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ho has just buried something。 i dont know a damn thing； he said。
when he got home she had supper waiting。 he dropped the keys to the pickup in the kitchen drawer and went to the sink to wash his hands。 his wife laid a piece of paper on the counter and he stood looking at it。
did she say where she was？ this is a west texas number。
she just said it was carla jean and give the number。
he went to the sideboard and called。 she and her grandmother were in a motel outside of el paso。 i need for you to tell me somethin； she said。
all right。
is your word good？
yes it is。
even to me？
id say especially to you。
he could hear her breathing in the receiver。 traffic in the distance。
sheriff？
yes mam。
if i tell you where he called from do you give your word that no harm will e to him。
i can give my word that no harm will e to him from me。 i can do that。
after a while she said： okay。
the man sitting at the little plywood table that folded up from the wall onto a hinged leg finished writing on the pad of paper and took off the headset and laid it on the table in front of him and passed both hands backwards over the sides of his black hair。 he turned and looked toward the rear of the trailer where the second man was stretched out on the bed。 listo？ he said。
the man sat up and swung his legs to the floor。 he sat there for a minute and then he rose and came forward。
you got it？
i got it。
he tore the sheet off the pad and handed it to him and he read it and folded it and put it into his shirtpocket。 then he reached up and opened one of the kitchen cabinets and took out a camouflage…finished submachinegun and a pair of spare clips and pushed open the door and stepped down into the lot and shut the door behind him。 he crossed the gravel to where a black plymouth barracuda was parked and opened the door and pitched the machinegun in on the far seat and lowered himself in and shut the door and started the engine。 he blipped the throttle a couple of times and then pulled out onto the blacktop and turned on the lights and shifted into second gear and went up the road with the car squatting on the big rear tires and fishtailing and the tires whining and unspooling clouds of rubbersmoke behind him。
。。
No Country for Old MenVIII
～
ive lost a lot of friends over these last few years。 not all of em older than me neither。 one of the things you realize about gettin older is that not everbody is goin to get older with you。 you try to help the people thatre payin your salary and of course you cant help but think about the kind of record you leave。 this county has not had a unsolved homicide in forty…one years。 now we got nine of em in one week。 will they be solved？ i dont know。 ever day is against you。 time is not on your side。 i dont know as itd be any pliment if you was known for second guessin a bunch of dopedealers。
not that they have all that much trouble second guessin us。 they dont have no respect for the law？ that aint half of it。 they dont even think about the law。 it dont seem to even concern em。 of course here a while back in san antonio they shot and killed a federal judge。 i guess he concerned em。 add to that that theres peace officers along this border gettin rich off of narcotics。 thats a painful thing to know。 or it is for me。 i dont believe that was true even ten years ago。 a crooked peace officer is just a damned abomination。
thats all you can say about it。 hes ten times worse than the criminal。 and this aint goin away。 and thats about the only thing i do know。 it aint goin away。 where would it go to？
and this may sound ignorant but i think for me the worst of it is knowin that probably the only reason im even still alive is that they have no respect for me。 and thats very painful。 very painful。 it has done got way beyond anything you might of thought about even a few years ago。 here a while back they found a dc…4 over in presidio county。
just settin out in the desert。 they had e in there of a night and graded out a sort of landin strip and set out rows of tarbarrels for lights but there was no way you could of flown that thing back out of there。 it was stripped out to the walls。 just had a pilots seat in it。 you could smell the marijuana； you didnt need no dog。 well the sheriff over there — and i wont say his name — he wanted to get set up and nail em when they e back for the plane and finally somebody told him that they wasnt nobody in back。 never had been。 when he finally understood what it was they was tellin him he just got real quiet and then he turned around and got in his car and left。
when they was havin them dope wars down across the border you could not buy a half quart masonjar nowheres。 to put up your preserves and such。 your chow chow。 they wasnt none to be had。 what it was they was usin them jars to put handgrenades in。 if you flew over somebodys house or pound and you dropped grenades on em theyd go off fore they hit the ground。 so what they done was theyd pull the pin and stick em down in the jar and screw the lid back on。 then whenever they hit the ground the glassd break and release the spoon。 the lever。 they would preload cases of them things。
hard to believe that a man would ride around at night in a small plane with a cargo such as that； but they done it。
i think if you were satan and you were settin around tryin to think up somethin that would just bring the human race to its knees what you would probably e up with is narcotics。 maybe he did。 i told that to somebody at breakfast the other mornin and they asked me if i believed in satan。 i said well that aint the point。 and they said i know but do you？ i had to think about that。 i guess as a boy i did。 e the middle years my belief i reckon had waned somewhat。 now im startin to lean back the other way。 he explains a lot of things that otherwise dont have no explanation。 or not to me they dont。
moss set the case in the booth and eased himself in after it。 he lifted the menu from the wire rack where it stood along with the mustard and ketchup。 she scooted into the booth opposite。 he didnt look up。 what are you havin； he