Heads or Tails; Call It, Friend-O.

You were shot in the meaty part of the leg recently so you walk with a limp. From the looks of things, you did a proper job of disinfecting and sewing up the wound; it should only be a matter of time before it's completely healed.

The kid's shirt-turned-sling is uncomfortable, but it'll do until you can find a secluded spot to re-set the exposed bone. Having killed the last of your obligations, you're now free to flee with the money from the satchel; you consider going over the border, maybe checking out that hospital you heard so much about. That hospital that don't ask no questions.

You think about that wife. You remember what you said to her.

Everybody always says the same thing.

What's that?

'You don't have to do this.'

You don't!

You flipped the coin into the air and caught it against your knee with your hand covering the outcome.

This is the best I can do. Call it.

I knew you was crazy the moment I saw you sittin' there.

Call it.

I won't! I won't call it!

You did what you had to do.


The title of the movie is "No Country For Old Men." From that, and from the opening narration voiced by Tommy Lee Jones, you can easily deduce that this world is no place for him. Not anymore.

A small-time sheriff in a small-time West-Texas town a few hours from El Paso, he's seen a lot in his time. His father took him on as co-sheriff of the town when he was only 12 years old, if you can believe that. And he's always had an open ear for a story about the old-timers. Those lawmen before his time, men who didn't even carry a gun, if you can believe that. But the times done changed, and this may only be 1980, but they's still some changed times just the same.

What we've got here is a drug deal gone bad over the weekend out somewhere in the desert. Secluded. Four or five trucks, more'n that in dead bodies and one rotting pit bull covered in flies n' maggots from the wounds caused by a shotgun blast. A truckbed full of Mexican powder, a dead Mexican up on the hill sitting against a tree with a satchel full of 10,000 dollar bundles. 2 million, cash. A hunter - lives in a trailer park - happened upon this scene, discovered the satchel, and made plans on keepin' that money for himself.

That's where you come in. That's your money. And you aim to bring that money to its rightful owner. Spare no life in the process.


This movie scampers along like a killer in the night. With his gun drawn, his senses alert, bow-legged hen-pecked steps down a dark alley, looking every possible direction for the man who's after him. Until finally a shot comes from somewhere he can't see and he's hit in the leg. He runs the opposite direction as fast as he can as more bullets bounce all around him. Not thinking at all, his sights purely on survival.

Finally, he makes it to his car and hits the road. He knows it's far from over, but at least he's in a position to regroup for the final showdown. Then, out of nowhere, he drives through a green light and a jeep full of Mexicans t-bones him square. Dead. Dead with thirty minutes left and just like that things are resolved.

It ends with Tommy Lee Jones retiring. He's no longer cut out for this world of lawmen chasing psychotics and drug runners and murdering bastards. 'Course, these ain't the only two parts of the movie he's been in; rightly he's seen throughout, doing his reluctant investigative work on a case he'd rather not have much of anything to do with. But, until he retired, he was a lawman the only way he knew how. With his gun drawn when necessary, yet always one step behind the killer he's chasing.

Because the times done changed. And this ain't no country for him no more.