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bed.
    Lieutenant Silva and Lituma slowly walked over to the bordello after seeing a cowboy movie in Mr. Frías’s open-air theater—the screen was the north wall of the parish church, so Father Domingo determined which movies Frías could show.
    “At least give me some idea of what you’re thinking, Lieutenant. Why do you think this crazy pilot’s got anything to do with what happened to Palomino Molero?”
    “I’m not thinking anything. Look, we haven’t turned up a thing yet in this case, so we’ve got to turn over every stone to see if something’s underneath. I’ll take anything. We can always say that we’re looking over the situation at the whorehouse and investigating the broads. Of course, the girl of my dreams won’t be there.”
    “Now he’ll start in on Fatso. What a nut.”
    “Last night I showed her my dick,” mused Lieutenant Silva pensively. “When I went out back to piss. She was just bringing water out to her hog. She looked at me and I showed it to her. I held it like this, with both hands. ‘All this is for you, baby. When will you give it what it really needs?’”
    He laughed nervously, as he did whenever he talked about Doña Adriana.
    “And what did she do, Lieutenant?” He knew that talking to him about Doña Adriana was the best way to tickle his fancy.
    “She took off like a shot, of course. Pretended she was mad. But she saw it all right. I just know she was thinking about it. She probably dreamed about it all night. I’ll bet she compared it to Don Matías’s—his must be dead, all skin and no bone. I’ll get to her sooner or later, Lituma. She’ll go down, you’ll see. And when she does, we’re gonna get drunk—and we’ll only drink the very best. I swear.”
    “Lieutenant, you’re relentless. Doña Adriana ought to give in, just to reward you for all the time you’ve put in on her case.”
    There were few people in the bordello. Liau welcomed them with open arms. “Thanks a lot for coming, Lieutenant. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Come in, come in. Why do you think there are so few people here? Because of that nut, what else? People come here to have fun, not to get insulted or pissed on. Word gets around, and nobody wants trouble with a pilot. It’s not fair, right?”
    “He’s not here yet?”
    “He usually turns up at about eleven,” said Liau. “He’ll be here, just sit tight.”
    He seated them at a table in a dark corner and sent them a couple of beers. A few whores came over to chat, but the lieutenant chased them away. He couldn’t pay them any attention: he was there on men’s business. Tiger Lily thanked Lituma for threatening to throw her pimp in jail unless he stopped beating her up, and kissed him on the ear. “Whenever you want me, just whistle,” she whispered. “He hasn’t slugged me now for three days,” she added.
    The pilot showed up at about midnight. Lituma and his boss had already dispatched four beers each by then. Even before Liau signaled them, Lituma, who had taken note of everyone who’d come in, picked him out. Very young, thin, dark, a crew cut. He had on the regulation khaki shirt and trousers but wore no insignia. He came in alone, greeted no one, was indifferent to the effect he caused—nudges, nods, winks, and whispering among the whores and the few customers—and went directly to the bar, where he ordered a shot. Lituma realized his heart was pounding. He didn’t take his eyes off him as the pilot tossed down the pisco and ordered another.
    “That’s how it goes every night,” whispered Tiger Lily, who was sitting at the next table with a sailor. “After the third or fourth, the show begins.”
    That night, the show began after the fifth or sixth. Lituma kept count, watching the lieutenant through the couples dancing to a transistor radio. The pilot rested his head on his hands and was staring fixedly at the drink he had between his elbows, as if protecting it. He didn’t move. He seemed to be