“Well?” Lula asked. Shifting her weight. Nervous. Belligerent. Rhino mode. Looking like her feelings would be hurt if I didn't ask her to work with me. Looking like at any moment she might narrow her eyes and squash me like a bug.
So I was beginning to see the wisdom of using Lula. No point to hurting her feelings, right? And probably Lula would be cool with this. I mean, what was the big deal? All she had to do was show Mo's picture to a few drug dealers and hookers. So she wasn't t subtle. Hey, was that a crime?
“You have a lot of contacts on Stark Street,” I said to Lula. “Maybe you could flash Mo's picture. See if someone can give us a lead.”
Lula's face brightened. “You bet. I could do that.”
“Yeah,” Vinnie said. “Get her out of the office for a while. She makes me nervous.”
“You should be nervous,” Lula told him. “I'm keeping my eye on your sad ass. You better not trifle with me, mister.”
Vinnie set his teeth, and I thought I saw wisps of steam curl out of his ears and evaporate off the top of his head. But maybe it was just my imagination.
“I'll make some phone calls. I'll see if I can get a name for Mo's boyfriend,” Vinnie said, retreating into his private lair, slamming the door behind him.
Lula had one arm rammed into her coat. “And I'm gonna get right on this. I'm gonna detect the shit out of this case.”
With everyone else in motion, there didn't seem to be much for me to do. I retraced my steps back to my Buick and drove home on autopilot. I pulled into the lot to my apartment building and looked up at my window. I'd left the light burning in my bedroom, and it was all cheerful and welcoming now. A rectangle of comfort floating high above the gray miasma of morning ice smog.
Mr. Kleinschmidt was in the lobby when I swung through the double glass doors.
“Ho,” Mr. Kleinschmidt said. “It's the early bounty hunter that catches the worm. Tracking down a ruthless murderer today?”
“Nope. No murderers,” I said.
“Drug dealer? Rapist?”
“Nope. Nope.”
“Who then? What gets you up and out so early?”
“Actually, I'm looking for Moses Bedemier.”
“That's not funny,” Mr. Kleinschmidt said. “That's not a good joke. I know Moses Bedemier. Mo would never do anything bad. I think you should look for someone else.”
I stepped into the elevator and pushed the second-floor button. I gave Mr. Kleinschmidt a little finger-wave goodbye, but he didn't wave back.
“Why me?” I said to the empty elevator. “Why me?”
I let myself into my apartment and looked in at Rex. He was sleeping in his soup can. Nice and quiet. That's one of the terrific things about having a hamster as a roommate; hamsters keep their thoughts to themselves. If Rex had an opinion about Moses Bedemier, he didn't lay it on me.
I nuked a cup of coffee and settled down to make phone calls.
I started with my cousin Jeanine, who worked at the post office. Jeanine told me Mo's mail was being held, and that Mo hadn't left a forwarding address, nor had he retrieved anything.
I talked to Linda Shantz, Loretta Beeber and Margaret Molinowsky. No one had much to say about Mo, but I found out my archenemy, Joyce Barnhardt, had a drug-resistant yeast infection. That cheered me up some.
At one o'clock I called Vinnie to see if he'd been able to get a name for me. The call was switched to the answering service, and I realized it was Saturday. The office was only open for a half day on Saturday.
I thought about doing something athletic, like going for a run, but when I looked out the living room window it was still January, so I trashed the physical fitness idea.
I returned to the phone and dialed up some more busybodies. I figured it would take me days to go through my list of gossips, and in the meantime I could pretend I was accomplishing something.
By three-thirty my ear felt swollen, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could take being glued to the phone. I was contemplating a nap when someone hammered on my door. I opened the door and Lula rolled in.
“Outta my way,” she said. “I'm so frozen I can't walk straight. My black ass turned blue a half hour ago.”
“Do you want hot chocolate?”