No Country for Old Men (5 page)

Well whatever you are.

And you want me to get on a bus and go to Odessa.

You are gettin on a bus and goin to Odessa.

What am I supposed to tell Mama?

Well, try standin in the door and hollerin: Mama, I'm home.

Where's your truck at?

Gone the way of all flesh. Nothin's forever.

How are we supposed to get down there in the mornin?

Call Miss Rosa over yonder. She aint got nothin to do.

What have you done, Llewelyn?

I robbed the bank at Fort Stockton.

You're a lyin sack of you know what.

If you aint goin to believe me what'd you ask me for? You need to get on back there and
get your stuff together. We got about four hours till daylight.

Let me see that thing on your arm.

You done seen it.

Let me put somethin on it.

Yeah, I think there's some buckshot salve in the cabinet if we aint out. Will you go on
and quit aggravatin me? I'm tryin to eat.

Did you get shot?

No. I just said that to get you stirred up. Go on now.

He crossed the Pecos River just north of Sheffield Texas and took route 349 south. When he
pulled into the filling station at Sheffield it was almost dark. A long red twilight with
doves crossing the highway heading south toward some ranch tanks. He got change from the
proprietor and made a phone call and filled the tank and went back in and paid.

You all gettin any rain up your way? the proprietor said.

Which way would that be?

I seen you was from Dallas.

Chigurh picked his change up off the counter. And what business is it of yours where I'm
from, friendo?

I didnt mean nothin by it.

You didnt mean nothing by it.

I was just passin the time of day.

I guess that passes for manners in your cracker view of things.

Well sir, I apologized. If you dont want to accept my apology I dont know what else I can
do for you.

How much are these?

Sir?

I said how much are these.

Sixty-nine cents.

Chigurh unfolded a dollar onto the counter. The man rang it up and stacked the change
before him the way a dealer places chips. Chigurh hadnt taken his eyes from him. The man
looked away. He coughed. Chigurh opened the plastic package of cashews with his teeth and
doled a third part of them into his palm and stood eating.

Will there be somethin else? the man said.

I dont know. Will there?

Is there somethin wrong?

With what?

With anything.

Is that what you're asking me? Is there something wrong with anything?

The man turned away and put his fist to his mouth and coughed again. He looked at Chigurh
and he looked away. He looked out the window at the front of the store. The gas pumps and
the car sitting there. Chigurh ate another small handful of the cashews.

Will there be anything else?

You've already asked me that.

Well I need to see about closin.

See about closing.

Yessir.

What time do you close?

Now. We close now.

Now is not a time. What time do you close.

Generally around dark. At dark.

Chigurh stood slowly chewing. You dont know what you're talking about, do you?

Sir?

I said you dont know what you're talking about do you.

I'm talkin about closin. That's what I'm talkin about.

What time do you go to bed.

Sir?

You're a bit deaf, arent you? I said what time do you go to bed.

Well. I'd say around nine-thirty. Somewhere around nine-thirty.

Chigurh poured more cashews into his palm. I could come back then, he said.

We'll be closed then.

That's all right.

Well why would you be comin back? We'll be closed.

You said that.

Well we will.

You live in that house behind the store?

Yes I do.

You've lived here all your life?

The proprietor took a while to answer. This was my wife's father's place, he said.
Originally.

You married into it.

We lived in Temple Texas for many years. Raised a family there. In Temple. We come out
here about four years ago.

You married into it.

If that's the way you want to put it.

I dont have some way to put it. That's the way it is.

Well I need to close now.

Chigurh poured the last of the cashews into his palm and wadded the little bag and placed
it on the counter. He stood oddly erect, chewing.

You seem to have a lot of questions, the proprietor said. For somebody that dont want to
say where it is they're from.

What's the most you ever saw lost on a coin toss?

Sir?

I said what's the most you ever saw lost on a coin toss.

Coin toss?

Coin toss.

I dont know. Folks dont generally bet on a coin toss. It's usually more like just to
settle somethin.

What's the biggest thing you ever saw settled?

I dont know.

Chigurh took a twenty-five cent piece from his pocket and flipped it spinning into the
bluish glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. He caught it and slapped it onto the back
of his forearm just above the bloody wrappings. Call it, he said.

Call it?

Yes.

For what?

Just call it.

Well I need to know what it is we're callin here.

How would that change anything?

The man looked at Chigurh's eyes for the first time. Blue as lapis. At once glistening and
totally opaque. Like wet stones. You need to call it, Chigurh said. I cant call it for
you. It wouldnt be fair. It wouldnt even be right. Just call it.

I didnt put nothin up.

Yes you did. You've been putting it up your whole life. You just didnt know it. You know
what the date is on this coin?

No.

It's nineteen fifty-eight. It's been traveling twenty-two years to get here. And now it's
here. And I'm here. And I've got my hand over it. And it's either heads or tails. And you
have to say. Call it.

I dont know what it is I stand to win.

In the blue light the man's face was beaded thinly with sweat. He licked his upper lip.

You stand to win everything, Chigurh said. Everything.

You aint makin any sense, mister.

Call it.

Heads then.

Chigurh uncovered the coin. He turned his arm slightly for the man to see. Well done, he
said.

He picked the coin from his wrist and handed it across.

What do I want with that?

Take it. It's your lucky coin.

I dont need it.

Yes you do. Take it.

The man took the coin. I got to close now, he said.

Dont put it in your pocket.

Sir?

Dont put it in your pocket.

Where do you want me to put it?

Dont put it in your pocket. You wont know which one it is.

All right.

Anything can be an instrument, Chigurh said. Small things. Things you wouldnt even notice.
They pass from hand to hand. People dont pay attention. And then one day there's an
accounting. And after that nothing is the same. Well, you say. It's just a coin. For
instance. Nothing special there. What could that be an instrument of? You see the problem.
To separate the act from the thing. As if the parts of some moment in history might be
interchangeable with the parts of some other moment. How could that be? Well, it's just a
coin. Yes. That's true. Is it?

Chigurh cupped his hand and scooped his change from the counter into his palm and put the
change in his pocket and turned and walked out the door. The proprietor watched him go.
Watched him get into the car. The car started and pulled off from the gravel apron onto
the highway south. The lights never did come on. He laid the coin on the counter and
looked at it. He put both hands on the counter and just stood leaning there with his head
bowed.

When he got to Dryden it was about eight oclock. He sat at the intersection in front of
Condra's Feed Store with the lights off and the motor running. Then he turned the lights
on and pulled out on highway 90 headed east.

The white marks at the side of the road when he found them looked like surveyor's marks
but there were no numbers, just the chevrons. He marked the mileage on the odometer and
drove another mile and slowed and turned off the highway. He shut off the lights and left
the motor running and got out and walked down and opened the gate and came back. He drove
across the bars of the cattleguard and got out and closed the gate again and stood there
listening. Then he got in the car and drove out down the rutted track.

He followed a southrunning fence, the Ford wallowing over the bad ground. The fence was
just an old remnant, three wires strung on mesquite posts. In a mile or so he came out on
a gravel plain where a Dodge Ramcharger was parked facing toward him. He pulled slowly
alongside it and shut down the engine.

The Ramcharger's windows were tinted so dark they looked black. Chigurh opened the door
and got out. A man got out on the passenger side of the Dodge and folded the seat forward
and climbed into the rear. Chigurh walked around the vehicle and got in and shut the door.
Let's go, he said.

Have you talked to him? the driver said.

No.

He dont know what's happened?

No. Let's go.

They rolled out across the desert in the dark.

When do you aim to tell him? the driver said.

When I know what it is that I'm telling him.

When they came to Moss's truck Chigurh leaned forward to study it.

Is that his truck?

That's it. Plates is gone.

Pull up here. Have you got a screwdriver?

Look in the jockeybox there.

Chigurh got out with the screwdriver and walked over to the truck and opened the door. He
pried the aluminum inspection plate off of the rivets inside the door and put it in his
pocket and came back and got in and put the screwdriver back in the glovebox. Who cut the
tires? he said.

It wasnt us.

Chigurh nodded. Let's go, he said.

They parked some distance from the trucks and walked down to look at them. Chigurh stood
there a long time. It was cold out on the barrial and he had no jacket but he didnt seem
to notice. The other two men stood waiting. He had a flashlight in his hand and he turned
it on and walked among the trucks and looked at the bodies. The two men followed at a
small distance.

Whose dog? Chigurh said.

We dont know.

He stood looking in at the dead man slumped across the console of the Bronco. He shone the
light into the cargo space behind the seats.

Where's the box? he said.

It's in the truck. You want it?

Can you get anything on it?

No.

Nothing?

Not a bleep.

Chigurh studied the dead man. He jostled him with his flashlight.

These are some ripe petunias, one of the men said.

Chigurh didnt answer. He backed out of the truck and stood looking over the bajada in the
moonlight. Dead quiet. The man in the Bronco had not been dead three days or anything like
it. He pulled the pistol from the waistband of his trousers and turned around to where the
two men were standing and shot them once each through the head in rapid succession and put
the gun back in his belt. The second man had actually half turned to look at the first as
he fell. Chigurh stepped between them and bent and pulled away the shoulder-strap from the
second man and swung up the nine millimeter Glock he'd been carrying and walked back out
to the vehicle and got in and started it and backed around and drove up out of the caldera
and back toward the highway.

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy

I dont know that law enforcement benefits all that much from new technology. Tools that
comes into our hands comes into theirs too. Not that you can go back. Or that you'd even
want to. We used to have them old Motorola two way radios. We've had the high-band now for
several years. Some things aint changed. Common sense aint changed. I'll tell my deputies
sometimes to just follow the breadcrumbs. I still like the old Colts. .44-40. If that wont
stop him you'd better throw the thing down and take off runnin. I like the old Winchester
model 97. I like it that it's got a hammer. I dont like havin to hunt the safety on a gun.
Of course some things is worse. That cruiser of mine is seven years old. It's got the 454
in it. You cant get that engine no more. I drove one of the new ones. It wouldnt outrun a
fatman. I told the man I thought I'd stick with what I had. That aint always a good
policy. But it aint always a bad one neither.

This other thing I dont know. People will ask me about it ever so often. I cant say as I
would rule it out altogether. It aint somethin I would like to have to see again. To
witness. The ones that really ought to be on death row will never make it. I believe that.
You remember certain things about a thing like that. People didnt know what to wear. There
was one or two come dressed in black, which I suppose was all right. Some of the men come
just in their shirtsleeves and that kindly bothered me. I aint sure I could tell you why.

Still they seemed to know what to do and that surprised me. Most of em I know had never
been to a execution before. When it was over they pulled this curtain around the
gas-chamber with him in there settin slumped over and people just got up and filed out.
Like out of church or somethin. It just seemed peculiar. Well it was peculiar. I'd have to
say it was probably the most unusual day I ever spent.

Quite a few people didnt believe in it. Even them that worked on the row. You'd be
surprised. Some of em I think had at one time. You see somebody ever day sometimes for
years and then one day you walk that man down the hallway and put him to death. Well.
That'll take some of the cackle out of just about anybody. I dont care who it is. And of
course some of them boys was not very bright. Chaplain Pickett told me about one he
ministered to and he ate his last meal and he'd ordered this dessert, ever what it was.
And it come time to go and Pickett he asked him didnt he want his dessert and the old boy
told him he was savin it for when he come back. I dont know what to say about that.
Pickett didnt neither.

I never had to kill nobody and I am very glad of that fact. Some of the old time sheriffs
wouldnt even carry a firearm. A lot of folks find that hard to believe but it's a fact.
Jim Scarborough never carried one. That's the younger Jim. Gaston Boykins wouldnt wear
one. Up in Comanche County. I always liked to hear about the old timers. Never missed a
chance to do so. The old time concern that the sheriffs had for their people is been
watered down some. You cant help but feel it. Nigger Hoskins over in Bastrop County knowed
everbody's phone number in the whole county by heart.

It's a odd thing when you come to think about it. The opportunities for abuse are just
about everwhere. There's no requirements in the Texas State Constitution for bein a
sheriff. Not a one. There is no such thing as a county law. You think about a job where
you have pretty much the same authority as God and there is no requirements put upon you
and you are charged with preservin nonexistent laws and you tell me if that's peculiar or
not. Because I say that it is. Does it work? Yes. Ninety percent of the time. It takes
very little to govern good people. Very little. And bad people cant be governed at all. Or
if they could I never heard of it.

The bus pulled into Fort Stockton at quarter to nine and Moss stood and got his bag down
from the overhead rack and picked up the document case out of the seat and stood looking
down at her.

Dont get on a airplane with that thing, she said. They'll put you under the jail.

My mama didnt raise no ignorant children.

When are you goin to call me.

I'll call you in a few days.

All right.

You take care.

I got a bad feelin, Llewelyn.

Well, I got a good one. So they ought to balance out.

I hope so.

I cant call you except from a payphone.

I know it. Call me.

I will. Quit worryin about everthing.

Llewelyn?

What.

Nothin.

What is it.

Nothin. I just wanted to say it. You take care. Llewelyn? What.

Dont hurt nobody. You hear?

He stood there with the bag slung across his shoulder. I aint makin no promises, he said.
That's how you get hurt.

Bell had raised the first forkful of his supper to his mouth when the phone rang. He
lowered it again. She'd started to push her chair back but he wiped his mouth with his
napkin and rose. I'll get it, he said.

All right.

How the hell do they know when you're eatin? We never eat this late.

Dont be cussin, she said.

He picked up the phone. Sheriff Bell, he said.

He listened for a while. Then he said: I'm goin to finish my supper. I'll meet you there
in about forty minutes. Just leave the lights on on your unit.

He hung up the phone and came back to his chair and sat and picked up the napkin and put
it in his lap and picked up his fork. Somebody called in a car afire, he said. Just this
side of Lozier Canyon.

What do you make of that?

He shook his head.

He ate. He drank the last of his coffee. Come go with me, he said.

Let me get my coat.

They pulled off the road at the gate and drove over the cattleguard and pulled up behind
Wendell's unit. Wendell walked back and Bell rolled down the window.

It's about a half mile down, Wendell said. Just follow me.

I can see it.

Yessir. It was goin real good here about a hour ago. The people that called it in seen it
from the road.

They parked a little way off and got out and stood looking at it. You could feel the heat
on your face. Bell came around and opened the door and took his wife's hand. She got out
and stood with her arms folded in front of her. There was a pickup truck parked a ways
down and two men were standing there in the dull red glare. They nodded each in turn and
said Sheriff.

We could of brought weeners, she said.

Yeah. Marshmallers.

You wouldnt think a car would burn like that.

No, you wouldnt. Did you all see anything?

No sir. Just the fire.

Didnt pass nobody or nothin?

No sir.

Does that look to you like about a '77 Ford, Wendell?

It could be.

I'd say it is.

Was that what the old boy was drivin?

Yeah. Dallas plates.

It wasnt his day, was it Sheriff.

It surely wasnt.

Why do you reckon they set fire to it?

I dont know.

Wendell turned and spat. Wasnt what the old boy had in mind when he left Dallas I dont
reckon, was it?

Bell shook his head. No, he said. I'd guess it was about the farthest thing from his mind.

In the morning when he got to the office the phone was ringing. Torbert wasnt back yet. He
finally called at nine-thirty and Bell sent Wendell to get him. Then he sat with his feet
on the desk staring at his boots. He sat that way for some time. Then he picked up the
mobile and called Wendell.

Where you at?

Just past Sanderson Canyon.

Turn around and come back.

All right. What about Torbert?

Call him and tell him to just set tight. I'll come get him this afternoon.

Yessir.

Go to the house and get the keys to the truck from Loretta and hook up the horsetrailer.
Saddle my horse and Loretta's and load and I'll see you out there in about a hour.

Yessir.

He hung up the speaker and got up and went down to check on the jail.

They drove through the gate and closed it again and drove down along the fence about a
hundred feet and parked. Wendell unlatched the trailer doors and led the horses out. Bell
took the reins of his wife's horse. You ride Winston, he said.

You sure?

Oh I'm more than sure. Anything happens to Loretta's horse I can tell you right now you
damn sure dont want to be the party that was aboard him.

He handed Wendell one of the lever action rifles he'd brought and swung up into the saddle
and pulled his hat down. You ready? he said.

They rode side by side. We've drove all through their tracks but you can still see what it
was, Bell said. Big offroad tires.

When they got to the car it was just a blackened hulk.

You were right about the plates, Wendell said.

I lied about the tires though.

How's that.

I said they'd still be burnin.

The car sat in what looked like four puddles of tar, the wheels wrapped in blackened
skeins of wire. They rode on. Bell pointed at the ground from time to time. You can tell
the day tracks from the night ones, he said. They were drivin out here with no lights. See
there how crooked the track is? Like you can just see far enough ahead to duck the brush
in front of you. Or you might leave some paint on a rock like that right yonder.

In a sandwash he got down and walked up and back and then looked away toward the south.
It's the same tire tread comin back as was goin down. Made about the same time. You can
see the stripes real clear. Which way they're a goin. They's two or more trips each way,
I'd say.

Wendell sat his horse, his hands crossed on the big roping pommel. He leaned and spat. He
looked off to the south with the sheriff. What do you reckon it is we're fixin to find
down here?

I dont know, Bell said. He put his foot in the stirrup and stood easily up into the saddle
and put the little horse forward. I dont know, he said again. But I cant say as I'm much
lookin forward to it.

When they reached Moss's truck the sheriff sat and studied it and then rode slowly around
it. Both doors were open.

Somebody's pried the inspection plate off the door, he said.

The numbers is on the frame.

Yeah. I dont think that's why they took it.

I know that truck.

I do too.

Wendell leaned and patted the horse on the neck. The boy's name is Moss.

Yep.

Bell rode back around the rear of the truck and turned the horse to the south and looked
at Wendell. You know where he lives at?

No sir.

He's married, aint he.

I believe he is.

The sheriff sat looking at the truck. I was just thinkin it'd be a curious thing if he was
missin two or three days and nobody said nothin about it.

Pretty curious.

Bell looked down toward the caldera. I think we got some real mischief here.

I hear you, Sheriff.

You think this boy's a doperunner?

I dont know. I wouldnt of thought it.

I wouldnt either. Let's go down here and look at the rest of this mess.

They rode down into the caldera carrying the Winchesters upright before them in the
saddlebow. I hope this boy aint dead down here, Bell said. He seemed a decent enough boy
the time or two I seen him. Pretty wife too.

They rode past the bodies on the ground and stopped and got down and dropped the reins.
The horses stepped nervously.

Let's take the horses out yonder a ways, Bell said. They dont need to see this.

Yessir.

When he came back Bell handed him two billfolds he'd taken from the bodies. He looked
toward the trucks.

These two aint been dead all that long, he said.

Where they from?

Dallas.

He handed Wendell a pistol he'd picked up and then he squatted and leaned on the rifle he
was carrying. These two is been executed, he said. One of their own, I'd say. Old boy
never even got the safety off that pistol. Both of em shot between the eyes.

The othern didnt have a gun?

Killer could of took it. Or he might not of had one.

Bad way to go to a gunfight.

Bad way.

They walked among the trucks. These sumbitches are bloody as hogs, Wendell said.

Bell glanced at him.

Yeah, Wendell said. I guess you ought to be careful about cussin the dead.

I would say at the least there probably aint no luck in it.

It's just a bunch of Mexican drugrunners.

They were. They aint now.

I aint sure what you're sayin.

I'm just sayin that whatever they were the only thing they are now is dead.

I'll have to sleep on that.

The sheriff tilted forward the Bronco seat and looked in the rear. He wet his finger and
pressed it to the carpet and held his finger to the light. That's been some of that old
mexican brown dope in the back of this rig.

Long gone now though, aint it.

Long gone.

Wendell squatted and studied the ground under the door. It looks like there's some more
here on the ground. Could be that somebody cut into one of the packages. See what was
inside.

Could of been checkin the quality. Gettin ready to trade.

They didnt trade. They shot each other.

Bell nodded.

There might not of even been no money.

That's possible.

But you dont believe it.

Bell thought about it. No, he said. Probably I dont.

There was a second mix-up out here.

Yes, Bell said. At least that.

He rose and pushed the seat back. This good citizen's been shot between the eyes too.

Yep.

They walked around the truck. Bell pointed.

That's been a machinegun, them straight runs yonder.

I'd say it has. So where do you reckon the driver got to?

It's probably one of them layin in the grass yonder.

Bell had taken out his kerchief and he held it across his nose and reached in and picked
up a number of brass shell-casings out of the floor and looked at the numbers stamped in
the base.