Her initial reaction was surprise, then distrust.
“Fugitive apprehension agent,” she said. “What’s that supposed to mean? What’s that got to do with Mo?”
I gave the condensed version by way of explanation. “I’m sure it was just an oversight that Mo didn’t appear for his court session, but I need to remind him to reschedule,” I told her.
“I don’t know anything about this,” she said. “I don’t see Mo a whole lot. He’s always at the store. Why don’t you just go to the store.”
“He hasn’t been at the store for the last two days.”
“That doesn’t sound like Mo.”
None of this sounded like Mo.
I asked if there were other relatives. She said no, not close ones. I asked about a second apartment or vacation house. She said none that she knew of.
I thanked her for her time and returned to my Buick. I looked out at the neighborhood. Not much happening. Mo’s sister was locked up in her house. Probably wondering what the devil was going on with Mo. Of course there was the possibility that she was protecting her brother, but my gut instinct said otherwise. She’d seemed genuinely surprised when I’d told her Mo wasn’t behind the counter handing out Gummi Bears.
I could watch the house, but that sort of surveillance was tedious and time-consuming, and in this case, I wasn’t sure it would be worth the effort.
Besides, I was getting a weird feeling about Mo. Responsible people like Mo didn’t forget court dates. Responsible people like Mo worried about that kind of stuff. They lost sleep over it. They consulted attorneys. And responsible people like Mo didn’t just up and leave their businesses without so much as a sign in the window.
Maybe Lula was right. Maybe Mo was dead in bed or lying unconscious on his bathroom floor.
I got out of the car and retraced my steps back to the sister’s front door.
The door was opened before I had a chance to knock. Two little frown lines had etched themselves into Mo’s sister’s forehead. “Was there something else?” she asked.
“I’m concerned about Mo. I don’t mean to alarm you, but I suppose there’s the possibility that he might be sick at home and unable to get to the door.”
“I’ve been standing here thinking the same thing,” she said.
“Do you have a key to his apartment?”
“No, and as far as I know no one else does, either. Mo likes his privacy.”
“Do you know any of his friends? Did he have a girlfriend?”
“Sorry. We aren’t real close like that. Mo is a good brother, but like I said, he’s private.”
An hour later I was back in the burg. I motored down Ferris and parked behind Lula.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
Lula was slouched at the wheel of her red Firebird. “Isn’t going at all. Most boring bullshit job I ever had. A person could do this in a coma.”
“Anyone stop around to buy candy?”
“A momma and her baby. That’s all.”
“Did they walk around back?”
“Nope. They just looked in the front door and left.”
I glanced at my watch. School would be out soon. There’d be a lot of kids coming by then, but I wasn’t interested in kids. I was interested in an adult who might show up to water Mo’s plants or retrieve his mail.
“Hang tight here,” I said. “I’m going to speak to more neighbors.”
“Hang tight, hunh. I’m gonna like freeze to death sitting in this car. This isn’t Florida, you know.”
“I thought you wanted to be a bounty hunter. This is what bounty hunters do.”
“Wouldn’t mind doing this if I thought at the end of it all I’d get to shoot someone, but there isn’t even any guarantee of that. All I hear’s don’t do this and don’t do that. Can’t even stuff the sonovabitch in my trunk if I find him.”
I crossed the street and spoke to three more neighbors. Their replies were standard. They had no idea where Mo could be, and they thought I had a lot of nerve implying he was a felon.
A teenager answered in the fourth house. We were dressed almost identically. Doc Martens, jeans, flannel shirt over T-shirt, too much eye makeup, lots of brown curly hair. She was fifteen pounds slimmer and fifteen years younger. I didn’t envy her youth, but I did have second thoughts about the dozen doughnuts I’d picked up on my way through the burg, which even as we spoke were calling to me from the backseat of my car.
I gave her my card, and her eyes widened.
“A bounty hunter!” she said. “
“Do you know Uncle Mo?”
“Sure I know Uncle Mo. Everybody knows Uncle Mo.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He do something wrong? Are you after Uncle Mo?”
“He missed a court date on a minor charge. I want to remind him to reschedule.”
