LOCK, STOCK, AND STEELE
by
Lauryn Poynor
FADE IN:
INT. - LAURA'S LOFT - DAY
Laura, frowning, is shaking out the folds of her quilt, Steele
is peering under the bed. Not finding anything of interest, Steele
straightens up, brushing specks of dust from his trousers.
STEELE: Laura, do you realize it's been six months to the day
since a mystery man appeared in your bedroom? A man desperately
searching for something he counted on, something that consumed
his every waking moment for the past two years?
LAURA: I beg to differ, Mr. Steele. You were here just last week.
STEELE: [sighs wistfully] Yes, and I'm still counting.
Cruelly disappointed, yet again. Actually, I was referring to
the blackmailing Mr Cecil Cosgrove.
LAURA: The ex-con from Econocon? Has it been six months, already?
What a memory you have Mr Steele.
STEELE: Remington Steele prides himself on his encyclopedic knowledge
of past cases, his uncanny ability to recall in an instant any
fact large or small -
LAURA: [arms crossed skeptically] Has Remington Steele's
uncanny ability found my lost earring yet?
STEELE: All in good time Laura; proximity to your bed has temporarily
interfered with my radar. Not to worry. I'll find it.
They both are startled by a sharp rap on the door. It's followed
by another more impatient tattoo that quickly escalates to all
out pounding. Laura slides back the door to reveal Nestor Bartholomew,
downstairs neighbor and full time nemesis. He fixes her with a
baleful glare.
LAURA: [surprised, bracing herself for bad news] Mr
Bartholomew? How are you?
NESTOR: Like you care. Doorbell busted again?
LAURA: It was working last week.
NESTOR: How would you know? Only a jackhammer could be heard over
your stereo.
STEELE: [strolls over, all false cheer and bonhomie] Nestor.
[beat] So good to see you getting out more. [moves in
for a closer look] Just to be safe, I'd stick with dark glasses.
Until you get used to the sunlight. [beat] The view from
under your rock must be pretty dim.
NESTOR: [unfazed] Where'd you dig up that joke? From an
ancient history museum?
STEELE: Pigmentation is returning to your mole-like exterior as
we speak. A touch of colour suits him, doesn't it, Laura?
LAURA: [looks at Nestor's face] You do look a little flushed.
[with mild concern] Is something wrong? Um, why don't you
sit down? [Laura motions him to a chair. Steele and Laura sit
down on the sofa opposite him]
NESTOR: Typical. I come here looking for Sherlock Holmes and I
get Marcus Welby.
LAURA: You're looking for Sherlock Holmes?
NESTOR: Is there an echo in here? [with exasperation] I'm
looking for a detective. That is what you do isn't it?
Look through keyholes? Find clues? Corral suspects?
LAURA: We've been known to.
NESTOR: Yeah. I've seen your picture splashed all over the newspapers.
Well, his picture. Must be a slow news year.
STEELE: [with noblesse oblige] One does what one can to
bring excitement into the humdrum lives of others.
NESTOR: Spare me. I see where you got that tan. It must get hot
under those flashbulbs.
STEELE: How envious you must be. Everywhere you turn, you see
my face. Of course, one would hardly expect to see yours. [beat]
A photographer could never find your good side. Neither can the
rest of us for that matter.
LAURA: [whistles] OK. Time out. You two can go out on the
playground and finish this later. [to Steele] We've got
keyholes to look through. Suspects to suspect. [turns to Nestor]
Don't we?
NESTOR: I've got suspects coming out of the woodwork.
STEELE: Couldn't you try something more original? We've solved
that one already.
LAURA: [rolls her eyes] Mr Steele. I think we can rule
out a connection with Econocon. [to Nestor] Tell us about
your suspects. And just what it is you suspect them of.
NESTOR: My job is no secret to you snooping detective types. I'm
a stock analyst. [beat] Stop me if I'm boring you.
STEELE: [yawns ostentatiously] Now that you mention it
-
LAURA: [annoyed] Mr Steele -
NESTOR: Doesn't matter. I've seen it all before. That look I get
when I go up to someone at a party and -
STEELE: [just a little shocked] You go to parties?
NESTOR: [huffs] I'm sure they're not the kind you're used
to. We've never been raided by the LAPD and everyone keeps their
clothes on.
STEELE: I'm bored already. Can we stop now?
LAURA: [gives him a look; turns to Nestor] Let's forget
the partying for a moment and concentrate on the facts. Why do
you want to hire us, Mr Bartholomew?
NESTOR: Someone's been breaking into my apartment. It's happened
the last Thursday of each month. Three months running.
LAURA: Did they take anything? Money? Valuables?
NESTOR: Nothing really valuable. But I have a good idea what they're
after.
LAURA: Why don't you start at the beginning and maybe we'll all
have a good idea.
NESTOR: OK. Every month our firm has a competition with the jerks
over at Drexel Burnham. Our experts and their experts pick ten
hot stocks from all three markets. Then for phase two, we print
out the stock pages, cut them out in strips and paste them on
a dart board. The building janitors pick ten stocks by throwing
darts at them. At the end of the month we compare our picks with
Drexel's and see who had the biggest average investment gain against
the dart throwers.
STEELE: [raises an amused eyebrow] So this is what you
financial wizards do for fun? Play with darts? I can't say I'm
surprised.
NESTOR: [sniffs] It's not a game. It's an empirical test
of an economic theory.
LAURA: He's right, Mr Steele. I've heard of this before. The efficient-market
theory. First formulated by Burton Malkiel, an economics professor
at Princeton. It states that all available information is quickly
reflected in stock prices and so all stocks present an equal chance
for gain.
NESTOR: [impressed in spite of himself] I see who's the
real brains of this outfit. [to Steele] You're just here
for the photo op.
LAURA: [blushing slightly at the compliment] Well, I do
read 'The Wall Street Journal.' If you take the efficient-market
theory to its logical extreme, a portfolio selected by a group
of monkeys throwing darts could do as well as one selected by
the experts.
STEELE: [gambler's instincts kicking in] In your
contest do the dart throwers ever win?
NESTOR: Sure. Sometimes they beat the analysts. Which gives our
janitors a big payday.
LAURA: Why so?
NESTOR: They get to split a twenty thousand-dollar pot.
STEELE: [with disbelief] Every month you have a chance
at twenty thousand dollars?
NESTOR: Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. And I've had the hot hand,
the top stock pick of the bunch for three months in a row. According
to the rules I get half the pot. Which makes me persona non grata
with the jerks at Drexel. Not to mention the even bigger jerks
I work with. Even the janitors. You should see the layers of dust
on my desk. And they've stopped putting a liner in my trashcan.
LAURA: It sounds as though you've made some enemies in the past
three months.
STEELE: Three months? Laura, don't sell the man short. I'll wager
he's been generating animosity since he was in nappies.
NESTOR: In what?
LAURA: Diapers. Mr Steele isn't American.
NESTOR: [to Steele] Communist!
STEELE: Coming from you that's a compliment. I'll bet you're the
firm's little ray of sunshine, Nestor.
NESTOR: [aggrieved] They've never liked me. To them I'm
just a nobody. A square peg. I'm not a high roller. I don't have
a flashy car, a Gucci briefcase, and a semi-permanent tan. I don't
dress for success. All I can do is beat them at their own game.
And it drives 'em crazy.
LAURA: Crazy enough to break into your apartment? What were they
looking for? Information? Something to give them an edge?
NESTOR: The break-ins have happened like clockwork the day before
the new monthly stock picks are chosen for the contest. The thief
has stolen all of my forecasts, some stock analysis software;
even tried to hack into my hard drive -
LAURA: It sounds as though despite their efforts, they haven't
had much success, at least contest-wise.
NESTOR: Of course they haven't. It's not just the data. It's how
you interpret it that counts. Otherwise, any monkey could do it.
STEELE: Have you been able to surprise this intruder? They've
obviously spent a good deal of uninterrupted time in your apartment.
NESTOR: We keep missing each other. I always take that particular
day of the month off to go out of town to a writer's workshop.
STEELE: Do your office colleagues know you're out of town?
NESTOR: Yeah. They know. I tell them I'm teaching a seminar on
investing. None of them know I'm a writer. [with anger]
Except for one. The lousy sneak thief who stole my novel.
LAURA: Stole your novel?
NESTOR: There goes that echo again. I'll spell it out for you.
They took all my computer disks -- lock, stock, and barrel.
That means every chapter, every line, every syllable of my novel
-- every drop of blood, tears, and sweat is in their grubby little
hands.
STEELE: [with mock dismay] So the Great American Novel
has been purloined. And we thought it was a figment of your imagination.
Do you realize what this means? [beat] Publishers round
the globe will be rejoicing at the sudden shrinkage in their slush
piles.
NESTOR: Go ahead! Laugh. I could wallpaper my loft with rejection
notices and have enough left over to blanket Dodger Stadium. I
can take rejection. But this theft is -- different. I feel like
I've been violated. Some pervert poked through my personal possessions.
[glares at Steele] Where were you the night of April 29
th ?
STEELE: [smiles sourly at Nestor; then recovers his
savoir faire] I was out with a lovely young woman named Eloise.
So bright. So beautiful. So eager to please. [glances at Laura,
hoping for a reaction; he gets none] She's a stockbroker.
Striking brunette. Very stylish. [to Nestor] Perhaps you've
met her. Eloise Fairchild?
NESTOR: Who hasn't? Over at Drexel she was voted the girl most
likely to.
STEELE: Most likely to? [he motions for Nestor to complete
the phrase]
NESTOR: That's it. Just the girl most likely to. [beat]
Floozy.
LAURA: [with a smirk] I hear she's a wiz at the "big
board."
STEELE: [suddenly eager to change the subject] So
you'd like the two of us to catch this thief in the act?
NESTOR: In mid-snatch. But no photo-ops. No flashbulbs. I just
want my novel back. They can keep the other stuff. They'll never
figure out my system anyway. Idiots!
LAURA: If the thief runs true to form he or she should show up
tomorrow. We'll set up for twenty-four hour surveillance. [to
Nestor] We'll need keys to your apartment while you attend
the workshop.
NESTOR: No dice. I'm staying put. I want to be here when you shake
'em down, cuff 'em, beat a confession out of them whatever it
is you do.
STEELE: Really, Nestor. Such tactics are hardly necessary. We'll
only hold them until the police arrive.
NESTOR: [contemptuously] I knew you were no Sam Spade.
STEELE: [as light begins to dawn] Miss Holt, I don't mean
to throw cold water on our good intentions but have we -- that
is, have you -- really grasped the gravity of the situation?
LAURA: [shrugs] It seems like a simple case of robbery.
Not exactly the thick of danger.
STEELE: [with mounting alarm] Laura. Consider our situation.
We're talking about a twenty-four hour watch. Morning. Noon. And
night. Trapped in his apartment with no means of escape while
he recites passages from memory from rejected novels or drones
on about balance sheets and price / earnings ratios. Lunch with
Descoine would be safer.
NESTOR: I'll pay you ten thousand bucks.
STEELE: On second thought we could use a bit of investment advice.
CUT TO BLACK:
FADE IN:
The high powered surveillance operation has begun. Steele is
lounging on the sofa, feet on the coffee table, circling picks
in the Daily Racing Form; Laura is reading the Wall Street Journal.
Nestor walks over, unceremoniously lifts Steele's feet off the
table and dusts under them. The apartment is well furnished, but
impersonal, suggesting a fanatically clean hotel room.
Nestor furtively peers out of a window.
STEELE: [looks up] Would you stop doing that? We've
installed the motion sensors on the fire escape. The moment it's
triggered we'll hear the remote control beeping like R2D2.
NESTOR: [sits down in a huff] Don't you think you should
test it again?
STEELE: [dryly] I think five times in a row was the charm.
NESTOR: I hate odd numbers.
STEELE: [rooted to the spot] Sorry. I'm not climbing those
stairs again in this lifetime.
NESTOR: [a litany] I ask for Eliot Ness and I get Nero
Wolfe.
A sudden shrill beeping sound has them all jumping to their
feet
NESTOR: Let's nab 'em! [beat; slaps his forehead] [to
Steele] On second thought --you nab 'em! What am I paying
you for?
STEELE: [picks up the remote - frantically trying to turn off
the alarm] Nestor, get a grip! Phase One. We have to catch
them in the act. Assume your positions everyone!
Everyone moves off except Laura who has just realized where
the sound is coming from. She gasps and rushes to the kitchen.
STEELE: [douses the lights; looks around] Laura! You're
not assuming the position. [irritably] What's wrong with
this bloody remote?
Suddenly the beeping stops. Laura comes into view holding a
kitchen timer.
LAURA:[smiles sheepishly] False alarm. Um, I forgot.
I set this -- to remind myself to go back to the loft to feed
Nero.
STEELE: [in disbelief] Are you telling me that
our best laid plans were just wasted on the clawless wonder?
NESTOR: Maybe I should just hire the Keystone Cops.
LAURA: The poor little thing does have to eat.
STEELE: Don't you think you're being a touch over-solicitous?
Ever since you rescued him back from the pound you've been stuffing
him like a Christmas goose. He looks like the Hindenburg with
fur.
LAURA: He's never liked you, either.
STEELE: Thank God for small favours.
LAURA: [miffed] I'm going back to the loft.
STEELE: [alarmed] But we agreed this was a team effort.
All for one, one for all. You're not going to leave me alone with
- [beat] I might have to kill him.
NESTOR: I was just going to say the same thing.
LAURA: I'll be back in exactly one hour.
STEELE: An hour? To feed the cat? I know he has a voracious appetite
but -
LAURA: I need to call Mildred at the office. We're still working
on the security contracts for Hi Tec Electronics.
STEELE: Anything I can do to help?
LAURA: Just make sure our client is alive when I get back. [to
Nestor] If you're thinking of killing him - take a number.
STEELE AND NESTOR: [in unison] Spoilsport.
CUT TO BLACK:
FADE IN:
Laura sinks down onto the sofa, relishing a rare moment of
peace and quiet. What bliss. She checks her watch. There is ample
time to accomplish her mission. She turns on the TV and clicks
through the channels. Chewing a fingernail during a commercial
for age spot creme, she snaps to attention when an announcer's
voice is heard.
ANNOUNCER: 'The Waltons' will not be seen today as we bring you
this very special presentation of 'Atomic Man - The Reunion -
Attack of the Clones.'
LAURA: [aloud] God, I've waited years for this. They never
show the reunion episode any more. [beat] I wonder if I
should get one of those Betamax machines.
CUT TO BLACK:
FADE IN:
Nestor is seated at his computer, an expression of grim concentration
on his face. He begins to type, hesitantly at first, then picking
up speed.
STEELE: [straining at civility] What are you working
on? Analysis of the S&P Dartboard 500? Any advice on hitting
the bullseye?
NESTOR: Wouldn't you like to know? Everybody wants a piece of
me.
STEELE: Fame does have its downside. There's something to be said
for mole-like anonymity. [smiles thinly] Miss the view
from under your rock?
NESTOR: [the voice of gloom] It really hasn't changed.
It's still the same dull, gray, meaningless existence it was three
months ago.
STEELE: There, you see? Nothing to worry about. [walks over
and looks at the computer screen]
NESTOR: I've gone back to square one. I'm trying to reconstruct
my novel.
STEELE: [puzzled] I don't know much about computers but
why didn't you make a backup? Save it on your, um, your -
NESTOR: Hard drive?
STEELE: Precisely.
NESTOR: I did. When the thief tried to hack into it most of my
files got erased.
STEELE: You sure they weren't working for Simon and Schuster?
NESTOR: [defensively] Great writers have always been misunderstood.
[with determination] One of these days I'll have the last
laugh. They won't have Nestor Bartholomew to kick around anymore.
STEELE: Spoken like a true artist. Made any progress? [reads
aloud from the computer screen]
NESTOR: [cheerfully] What
do you you think? I hate to brag, but I know how to turn a phrase.
STEELE: [grimacing] Or a stomach.
NESTOR: Philistine!
STEELE: Amateur!
CUT TO BLACK:
FADE IN:
STEELE: [to Laura]
You might have saved some for the rest of us.
LAURA: [licking the spoon] I thought you had a stomach
ache.
NESTOR: [to Laura] I'm taking that out
of your expenses. Don't touch the Vanilla Fudge. That's my breakfast.
Conversation exhausted, it falls quiet again. A familiar beeping
sound cuts through the silence, a bit more insistent than before.
STEELE: False alarm?
LAURA: I don't think so.
They all jump up at once. Laura clicks off the alarm.
STEELE: Positions this time, please. [He puts out
the candle and turns off the TV]
Everyone scatters to hide behind furniture. They strain to
hear the muffled sound of sneakered footsteps on the fire escape.
A moment later the sound of glass breaking and the metallic squeak
of the window latch has the team on the alert...
A shadowy figure enters from the window, dressed in a dark jump
suit and wearing a stocking mask. They watch as the intruder goes
to the computer, turns it on, pulls out a small flashlight and
and starts searching through various desk drawers.
Steele, Laura, and Nestor converge on the intruder from all sides;
all tumble to the floor in a heap. Laura reaches over and turns
on a nearby lamp. In the struggle Steele pulls off the stocking
mask.
STEELE: Eloise!
ELOISE: Remington!
STEELE AND ELOISE: [in unison] What are you doing here?
NESTOR: I think we know the answer to that. Cough it up, sweetheart.
ELOISE: Cough what up?
NESTOR: My novel, you floozy.
ELOISE: [struggling in Steele's grasp] Are you going to
let him talk to me that way? [to Nestor] I haven't the
foggiest idea what you're talking about.
LAURA: [smugly] No gloves, Eloise? Not a smart move. We've
dusted for fingerprints. You've been here before, haven't you?
ELOISE: [realizing the game is up] I had to do something.
To save my career. I was on a fast track to nowhere, willing to
risk anything. [pleading] You don't know what it's like
at Drexel. It's a shark tank. Survival of the fittest.
NESTOR: My heart bleeds.
ELOISE: [to Steele] You're not going to let him press charges
are you? [seductively] After all we've meant to each other.
NESTOR: You're disgusting.
ELOISE: You're sick. [a twist of the knife] That novel
of yours. It's garbage. I've saved the publishers the trouble
of rejecting it. It's been recycled. It was my civic duty.
NESTOR: You floozy! [goes for the throat]
STEELE: [trying to hold him back] Icy calm, Nestor, icy
calm!
CUT TO BLACK:
FADE IN:
LAURA: Nestor! Long time no see.
[she winks at him]
NESTOR: [stonefaced] Will ten thousand dollars get the
both of you out of my life? [he pulls out an envelope from
his jacket]
STEELE: It's a deal. We never want to see you again. [He takes
the envelope and thumbs through the wad of bills inside]
LAURA: I'm sorry we weren't able to get your novel back.
STEELE: That makes one of us.
LAURA: I don't think Eloise will be climbing through windows for
a while. Making a run for it on that fire escape and breaking
her ankle. Crime doesn't pay, does it?
STEELE: Sweet, willing Eloise. Who'd have ever guessed it, eh?
LAURA: [dryly] Not you, obviously.
STEELE: Nestor, my good man. What do you say to one last fling?
Cast off that dull, gray, wet blanket and live a little. [beat]
Let's go to the track. I'll show you how my system works.
NESTOR: The ponies? Thanks but no thanks. My old man was a horseplayer.
He died broke.
STEELE: You're such a pessimist. It's a lot more fun than the
Dartboard 500. More profitable, too.
NESTOR: [snorts] More profitable? Don't make me laugh.
Every dollar that goes through the betting window they take out
twenty percent. The racetrack, the purse payouts, the state --
all get a share. You're beat before you start. Then there's parking,
admission, food, drinks, the Racing Form -
STEELE: Laura, can I kill him now?
LAURA: [shrugs] Somehow I don't think this is the beginning
of a beautiful friendship.
FADE TO BLACK: