- Steele on the Run
by Nancy Eddy
Remington Steele entered the offices of the Agency that bore
his name- well, not his name exactly. It was simply just another
name he was using- a name that he felt more at ease with than
he had any other of the myriad names he'd "borrowed"
over the years. From inside the open door of his office, he heard
Laura's voice.
"I understand . . . The Remington Steele Agency prides itself
on its discretion, Miss Hamilton . . . Believe me, no one will
ever have to know about this . . ."
Remington strolled over to his desk, behind which Laura was sitting
in his leather upholstered chair, and examined the papers laying
on the usually clear workspace. Picking one up as Laura continued
to reassure the client on the other end of the telephone line,
his eyes widened in surprise. It appeared to be an application
of some kind- for a personal ad, no less. Suddenly Laura was
hanging up the telephone and grabbing the paper from his hands.
"Give me that," she ordered, placing it with the other
papers as she started putting them into a neat pile before her.
"Really, Laura, if you're in such desperate need of company,
I'm more than available," Remington began invitingly, leaning
across the desk toward her. "There's no reason for you to
find companionship using a personal ad."
Laura sighed, frowning at him. "It's for a *case*, Mr. Steele,"
she told him. "The Hamilton case, remember? Elizabeth Hamilton
placed an ad and now she thinks someone is stalking her?"
"Ah, yes. Of course. I take it that was the redoubtable
Miss Hamilton to which you were speaking just now?"
"She's terrified that all of this is going to become public
knowledge. And since she's up for a big promotion at the bank
where she works . . ."
"So you're going to place an ad and make *yourself* a target,
is that the idea?"
"Something like that," Laura admitted, carrying the
papers toward her office. "In fact, the ad's already been
placed."
Now Remington frowned. "It has?" he questioned, following
her.
"I placed it on Wednesday. The paper came out yesterday."
"Any nibbles yet?" he asked, trying to hide his concern
under an air of flippancy. "Who knows? Maybe you'll catch
that big fish that your mother's always wanted you to find."
"Very funny," Laura said, slamming the file cabinet
door. "As a matter of fact," she told him as she picked
up her purse and hat from the desk, "I thought we'd drop
by the post office and check the P.O. Box I rented on our way
to brunch."
Remington nodded. "I must say that I was surprised when
you called and asked me to meet you here. I thought your Saturday
work days were a thing of the past."
"Crime doesn't take a holiday, Mr. Steele. People need help
no matter what day of the week it is. I was just going over the
records on the Rimaldi case- I thought it would be a good idea,
since we're supposed to testify against him on Monday,"
she told him. "It wouldn't hurt you to do a bit of studying
yourself."
"Really, Laura. My memory is impeccable."
"Is that so?" she asked, smiling in a way that let
Remington know an inquisition about his past was on the way.
As they left the office, a gunshot echoed through the corridor,
shattering the glass door behind them, narrowly missing Remington
as he knelt to secure the lower lock. "What the-?"
he asked, pulling Laura behind a nearby potted plant that would
offer little protection.
Peering through the sparse leaves, Laura asked, "Can you
see anyone?"
"Can you?" he questioned in reply.
"No, I-" she got no further as another bullet tore
into the wall behind them. "Whoever he is, he's a lousy
shot."
"Thank goodness for small favours," Remington said.
"Let's make a break for the elevator. Perhaps if we get
downstairs, we can elude whoever it is."
As they ran toward the elevators, another bullet slammed into
the wall, causing them both to leap into the open car. Remington
pressed the close doors button as he plastered himself against
the side of the car, just missing stopping another bullet. "You'd
think someone would have heard all of this gunfire," he
commented as the doors closed at last.
"It's Saturday," Laura reminded him, relaxing as well.
"No one's working." She frowned as he pressed the button
for the ground floor. "Fred's waiting in the garage, isn't
he?" Laura asked.
Remington looked at her. "Would you really prefer to be
trapped in an empty parking garage with a crazed gunman?"
"You have a point, Mr. Steele," Laura agreed as the
car stopped and the doors opened.
"Come on," Remington said, pulling her out of the elevator
behind him.
Laura glanced at the second elevator. "Good idea. I think
our shooter is on his way down."
The only other sign of life in the building was the equipment
of a maintenance crew, who were apparently preparing to wax the
tile floor. The workers were nowhere in sight, probably taking
a break, and Remington grabbed a can of floor wax.
"What are you doing?" Laura asked, stopping on her
way out of the building to watch him. "Let's go!"
"Just trying to slow him up a bit," Remington said,
removing the lid and pouring it on the floor behind them as they
both ran toward the front doors.
"What now?" Laura asked, turning with Remington to
watch as a burly man burst from the elevator and ran toward the
doors, gun still in hand, only to slip when he hit the floor
wax and slide across the tile.
Realizing that his momentum would bring him directly to the doors,
Remington said, "Run," and took off down the street.
"Did he look familiar?" he called to her as they turned
a corner.
"Not really. You're sure it's not a jealous husband after
*you* for some reason?"
Remington managed a quelling look in her direction. "Really,
Laura. I don't date married women." An old memory surfaced.
"Not knowingly, at any rate." He pulled her to a stop
around another corner, and they both looked back to see that
their pursuer was still coming. "We're never going to outrun
this guy, Laura," he said, trying to catch his breath.
Laura looked around, and grinned. "Safety in numbers, Mr.
Steele," she told him, pointing to a tour bus that was loading
in the parking lot of a self-service gas station.
"A bus? Really, Laura. Why don't we just flag down a cab?"
he suggested, grimacing.
"He might follow us in a taxi and manage a lucky shot. I
don't think he'll risk that in a crowded bus. Shall we?"
They joined the queue board the bus, which was painted a bright
red with the lettering, "Tours of Los Angeles". The
man with the gun came around the corner and stopped, scanning
the crowd for some sign of them, his hand still on the gun that
was now hidden inside his jacket. Remington lifted a silent prayer
that he would overlook them in the throng, but the prayer went
unanswered. The man joined the line several people behind Laura
and Remington. "Bandit at six o'clock," he whispered
to Laura, dipping his head toward hers.
"He won't try anything with this many people around,"
Laura said with confidence, stepping forward to where a young
woman was selling what looked to be guide books.
"How about a map to the stars' homes?" she asked. "You'll
be able to follow the route and will know who's house is what
in case I miss something."
Laura shook her head. "No, thank you, I-" she stopped,
rolling her eyes as Remington brought out his wallet.
"How much?" he asked.
"Three dollars," she told him with a bright smile.
"For the map. The tour is seven fifty each."
Remington handed her a twenty. "Keep the change," he
said, and was rewarded for his generosity by yet another wide
smile. Taking the map, Remington noticed Laura's expression.
"Really, Laura. You can't deny me the chance to -"
"Never mind," she said with a defeated sigh as they
boarded the bus. The shooter tried to sit directly behind them,
but was beaten to the seat by someone else. "Where is he?"
she asked Remington.
He looked around, then said, "Three seats behind us on the
other side."
As soon as the bus pulled into traffic, the guide stood up and
said into a microphone, "Our route today will take us past
many of the homes of Hollywood's greatest stars. Clark Gable,
Elizabeth Taylor . . ." she stopped, looking out of the
windows. "I know it's not marked on your maps, but if you'll
look to your left, you can see the world famous La Brea Tar Pits
and the George C. Page Museum. Be sure to check it out while
you're in Los Angeles. It's a fascinating look back into the
area's distant past."
Laura glanced behind Remington to report, "He's just sitting
there, watching us. I still wish I knew why he's trying to kill
us." After twenty minutes of boredom as the perky tour guide
seemed insistent upon pointing out every single item of interest
along their route, Laura told Remington, "I don't know about
you, Mr. Steele, but I've had just about enough of this."
Remington looked at her, uncertain. "I think it's time we
find out what's going on."
"Here?" he questioned, glancing around the bus. "What
if he starts shooting?"
When the bus stopped at a corner, Laura stood up, not daring
to look back, and stepped into the aisle. "Excuse me. We're
getting off."
"But- the tour isn't finished yet," the guide said.
"I'm carsick," Laura lied, pushing past the woman.
Remington shrugged when she looked at him for confirmation. "She
can't go anywhere except on foot," he explained.
"Then why take the tour?" the driver asked.
"Therapy," he said, exiting the bus behind Laura. The
doors closed and the vehicle pulled away. "How are we supposed
to find out why he's chasing us when he's on a bus heading *away*
from us?" Remington asked.
"Just wait," she said, her eyes following the bus expectantly.
When it stopped, she smiled. "See?"
The door opened again to allow man who had been following them
to get off.
As he reached inside his jacket, Remington backed up a step.
"Uh, Laura-"
"Follow me!" Laura said, taking off down the side street
and into a narrow alleyway. Finding an empty beer bottle, she
held it out to Remington. "Stay there," she hissed,
then ducked back out to peer around the corner, making sure the
man saw her before running toward the dead end.
The man came around the corner, the light glinting off the dark
polished metal of his gun. He never saw Remington, and once he
passed, he came to a stop, gun pointed at Laura, who stood there,
hands up. "Don't make this any harder, lady."
"She won't," Remington promised, stabbing him in the
back with the bottle, "Raise your arms, mate." The
man's arms went toward the rectangle of sky above them. Remington
took the gun, tossing the beer bottle into a pile of debris.
"Now," he said as Laura joined them, "Suppose
you tell Miss Holt and myself why you're so determined to kill
us."
***
Half an hour later, Laura and Remington watched the police car
leave the scene, Joey Desmond, a self-styled local hit man in
the back seat. He'd been hired by George Rimaldi to get rid of
Steele and Laura before their testimony could convict him. But
the former "investments broker", unable to access his
ill-gotten gains, had been forced to hire the cheapest hit man
he'd been able to find- his nephew, Joey.
Remington smiled down at Laura once the cars had disappeared
around the corner. "All of this running has given me an
appetite. Ready for brunch, Miss Holt?" he asked, extending
his arm.
Laura took his arm. "Ready and willing, Mr. Steele."
The End
Story elements: La Brea tar pits, map
to the stars' homes, brunch, self-service gas station, floor
wax, a personal ad in a newspaper
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