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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 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-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 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 Acuña. 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 ru
The driver put the shifter in gear. What room? he said.
Just drive me around. I want to see if somebody's 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.
Let's just call it square.
Moss leaned forward and held a hundred dollar bill across the seat. You're already in a jackpot, he said. I'm 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 I
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 mine. He had them wrap the gun and he left with it under his arm and walked up Pecan Street to a hardware store. There he bought a hacksaw and a flat millfile and some miscellaneous items. A pair of pliers and a pair of sidecutters. A screwdriver. Flashlight. A roll of duct tape.
He stood on the sidewalk with his purchases. Then he turned and walked back down the street.
In the sporting goods store again he asked the same clerk if he had any aluminum tentpoles. He tried to explain that he didnt care what kind of tent it was, he just needed the poles.
The clerk studied him. Whatever kind of tent it is, he said, we'd still have to special order poles for it. You need to get the manufacturer and the model number.