Police and Thieves: A Novel by Peter Plate

Author:Peter Plate [Plate, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Hard-Boiled, Literary, Urban
ISBN: 9781609802875
Google: oKZXZPH1kpAC
Publisher: Seven Stories Press
Published: 2011-01-03T18:30:00+00:00

17

When it came to sex, Eichmann was fussy, had always been. At first, screwing with Loretta had been intense and shallow, the way it was for most couples just getting together. He only liked several positions, and he stuck to them. Eichmann came slower than Loretta did and sometimes he didn’t come at all. He was afraid to get her pregnant, mortally afraid of having children.

I knew all this because Eichmann was telling me everything.

Later, their balling became more infrequent, but more passionate. Then they stopped having intercourse altogether. Eichmann didn’t know what caused the lessening of his sex drive. Maybe it was boredom with her, and a premature disillusionment with life in general. Eichmann said he didn’t feel anything below his waist. He was numb. I told him it was anxiety. Six days went by; Loretta was at the end of her rope with him.

Everything crystallized the night after we plundered Chad. Eichmann was going through Loretta’s purse searching for a pack of matches when he found a Polaroid snapshot of some guy with a mustache in her wallet. It was an old picture, brown and frayed. A chilly, nonverbal knowledge wound itself around Eichmann’s nervous system, burying its teeth into his ego. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked over to Loretta and flung the photograph in her face.

“How did you get this picture?” Eichmann seethed.

“Where did you find it?”

“In your purse, darling.”

The remoteness in Loretta’s sleepy green orbs was similar to soft-boiled eggs turning cold on the stove. Eichmann should’ve known she had a history before him. He sat down on the couch next to her and said in a completely fraudulent, placating whine, “Please tell me. I promise I won’t raise a fuss.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“C’mon,” he begged, half out of anger and half out of repulsion.

Loretta rolled her eyes at him, hiding her defensiveness behind the gesture. “That’s Tony. I was going to marry him … he’s the reason I came out here, to get away from him.”

When Loretta said that, Eichmann blanched, his face going morgue white. He sighed and asked her the only question a boy can ask a girl at such a time. “Did you fuck him?”

Loretta mocked him, waving a dismissive hand. “God, how ridiculous. Is that the only thing you can think of?”

“No, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. And it’s important, if you know what I’m saying.”

She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and pouted prettily. “Yeah, well, we did. We were going to get married. What do you expect?”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. We broke up. I don’t even know why.”

The thought of Loretta alone with Tony in Oklahoma floored Eichmann. A tidal wave of nausea channeled through his guts, weakening his bladder. Helplessly, he said to her, “You don’t know why?”

“Me and him? Oh, God, it was over something silly. We argued. But he was nice. He was tender with me.”

Eichmann pointed at himself, saying, “And I’m not, huh?

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