Steele in the Picture

Steele in the PictureDate: Sunday, October 14, 2001
Michael Bledsoe <mpbledsoe@yahoo.com> I would like to thank Debra for beta reading, I don't know how I could get along without her! I would also like to thank everyone at chat for their support and encouragement. This story is set during the first season. Steele in the Picture By Michael Bledsoe mpbledsoe@yahoo.com Garret Williams was dead and Remington Steele was enraged. Not that Steele knew the unfortunate, and late, Mr. Williams or had ever even met him, but the fact that he was dead impacted Steele on several levels. Laura Holt and Murphy Michaels sat in the rear of the limo and chatted excitedly. They were in their element. Both had been trained as detectives, fingerprints, bodily fluids and times of death were all part and parcel of their trade. Not that they were deliberately ignoring Steele, he just didn't exist in this conversation. Steele's training had been different. His instincts were different and dead bodies were not something that he could take any pleasure in, particularly when he had been the discoverer of the deceased. Steele tried to stifle an involuntary shudder, but he was unable accomplish it. Steele took the suit coat that was lying across his knees and threw it on the floorboards of the limo. There was nothing on it that he could see or smell, but somehow it seemed tainted. He shuddered again as he recalled the feathery feeling of Williams' pants brushing against his face. He pulled off his tie and it quickly joined the coat on the floorboards. The interior of the limo seemed stifling and Steele felt like he couldn't catch a breath. Rolling up the sleeves on his shirt and opening the collar button gave him some sense of relief, but not enough. He rolled down the window, but the unseasonably warm, February breeze that came through it was no help at all so he rolled it back up. "Fred, pull over!" he barked. "Yes, sir," Fred answered. Ever the accomplished professional in his field, he smoothly pulled the big Fleetwood limousine over to the curb. Quickly he came around and opened Steele's door. "Fred, if they even ask, I've gone for a walk." Steele said, noting the pair inside the vehicle had apparently not noticed the limo stopping or his departure. It was just as he suspected, they didn't even feel that he had opinions or insights of any value. "Yes, sir." Fred's gruff voice held some concern. "I just need a walk to clear my head," Steele said as he took a quick glance at his suit coat and tie then dismissed them. Fred closed the door cutting them off from view. "Very good, Mister Steele. Should I pick you up somewhere after I drop them off?" Fred cast a doubting eye over the neighborhood. "Thank you, no. I'll find my own way home." "Yes, sir." Steele watched with a critical eye as Fred ran around to the front of the big black limousine and jumped in. The big car paused for a moment, its red brake lights reflecting off the 'RSTEELE' vanity plate. Then it pulled out smoothly into traffic. Fred's skill, talent and professionalism shone through every move of the Cadillac. Envy reared its ugly green head, but Steele quickly cut it off. His piercing blue eyes seemed hooded as he started his body walking down the street. As he walked, the memories of the past few hours flooded in and swirled around his mind. He really didn't know where he was, but at the moment it didn't matter. It had seemed like such a simple job when Bernice had taken the call. A family in Picayune, Mississippi needed the famous detective Remington Steele to find their lost relative. They had not heard from him in a couple of weeks and were worried. They wanted the Steele Agency to find him and give them the particulars on Garret Williams. Murphy had joyfully cried out, "Skip trace!" and within moments the lost relative was lost no more. Unfortunately, his phone had been disconnected, so it was decided that a quick road trip was in order. Speedily, Fred had been summoned and they had set out. Steele had tagged along, just to irk Murphy. He really had no business on the ride, but then, he didn't have much business to attend anyway. His winning streak at the track had vanished and it was too early for a good card game. Murphy had protested, but Laura had just raised her hands; she did not want to hear them squabble again. Victory had brought a smile to Steele's face while Murphy had frowned like a petulant child. Williams, it turned out, had a residence in a small Los Angeles neighborhood. Fred had been forced to maneuver the big limousine carefully down the narrow streets at a snail's pace. The houses seemed to be only inches apart and most were built to the exact same plan. The only differences seemed to be trim color and yard statuary. Since it was very early afternoon, there were exceptionally few neighbors about. The trio strode up to the front door of Williams' house and rang the bell. They could not hear it ring inside the house and no answer was forthcoming, so Murphy pounded at the door. While Steele glanced about pretending not to be with Murphy, he noticed that the mailbox was overflowing and a utility notice was hung over the doorknob. Having pointed the notice out to Laura, he had stepped closer to the door, blocking his hand movements with his body. Laura had simply nodded as Murphy signaled Fred to move the limo. A stretch limo in this neighborhood was hard to miss. Steele had the door open in a moment and they quickly entered. The smell of ruined food was overpowering. All of the windows were tightly closed and the front room had been quite dark. It did not have the normal appearance of a front room. There were no couches or other comfortable furniture in the room, just metal folding chairs. In the semidarkness, they noticed as they quickly filed in that the walls were filled with shelves and the shelves were filled to overflowing. Steele, having opened the door, was the first in. As he hurriedly pressed forward into the shelf crowded room, thereby allowing entry by his two companions, he stumbled over something. There was a shocking clatter as many objects struck the floor. He bent down to determine what had fallen and Laura shoved up against him from behind. Normally, this would have sent an electric thrill through him, what with the close physical contact to her and all, but now it just caused him to fall forward across the metal folding chair and onto the still clattering objects. As his outstretched hands came into contact with the things on the floor, he found himself falling face first onto the shag carpet. Murphy laughed out loud as Steele tried to sit up and bring a handkerchief out of his breast pocket at the same time. Laura hissed at them for silence and reached down to grab some of the slippery items on the floor. Steele calmly accomplished his goals of sitting up and claiming the handkerchief, which he hastily held his over his nose. It didn't, however, seem to tame the overpowering stench very much. "Blue Suede Shoes. Great Balls of Fire. Blueberry Hill," Laura read out quietly. "This was a stack of 50s Rock n' Roll 45s before Mister Steele shattered them." Her voice held a smile, but Steele felt that she wasn't particularly droll at the moment, not with him up to his arse in the bloody things. "Astounding Science Fiction. Ellery Queen. American Magazine. Analog," Murphy joined in. "Look at this -- TV Guides from the fifties. It's a collectors paradise in here, Laura." Ignoring the other two, Steele had run his free hand through the shag carpeting. It was worn, nearly threadbare. As his eyes grew accustomed to the semidarkness, he noticed that the paint on the walls and ceiling was thin and peeling. "Has anyone noticed that there is a problem here?" Steele asked. "Damn it, Steele! How do you keep doing that?" "Yes, Murphy, me boy. I may not be a trained detective, but I have a practiced eye for value." "Yes, they are collectors items, but the conditions are poor," Laura said. "Really, they are not worth collecting at all." Laura evaluated the layout of the room. A narrow hall with several doors leading out from it lay before her. She nodded to Murphy and they headed in that direction. Steele, on the other hand, was nearly sitting in a door less opening that lead to a kitchen. "Mister Steele, if you would check out the kitchen." "Thanks, Laura!" Steele muttered sotto voice. He rose carefully from the floor and avoided the disks still strewn about the floor as he stepped onto the linoleum from the carpet. The kitchen was unsavory, but the light was somewhat better as the Venetian blinds that covered the kitchen windows allowed more sunlight to fill the room. The smell of rotted food was nearly overpowering near the refrigerator. Steele wondered how long the power had been off to produce such a smell. Not only that, but the tiny room was nearly empty, with a single table taking up most of the area. This had been the living area of the house, he guessed. An open can of tomato soup, with a spoon in it, sat there before a small television. The little black and white set had rabbit-eared aerials rising above it, with sections of aluminum foil on their ends. Behind the television was an IBM Selectric with a sheet of paper still in it. On the floor beside the typewriter were several crumpled up sheets of paper. Near the edge of the table sat an opened box of Godiva chocolates and its lid. Steele wished for gloves as he walked around the table to the typewriter. He noted that the candy box was empty; except for the little papers the chocolates came in. Reeling the loaded paper up, he noticed that one word had been typed: Ventura. Puzzled he reached for one of the crumpled balls of paper. This appeared to be a shopping list. Confusion was starting to set in. Maybe his lack of training was beginning to show, but he really didn't want to admit it. He especially didn't want to admit it in front of Murphy Michaels. Their rivalry and the one-upmanship that encompassed nearly every action of the two of them came at a cost. The independent Steele could not willingly ask for nor accept help from Murphy. They were like two dogs growling over the same bone. He smiled ruefully, realizing that was not a very flattering of Laura Holt; she would be incensed if she heard it. Across the tiny kitchen was another door. Steele stepped up to this new door and discovered that it was locked. In for a pence, in for a pound, he thought as he set to work on the lock. His skill with lock picks swiftly gained him entry to a laundry room. It was piled with clothes and not much else, but revealed another door. This was quickly becoming a maze, Steele had thought. He was reminded of the song House Of Four Doors from In Search Of The Lost Chord by The Moody Blues, Decca Records, 1968. Humming quietly to himself he opened this final door. Mystery spread its cloak Across the sky, We'd lost our way. After leaving the relatively well-lit kitchen, the laundry room was quite dark, so Steele left the door from the kitchen open to shed some light on his search. But even more disturbing than the dark was the incredible stench. There must have been a deep freeze in the room, Steele reasoned, holding his handkerchief tighter against his nose. Steele advanced into the dark, still humming the Moody Blues. He became aware that he was in a garage when he banged his shins on a car. He had backed away and bent over to feel his hurting legs. When he had drawn himself to his full height, he felt something in his hair. Turning quickly, he found himself face-to-shin with Garrett Williams. Needless to say, he wailed like a banshee. Steele jumped back and immediately sprawled backward over the bonnet of a small car. His head smacked down on the windscreen and he had instantly saw stars. His next conscious thought occurred a while later when Murphy turned on the headlights of the car The intense light exposed a portly man with a long, grey beard hanging from an exposed beam by a green garden hose. The sight was not one that Steele wanted burned into his retina, but the concentration of light in the small garage combined with the blow to the base of his skull seemed to burn the sight into his memory forever. Steele called the police from the limo's mobile phone and a short time later, they had efficiently determined that Williams had, in fact, committed suicide. He had been down on his luck, behind on his bills, and unwilling to part with his collection. It had reminded Steele of himself in some of those dark days before he had assumed the mantle of the Great Detective. Great Detective, he mused-- what a crock! He had screamed like a girl, he had lowered himself in the eyes of Laura. Not only that, but he had been demeaned in front of Murphy Michaels. His behavior had been ridiculous and it was damn nigh unforgivable. That is, he could never forgive himself. * * * * * Steele came back to the present and found himself facing a picture of Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. The poster hung in the window of a rundown looking electronics store called Federal TV. For the moment, the untimely death of Garrett Williams was temporally banished and his doubts of his detective abilities were forgotten. Might as well enjoy the moment, he thought as he entered the dingy looking building. The appearance inside negated the one presented from the outside. The store was well lit and there were literally thousands of video tape recorders, televisions and stereos. He found himself drawn to a small alcove with a large screen television playing Alfred Hitchcock's Notorious (1946). The image was so clear and bright that he could hardly credit his eyes. "Could I interest you in something, sir?" the polite clerk inquired. "Tell me about this," Steele said, waving his arm at the picture. "Ah, a man of discriminating taste," the clerk said as he reached out and picked up a box that Steele hadn't noticed sitting atop the wide screen television. "This is the Criterion Collection of Alfred Hitchcock's Notorious on laser disk. Not only is it a new transfer, but this great edition also contains an audio commentary by film historian Rudy Behlmer." "I've read about these laser disks. Are they really worth the hype?" "Sir, I guarantee it!" the clerk said enthusiastically. "The magnetic particles on a video tape flake off every time you pass it over the heads. With a laser disk there is no physical contact with the program's data." He slid what looked like an album sleeve out of the box and tilted it to reveal the disk inside. The store lights caught the embedded data and rainbows danced about in the darkened alcove. "Laser disks should last forever, unless you take a nail to them." Steele was dazzled. Perhaps this was just the ticket to banish his doldrums. "Could I interest you in one today?" The day's events swirled around in his head again and Steele shook his head, at once producing a sharp headache. "Not today, I'm afraid," he said regretfully. "But could you give me a card." The clerk produced a card and Steele could see the light of a commission fading in the man's eyes. * * * * * Still searching for solace, Steele once again found himself walking down the sidewalk. Seeing the sign on a little donut shop, he had a craving for hot cocoa. He entered the small bakery and stepped up to a stool. An attractive young woman of apparently Asian-Indian decent came up behind the counter and asked what he would like. "Hot cocoa," Steele replied. "Yes, sir. Whipped cream or marshmallows?" "Let's live dangerously, shall we? Whipped cream." Soon a fair sized cup of cocoa covered with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry appeared before him. As he sipped, his mind ranged back over the past year that he had been Remington Steele. Had it really been worth it? Perhaps he didn't have the detective training of Laura and Murphy, but he had some other talents that he could bring to bear. He finished his cocoa, paid his bill, and stepped out into the growing evening. His head still throbbed sharply, so he proceeded across the street to a small convenience store. His eyes were drawn to a small group of young boys in white outfits entering a storefront. Glancing up, he noticed a huge neon fist blinking the words, Shamblins' School of Karate. The fist amused him and he chuckled for the first time in hours. He watched as the young students shed their shoes and stepped onto the mats of the dojo, their eyes gleaming with enthusiasm as they faced their instructors. As he saw them bow and begin the first kata, it filled him with hope. Not everyone followed the same path; his lack of training was being filled. Even though it was his name on the agency, he was serving an apprenticeship, just as Laura and Murphy had at Havenhurst. Maybe he wouldn't give up the life of Steele just yet. He turned and entered the corner convenience store. Beside the counter was a display of BC headache powders. As he grabbed a packet and tossed it on the counter, something in the glass display case caught his eye. Bending his knees, he took a closer look into the Valentine's Day display. His laughter filled the small shop and the old Korean woman at the register eyed him with suspicion, but he couldn't help himself. "I'll take this, also," he said, motioning to the black teddy bear which was holding in its paws a red lace heart proclaiming 'I wuv U!' "Twenty-nine ninety-five," the woman said, still watching him carefully. "Wonderful," he murmured as she took the black teddy bear from the case. Steele paid for his purchases and walked into the night. Being Remington Steele could be difficult; it was a heavy mantle to shoulder, but he would stick to it. If only he could forgive himself for that unmanly shriek, then he might work up the courage to give his black lace teddy to Laura for Valentine's Day. * * * * * For those of you trying to guess the Challenge Story Elements, I added a few more items of my own to the story. I hope a few of them kept you guessing. 1. A stack of 50s Rock n' Roll 45s 2. Whipped cream 3. A box of Godiva chocolates 4. A video of "Notorious" 5. A black lace teddy 6. Karate

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