No Country for Old Men-第22章

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ank　it。　he　filled　it　and　drank　twice　more。　then　he　went　back　　into　the　bedroom　and　stretched　out　on　the　bed　with　his　leg　propped　on　the　pillows。

other　than　a　light　beading　of　sweat　on　his　forehead　there　was　little　evidence　that　his　　labors　had　cost　him　anything　at　all。

when　he　went　back　into　the　bathroom　he　stripped　one　of　the　syringes　out　of　the　plastic　　wrapper　and　sank　the　needle　through　the　seal　into　the　vial　of　tetracycline　and　drew　the　　glass　barrel　full　and　held　it　to　the　light　and　pressed　the　plunger　with　his　thumb　until　a　　small　bead　appeared　at　the　tip　of　the　needle。　then　he　snapped　the　syringe　twice　with　his　　finger　and　bent　and　slid　the　needle　into　the　quadriceps　of　his　right　leg　and　slowly　　depressed　the　plunger。

he　stayed　in　the　motel　for　five　days。　hobbling　down　to　the　cafe　on　the　crutches　for　his　　meals　and　back　again。　he　kept　the　television　on　and　he　sat　up　in　the　bed　watching　it　and　　he　never　changed　channels。　he　watched　whatever　came　on。　he　watched　soap　operas　and　　the　news　and　talk　shows。　he　changed　the　dressing　twice　a　day　and　cleaned　the　wounds　　with　epsom　salt　solution　and　took　the　antibiotics。　when　the　maid　came　the　first　morning　　he　went　to　the　door　and　told　her　he　did　not　need　any　service。　just　towels　and　soap。　he　　gave　her　ten　dollars　and　she　took　the　money　and　stood　there　uncertainly。　he　told　her　the　　same　thing　in　spanish　and　she　nodded　and　put　the　money　in　her　apron　and　pushed　her　　cart　back　up　the　walkway　and　he　stood　there　and　studied　the　cars　in　the　parking　lot　and　　then　shut　the　door。

on　the　fifth　night　while　he　was　sitting　in　the　cafe　two　deputies　from　the　valdez　county　　sheriffs　office　came　in　and　sat　down　and　removed　their　hats　and　put　them　in　the　empty　　chairs　at　either　side　and　took　the　menus　from　the　chrome　holder　and　opened　them。　one　　of　them　looked　at　him。　chigurh　watched　it　all　without　turning　or　looking。　they　spoke。

then　the　other　one　looked　at　him。　then　the　waitress　came。　he　finished　his　coffee　and　　rose　and　left　the　money　on　the　table　and　walked　out。　hed　left　the　crutches　in　the　room　　and　he　walked　slowly　and　evenly　along　the　walkway　past　the　cafe　window　trying　not　to　　limp。　he　walked　past　his　room　to　the　end　of　the　ramada　and　turned。　he　looked　at　the　　ramcharger　parked　at　the　end　of　the　lot。　it　could　not　be　seen　from　the　office　or　from　the　　restaurant。　he　went　back　to　the　room　and　put　his　shavingkit　and　the　pistol　in　his　bag　and　　walked　out　across　the　parking　lot　and　got　into　the　ramcharger　and　started　it　and　drove　　over　the　concrete　divider　into　the　parking　lot　of　the　electronics　shop　next　door　and　out　　onto　the　highway。

wells　stood　on　the　bridge　with　the　wind　off　the　river　tousling　his　thin　and　sandy　hair。

he　turned　and　leaned　against　the　fence　and　raised　the　small　cheap　camera　he　carried　and　　took　a　picture　of　nothing　in　particular　and　lowered　the　camera　again。　he　was　standing　　where　moss　had　stood　four　nights　ago。　he　studied　the　blood　on　the　walk。　where　it　　trailed　off　to　nothing　he　stopped　and　stood　with　his　arms　folded　and　his　chin　in　his　hand。

he　didnt　bother　to　take　a　picture。　there　was　no　one　watching。　he　looked　out　downriver　　at　the　slow　green　water。　he　walked　a　dozen　steps　and　came　back。　he　stepped　into　the　　roadway　and　crossed　to　the　other　side。　a　truck　passed。　a　light　tremor　in　the　　superstructure。　he　went　on　along　the　walkway　and　then　he　stopped。　faint　outline　of　a　　bootprint　in　blood。　fainter　of　another。　he　studied　the　chain…link　fence　to　see　if　there　　might　be　blood　on　the　wire。　he　took　his　handkerchief　from　his　pocket　and　wet　it　with　　his　tongue　and　passed　it　among　the　diamonds。　he　stood　looking　down　at　the　river。　a　　road　down　there　along　the　american　side。　between　the　road　and　the　river　a　thick　stand　　of　carrizo　cane。　the　cane　lashed　softly　in　the　wind　off　the　river。　if　hed　carried　the　　money　into　mexico　it　was　gone。　but　he　hadnt。

wells　stood　back　and　looked　at　the　bootprints　again。　some　mexicans　were　ing　　along　the　bridge　with　their　baskets　and　dayparcels。　he　took　out　his　camera　and　snapped　　a　picture　of　the　sky；　the　river；　the　world。

bell　sat　at　the　desk　signing　checks　and　totting　up　figures　on　a　hand　calculator。　when　he　　was　done　he　leaned　back　in　his　chair　and　looked　out　the　window　at　the　bleak　courthouse　　lawn。　molly；　he　said。

she　came　and　stood　in　the　door。

did　you　find　anything　on　any　of　those　vehicles　yet？

sheriff　i　found　out　everything　there　was　to　find。　those　vehicles　are　titled　and　registered　　to　deceased　people。　the　owner　of　that　blazer　died　twenty　years　ago。　did　you　want　me　　to　see　what　i　could　find　out　about　the　mexican　ones？

no。　lord　no。　heres　your　checks。

she　came　in　and　took　the　big　leatherette　checkbook　off　his　desk　and　put　it　under　her　arm。

that　dea　agent　called　again。　you　dont　want　to　talk　to　him？

im　goin　to　try　and　keep　from　it　as　much　as　i　can。

he　said　hes　goin　back　out　there　and　he　wanted　to　know　if　you　wanted　to　go　with　him。

well　thats　cordial　of　him。　i　guess　he　can　go　wherever　he　wants。　hes　a　certified　agent　of　　the　united　states　government。

he　wanted　to　know　what　you　were　goin　to　do　with　the　vehicles。

yeah。　ive　got　to　try　and　sell　them　things　at　auction。　more　county　money　down　the　toilet。

one　of　em　has　got　a　hot　engine　in　it。　we　might　be　able　to　get　a　few　dollars　for　that。　no　　word　from　mrs　moss？

no　sir。

all　right。

he　looked　at　the　clock　on　the　outer　office　wall。　i　wonder　if　i　could　get　you　to　call　　loretta　and　tell　her　ive　gone　to　eagle　pass　and　ill　call　her　from　down　there。　id　call　her　　but　shell　want　me　to　e　home　and　i　just　might。

you　want　me　to　wait　till　youve　quit　the　buildin？

yes　i　do。

he　pushed　the　chair　back　and　rose　and　got　down　his　gun…belt　from　the　coatrack　behind　　his　desk　and　hung　it　over　his　shoulder　and　picked　up　his　hat　and　put　it　on。　what　is　it　that　　torbert　says？　about　truth　and　justice？

we　dedicate　ourselves　anew　daily。　somethin　like　that。

i　think　im　goin　to　mence　dedicatin　myself　twice　daily。　it　may　e　to　three　fore　its　　over。　ill　see　you　in　the　mornin。

he　stopped　at　the　cafe　and　got　a　coffee　to　go　and　walked　out　to　the　cruiser　as　the　flatbed　　was　ing　up　the　street。　powdered　over　with　the　gray　desert　dust。　he　stopped　and　　watched　it　and　then　got　in　the　cruiser　and　wheeled　around　and　drove　past　the　truck　and　　pulled　it　over。　when　he　got　out　and　walked　back　the　driver　was　sitting　at　the　wheel　　chewing　gum　and　watching　him　with　a　sort　of　goodnatured　arrogance。

bell　put　one　hand　on　the　cab　and　looked　in　at　the　driver。　the　driver　nodded。　sheriff；　he　　said。

have　you　looked　at　your　load　lately？

the　driver　looked　in　the　mirror。　whats　the　problem；　sheriff？

bell　stepped　back　from　the　truck。　step　out　here；　he　said。

the　man　opened　the　door　and　got　out。　bell　nodded　toward　the　bed　of　the　truck。　thats　a　　damned　outrage；　he　said。

the　man　walked　back　and　took　a　look。　one　of　the　tiedowns　is　worked　loose；　he　said。

he　got　hold　of　the　loose　corner　of　the　tarp　and　pulled　it　back　up　along　the　bed　of　the　　truck　over　the　bodies　lying　there；　each　wrapped　in　blue　reinforced　plastic　sheeting　and　　bound　with　tape。　there　were　eight　of　them　and　they　looked　like　just　that。　dead　bodies　　wrapped　and　taped。

how　many　did　you　leave　with？　bell　said。

i　aint　lost　none　of　em；　sheriff。

couldnt　you　all　of　took　a　van　out　there？

we　didnt　have　no　van　with　four　wheel　drive。

he　tied　down　the　corner　of　the　tarp　and　stood。

all　right；　bell　said。

you　aint　goin　to　write　me　up　for　improperly　secured　load？

you　get　your　ass　out　of　here。

he　reached　the　devils　river　bridge　at　sundown　and　half　way　across　he　pulled　the　　cruiser　to　a　halt　and　turned　on　the　rooflights　and　got　out　and　shut　the　door　and　walked　　around　in　front　of　the　vehicle　and　stood　leaning　on　the　aluminum　pipe　that　served　for　　the　top　guardrail。　watching　the　sun　set　into　the　blue　reservoir　beyond　the　railroad　bridge　　to　the　west。　a　westbound　semi　ing　around　the　long　curve　of　the　span　downshifted　　when　the　lights　came　into　view。　the　driver　leaned　from　the　window　as　he　passed。　dont　　jump；　sheriff。　she　aint　worth　it。　then　he　was　gone　in　a　long　suck　of　wind；　the　diesel　　engine　winding　up　and　the　driver　double　clutching　and　shifting　gears。　bell　smiled。　truth　　of　the　matter　is；　he　said；　she　is。

some　two　miles　past　the　junction　of　481　and　57　the　boitting　in　the　passenger　seat　　gave　off　a　single　bleep　and　went　silent　again。　chigurh　pulled　onto　the　shoulder　and　　stopped。　he　picked　up　the　box　and　turned　it　and　turned　it　back。　he　adjusted　the　knobs。

nothing。　he　pulled　out　onto　the　highway　again。　the　sun　pooled　in　the　low　blue　hills　　before　him。　bleeding　slowly　away。　a　cool　and　shadowed　twilight　falling　over　the　desert。

he　took　off　his　sunglasses　and　put　them　in　the　glovebox　and　closed　the　glovebox　door　　and　turned　on　the　headlights。　as　he　did　so　the　box　began　to　beep　with　a　slow　measured　　time。

he　parked　behind　the　hotel　and　got　out　and　came　limping　around　the　truck　with　the　box　　and　the　shotgun　and　the　pistol　all　in　a　zipper　bag　and　crossed　the　parking　lot　and　　climbed　the　hotel　steps。

he　registered　and　got　the　key　and　hobbled　up　the　steps　and　down　the　hall　to　his　room　　and　went　in　and　locked　the　door　and　lay　on　the　bed　with　the　shotgun　across　his　chest　　staring　at　the　ceiling。　he