Bell shook his head. I dont know, he said. I guess I'd have to say it would be a while.
I guess it would too, she said. A long while.
He'd knocked on other doors with the same sort of message, it wasnt all that new to him. He saw the window curtain move slightly and then the door opened and she stood there in jeans with her shirttail out looking at him. No expression. Just waiting. He took off his hat and she leaned against the doorjamb and turned her face away.
I'm sorry, mam, he said.
Oh God, she said. She staggered back into the room and slumped to the floor and buried her face in her forearms with her hands over her head. Bell stood there holding his hat. He didnt know what to do. He couldnt see any sign of the grandmother. Two Spanish maids were standing in the parking lot watching and whispering to each other. He stepped into the room and closed the door.
Carla Jean, he said.
Oh God, she said.
I'm just as sorry as I can be.
Oh God.
He stood there, his hat in his hand. I'm sorry, he said.
She raised her head and looked at him. Her crumpled face. Damn you, she said. You stand there and tell me you're sorry? My husband is dead. Do you understand that? You say you're sorry one more time and by God if I wont get my gun and shoot you.
IX
I had to take her at her word. Not a lot else you could do. I never saw her again. I wanted to tell her that the way they had it in the papers wasnt right. About him and that girl. It turned out she was a runaway. Fifteen years old. I dont believe that he had anything to do with her and I hate it that she thought that. Which you know she did. I called her a number of times but she'd hang up on me and I cant blame her. Then when they called me from Odessa and told me what had happened I couldnt hardly believe it. It didnt make no sense. I drove up there but there wasnt nothin to be done. Her grandmother had just died too. I tried to see if I could get his fingerprints off the FBI database but they just drew a blank. Wanted to know what his name was and what he'd done and all such as that. You end up lookin like a fool. He's a ghost. But he's out there. You wouldnt think it would be possible to just come and go thataway. I keep waitin to hear somethin else. Maybe I will yet. Or maybe not. It's easy to fool yourself. Tell yourself what you want to hear. You wake up in the night and you think about things. I aint sure anymore what it is I do want to hear. You tell yourself that maybe this business is over. But you know it aint. You can wish all you want.
My daddy always told me to just do the best you knew how and tell the truth. He said there was nothin to set a man's mind at ease like wakin up in the morning and not havin to decide who you were. And if you done somethin wrong just stand up and say you done it and say you're sorry and get on with it. Dont haul stuff around with you. I guess all that sounds pretty simple today. Even to me. All the more reason to think about it. He didnt say a lot so I tend to remember what he did say. And I dont remember that he had a lot of patience with havin to say things twice so I learned to listen the first time. I might of strayed from all of that some as a younger man but when I got back on that road I pretty much decided not to quit it again and I didnt. I think the truth is always simple. It has pretty much got to be. It needs to be simple enough for a child to understand. Otherwise it'd be too late. By the time you figured it out it would be too late.
Chigurh stood at the receptionist's desk dressed in suit and tie. He set the case in the floor at his feet and looked around the office.
How do you spell that? she said.
He told her.
Is he expecting you?
No. He's not. But he's going to be glad to see me.
Just a minute.
She buzzed the inner office. There was a silence. Then she hung the phone up. Go right in, she said.
He opened the door and walked in and a man at the desk stood up and looked at him. He came around the desk and held out his hand. I know that name, he said.
They sat on a sofa in the corner of the office and Chigurh set the case on the coffeetable and nodded at it. That's yours, he said.
What is it?
It's some money that belongs to you.
The man sat looking at the case. Then he got up and went over to the desk and leaned and pushed a button. Hold my calls, he said.
He turned and put his hands on either side of the desk behind him and leaned back and studied Chigurh. How did you find me? he said.
What difference does it make?
It makes a difference to me.
You dont have to worry. Nobody else is coming.
How do you know?
Because I'm in charge of who is coming and who is not. I think we need to address the issue here. I dont want to spend a lot of time trying to put your mind at ease. I think it would be both hopeless and thankless. So let's talk about money.
All right.
Some of it is missing. About a hundred thousand dollars. Part of that was stolen and part of it went to cover my expenses. I've been at some pains to recover your property so I'd prefer not to be addressed as some sort of bearer of bad news here. There is two point three mil in that case. I'm sorry I couldnt recover it all, but there you are.
The man hadnt moved. After a while he said: Who the hell are you?
My name is Anton Chigurh.
I know that.
Then why did you ask?
What do you want. I guess that's my question.
Well. I'd say that the purpose of my visit is simply to establish my bonafides. As someone who is an expert in a difficult field. As someone who is completely reliable and completely honest. Something like that.
Someone I might do business with.
Yes.
You're serious.
Completely.
Chigurh watched him. He watched the dilation in his eyes and the pulse in the artery of his neck. The rate of his breathing. When he'd first put his hands on the desk behind him he had looked somewhat relaxed. He was still standing in the identical attitude but he didnt look that way anymore.
There's not a bomb in that damn bag is there?
No. No bombs.
Chigurh undid the straps and unlatched the brass hasp and opened the leather flap and tipped the case forward.
Yes, the man said. Put that away.
Chigurh closed the bag. The man stood up from his leaning against the desk. He wiped his mouth with his foreknuckle.
I think what you need to consider, Chigurh said, is how you lost this money in the first place. Who you listened to and what happened when you did.
Yes. We cant talk here.
I understand. In any case I dont expect you to absorb all of this at one sitting. I'll call you in two days time.
All right.
Chigurh rose from the couch. The man nodded toward the case. You could do a lot of business on your own with that, he said.
Chigurh smiled. We have a lot to talk about, he said. We'll be dealing with new people now. There wont be any more problems.
What happened to the old people?
They've moved on to other things. Not everyone is suited to this line of work. The prospect of outsized profits leads people to exaggerate their own capabilities. In their minds. They pretend to themselves that they are in control of events where perhaps they are not. And it is always one's stance upon uncertain ground that invites the attentions of one's enemies. Or discourages it.
And you? What about your enemies?
I have no enemies. I dont permit such a thing.
He looked around the room. Nice office, he said. Low key. He nodded to a painting on the wall. Is that original?
The man looked at the painting. No, he said. It's not. But I own the original. I keep it in a vault.
Excellent, said Chigurh.
The funeral was on a cold and windy day in March. She stood beside her grandmother's sister. The sister's husband sat in front of her in a wheelchair with his chin resting in his hand. The dead woman had more friends than she would have reckoned. She was surprised. They'd come with their faces veiled in black. She put her hand on her uncle's shoulder and he reached up across his chest and patted it. She had thought maybe he was asleep. The whole while that the wind blew and the preacher talked she had the feeling that someone was watching her. Twice she even looked around.