No country for old men - By Cormac McCarthy Page 0,23

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 he’s there anymore.

There was a silence. Then the woman said: I dont know where he’s 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 he’d 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 cabstand 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-six seventy-five.

Thirty-six seventy-five.

Yessir.

For the week.

Yessir. For the week.

Is that your best rate?

Yessir. There’s not no discounts on the weekly rate.

Well let’s 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