Who Killed Palomino Molero? Read Online Free

Civil was a half-breed outfit they could look down on.
    “Let go! Who do you think you are? Let go, or I’ll wake up Matías,” Doña Adriana shrieked, pulling herself free. She had handed Lieutenant Silva a pack of Incas, and he grabbed her hand. “Go feel up your maid, you fresh thing, and leave a woman with children in peace.”
    The lieutenant let go of her so he could light his cigarette, and Doña Adriana calmed down. It was always like that: she would get mad at his teasing and his sneaky fingers, but deep down she liked it. “There’s a little whore in all of them.” The thought depressed Lituma.
    “That’s all people are talking about in town,” said Doña Adriana. “I was born here, and I’ve never seen anyone get killed that way before. In these parts, people kill each other fair and square, man to man. But crucifying, torturing, that’s new. And you don’t do anything. You should be ashamed.”
    “We are doing things, honey,” said Lieutenant Silva. “But Colonel Mindreau isn’t helping us. He won’t let me question Palomino Molero’s buddies. They must know something. We can’t get anywhere, and it’s his fault. But sooner or later the truth will come out.”
    “The poor mother. Colonel Mindreau thinks he’s king of the hill; all you have to do is take a look at him when he comes to town with his daughter. Doesn’t say hello to anyone, doesn’t look at anyone. And she’s even worse. What snobs!”
    It wasn’t even eight yet and the sun was blazing hot. The restaurant was pierced by luminous spears of light in which motes of dust floated and flies buzzed. There were few people on the street. Lituma could hear the low sound of the breaking waves and the murmur of the water washing back down the beach.
    “Matías says the boy had a wonderful voice, that he was an artist,” Doña Adriana said.
    “Did Don Matías know Palomino Molero?” asked the lieutenant.
    “He heard him sing a couple of times while he was repairing his nets.”
    Old Matías Querecotillo and his two assistants were loading nets and bait onto their boat, The Lion of Talara, when suddenly they were distracted by the strumming of a guitar.
    The moonlight was so bright they didn’t need a flashlight to see that the group of shadows on the beach were half a dozen airmen having a smoke there among the boats. When the boy began to sing, Matías and his boys abandoned their nets and went over to listen. The boy had a warm voice, with a vibrato that made them weepy and sent a chill up their spines. He sang “Two Souls,” and when he finished they applauded. Matías Querecotillo asked permission to shake the singer’s hand. “You brought the old days back to me,” he congratulated him. “You’ve made me sad.” That’s when he learned that the singer’s name was Palomino Molero, one of the last batch of recruits, from Piura. “You could be singing on Radio Piura, Palomino,” Matías heard one of the airmen say. Since then, Doña Adriana’s husband had seen him several other times, on the same beach, around the boats when they were getting The Lion of Talara ready to sail. Every time, they’d stopped work to listen.
    “If Matías did all that, that kid must have sung like an angel, because Matías doesn’t get excited that easily, he’s sort of cold.”
    “Then he’s serving you to the lieutenant on a silver platter,” thought Lituma. Sure enough, the lieutenant was licking his lips like a hungry cat.
    “You mean he can’t cut the mustard, Dofia Adrianita? I’d be happy to heat you up anytime you like. I’m like a house afire.”
    “I don’t need anybody to heat me up.” Doña Adriana laughed. “When it’s cold out, I use a hot-water bottle to heat up the bed.”
    “Human warmth is so much nicer, honey.” The lieutenant purred, puckering his lips toward Doña Adriana as if he wanted to drink her in.
    lust then, Don Jerónimo appeared. He couldn’t drive right up to the restaurant because the