Read Online One Foot Off the Gutter by Peter Plate - Free Book Online Page B

to flare in a roseate arc. He listened to the sounds coming through the window. Shoes clacking on the sidewalk. Further off, the hurried up squeal of a car’s
brakes. It would always be like this. Things happening near and far, all at once. The world was enormous; he was insignificant.
    â€œWhat’s the question?”
    â€œYou’re being evasive,” she said.
    â€œNo, I’m not. I just don’t have any answers,” he rasped.
    He started to buck against her hand. Now he didn’t hear anything. It was as if the world had disappeared. He was alone with her. Everything was where it belonged. He pressed himself down into the mattress. Barbie whipped her hair back and forth, hiccuping through her clenched teeth.
    An instant later, he saw a blinding white light.
    â€œWhat’s that?” he said.
    Laughter was crinkling in her eyes. A flood of his semen was sticking to the sheets, to the money, and to her breasts.

thirteen
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    b ellamy’s complexion was akin to the scales on a fish. His uniform bore the signs of having been mended by hand at least ten times. But in a bar, Bellamy gave off a healthy shine, as if he’d just tumbled out of the sack. The rumpled cast in his eyes seemed to say he always had good sex.
    He smiled at the young bar maid, tipped his riot helmet back in a polite greeting. She lifted her chin in his direction, letting him know with her mouth that she was interested in him. Bellamy had done a lot of sweet talking to her in the last half hour.
    â€œYou know I’d like to see you sometime.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œNothing serious. Just want to get to know you.”
    She turned her back to him and said over her shoulder:
    â€œI’ve heard that one before.”

    â€œPeople who repeat themselves only do it because they’re thinking out loud.”
    â€œOh, I get it,” she said. “You’re a philosopher.”
    â€œNo, I’m a cop,” Bellamy said sweetly.
    He was visiting her at El Oso where she worked. Success with the opposite sex was never a guaranteed thing. He had to bust a nut to get what he wanted. It would have been simpler to be gay. Those men got laid more easily than the heteros Bellamy knew.
    He said to her, “I bet you’ve never gone out with a police officer before.”
    â€œHow’d you guess?” she smiled.
    â€œMost citizens wouldn’t. I don’t take it personally.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t. If you did, you’d end up committing suicide.”
    â€œWhy? Because I’m a cop?”
    â€œPeople don’t exactly love you guys these days.”
    â€œSo? Who’s in love, anyway? Can you show me?”
    His technique was simple. It was called the interview. He began his quest by asking questions. He’d start with general topics, then he maneuvered his way into more personal territory. He always looked his potential lover in the eyes, affecting a pose of deep sincerity. The questions were designed to make an individual feel wanted. Basking in the attention he gave a woman, she’d let her guard down. Bellamy was fond of saying his system never failed. Everybody at the station knew he was a liar.
    To his great amusement, because it was too weird to take himself seriously, the girl yielded to his strategy. She agreed to make a date with him.

    â€œI’ll go out with you, police officer,” she said one evening. “It’s got to be short because I’m busy. That okay with you?”
    â€œI’m cool,” Bellamy answered.
    He wasn’t going to push his luck. He wasn’t like other players. You had to treat a woman like a lady to get anywhere. Bellamy had learned that lesson the hard way over the years.
    Two days later, he picked her up after work. He was driving the squad car. He’d wanted to get it washed at the car wash on Divisadero, the place where they employed ninety