Yes, I learned that term in new media I’m sure, and have come up against it again in movie-making. It’s interesting how once you catch the meaning of a term, you begin to notice it all over the place–but in a McCarthy book?
Why I’m doubtful is that McCarthy usually has several characters moving through the book from the beginning, and No Country is no exception. But he has just introduced two new characters, halfway through the story, that we kind of knew existed, but knew nothing about them at all: the drug dealers and the paid-killers who love ’em.
The office was on the seventeenth floor with a view over the skyline of Houston and the open lowlands to the ship channel and the bayou beyond. Colonies of silver tanks. Gas flares, pale in the day. When Wells showed up the man told him to come in and told him to shut the door. He didn’t even turn around. He could see Wells in the glass. Wells shut the door and stood with his hands crossed before him at the wrist. The way a funeral director might stand. (p. 139)
This doesn’t come as a separate section, it simply follows a shootout between the dope dealer Chigurh and our young man on the run, Moss. Notice the way McCarthy brings in this "meanwhile, back at the ranch" via the setting. An office building in the city sounds worlds away from the backroads through lava ridges and cattlegates that we’ve been through with Moss and Sheriff Bell. So we move through setting first, and meet a different set of characters as well. These folks don’t talk the same either. They’re smooth, they’re formal, they’re the big guys.
McCarthy also manages to inject some humor here, when Wells, obviously a hit man, asks the man who is paying him, "I wondered if I could get my parking ticket validated."
Again here, there is much told in conversation that is quite different than McCarthy’s usual minimal dialogue from the loner-type characters of his other novels. And, it intricately progresses the story without feeling like it’s infodump.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology