in　the　room。　wells　　looked　around。　a　second　shot　had　marked　a　date　on　a　calendar　on　the　wall　behind　her　　that　was　three　days　hence。　you　could　not　help　but　notice。　he　looked　around　the　rest　of　　the　room。　he　took　a　small　camera　from　his　jacket　pocket　and　took　a　couple　of　pictures　　of　the　dead　woman　and　put　the　camera　back　in　his　pocket　again。　not　what　you　had　in　　mind　at　all；　was　it　darling？　he　told　her。

moss　woke　in　a　ward　with　sheeting　hung　between　him　and　the　bed　to　his　left。　a　　shadowshow　of　figures　there。　voices　in　spanish。　dim　noises　from　the　street。　a　　motorcycle。　a　dog。　he　turned　his　face　on　the　pillow　and　looked　into　the　eyes　of　a　man　　sitting　on　a　metal　chair　against　the　wall　holding　a　bouquet　of　flowers。　how　are　you　　feeling？　the　man　said。