Steele Investments
Part 9
by Melinda
 
"You again!" Laura exclaimed, clearly recognizing the long faced man with the snub-nosed .38 who had invaded their place of professional employment. Accompanying him was a woman in her sixties who had not yet been identified.
 
"Mr. Steele, as much as I enjoy your company, your lifestyle is far too exciting for me!" Alfred quavered.
 
"There, there, Alfred. Chin up. Don't worry. We'll get you through this ordeal safe and sound." He clapped the other man on the shoulder. "Miss Holt, is this the man from earlier?" he asked, indicating the gunman with a stabbing motion, and Laura gave her affirmation with a quick nod.
 
The most unpleasant people had a way of finding their way into his office. Really, it was getting rather tedious, to the point where he was considering speaking with Laura about allowing him to upgrade the agency's security system. Ah, but never mind, he had enough trouble convincing her that he was capable of handling some of the casework, and besides--
 
The pair facing them had gained access during business hours when their secretary typically functioned as the primary gatekeeper. Even Miss Wolfe would not have proven fearsome enough to deter these two.
 
The pair of stalwart detectives stood beside Alfred with their backs to Laura's office, hands held in the air. Behind the gunmen was a rotund woman with blue hair and a face like a prune. She wore a navy dress that clashed quite terribly with her hair.
 
"Junior, tell them to stop gabbing!"
 
"Ah, Mrs. Bellenworth, I presume!" Steele's face lit and he snapped his fingers, recognizing the woman's voice from the phone. "I recognize your unpleasant timbre! I say--a woman like you could drive any man to murder!"
 
Laura snapped her fingers. "That's it! You've done it again, Mr. Steele!" Laura exclaimed.
 
He was already reaching the same conclusion as Laura. "Her call was designed to lure me to the alley where the late Mr. Bellenworth lay in ambush!"
 
"She was his accomplice the entire time!" Laura agreed.
 
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dorcas Bellenworth screeched. She made her way across Remington Steele's office. "Junior, shut them up!"
 
"P-p-please, be quiet!" Junior stammered, and it was then that Remington noticed how the gunman's hand shook. Uneasy, he moved closer to Laura, placing himself between her and the weapon only to have his careful maneuvering neatly undone in the next moment.
 
"You," Mrs. Bellenworth gestured to Laura, "gather everything you took from the office and return it to me."
 
"Laura!" the detective protested softly, but his intrepid partner was completely preoccupied with piecing together the case. She moved away to gather the ledgers while asking questions. "Why would you deny having participated unless--" Laura's expression was thoughtful and distracted. He could hear the wheels turning.
 
"Junior doesn't know," he supplied.
 
"Junior, Remington Steele is the man who murdered your father!" Dorcas shrieked. "Are you going to stand there and do nothing while your very own mother is impugned?"
 
"B-b-be quiet now." The gun in Junior's hand steadied, and it was pointed straight at Steele's chest. It was a situation that he had faced any number of times now as Remington Steele--and one that he thoroughly despised each and every time.
 
Oblivious to her partner's peril, Laura spoke, "If Junior isn't aware of his mother's involvement, that means--"
 
It came to him in a flash. "Psycho, Anthony Perkins, Janet Leigh, Paramount, 1960--"
 
Alfred knew them both well enough to make the logical leap. "He's a serial killer who murders women while they shower!"
 
"No, Alfred!" Steele scolded. "Mrs. Bates hounded and harangued her poor son until she drove the man absolutely mad and turned him into a ruthless killer. Only in this case, it was the departed Mr. Bellenworth driven over the edge."
 
"Here are all of the ledgers," Laura announced, interrupting his exposition. "The Rolodex is in Mr. Steele's desk drawer. I'll have to open the bottom drawer." Laura's gaze locked with his; it was a clever lie. The Rolodex was in her office on the desk. The agency's gun was in his bottom drawer; it had been there since their last case.
 
He nodded ever so slightly to tell her that he was ready. His entire body was tense, primed for action in an explosion of adrenaline that was nearly as addicting as the masterful theft of a piece of great art--although his former profession had carried far fewer risks and been so much safer.
 
"Get it," Dorcas commanded. Laura complied.
 
"Junior," Steele said since it was his clear duty to provide the necessary distraction while Laura fetched the gun. "Don't you see? Your dear mum lured me to the alley in an attempt to stage your father's murder. When I fired the gun that she had left for me to find, she shot him in the chest with a weapon of the same caliber!"
 
"Good grief!" Alfred exclaimed, eyes like silver dollar pancakes. The banker was a terribly nice person, but he had always been a bit late to the party. "She staged his murder!"
 
Laura had the agency's gun up and aimed at Junior; Steele could only pray that it was loaded. He knew that Laura was a deadly shot, or so she had told him, and would not miss.
 
"NO! YOU'RE LYING! MOTHER!" Face contorted with rage, Junior leveled the .38 at Steele and fired off a shaky shot. There was an explosion of deafening noise--the .38 and the office gun going off simultaneously.
 
With a terrified cry, Alfred fainted dead away, swooning to the carpeted floor with a muffled thump.
 
A blossom of red appeared against the dingy beige of Junior's shirt. Laura's shot was precise; the bullet took him high in the shoulder of his gun hand. Immediately, he dropped his weapon and toppled over with a surreal slowness.
 
Remington surged forward and caught hold of Dorcas as the woman went for the gun. His strength was far superior even though the woman might have been his equal in weight. After a brief struggle, he secured her hands behind her back and forced her over the desk.
 
"Nice work, Mr. Steele," Laura complimented, lowering her gun. "Is Alfred okay?"
 
"He looks fine," he responded, inspecting both downed men. Alfred was unconscious and unharmed; Junior was conscious and gasping. A large pool of blood was spreading on the carpet. "However, our rug is going to need to be professionally cleaned."
 
He noticed rather swiftly that he was not so fine. He felt lightheaded, and there was an unaccountable wetness against his left side beneath his suit coat. He inserted questing fingers beneath his jacket to investigate.
 
Laura handed him the office gun. "Watch these two. I'm going to call the police," she told him, briskly and all business.
 
He grimaced and drew away bloody fingers, holding them up for Laura to see. "Call an ambulance while you're at it?" he asked.
 
Laura gasped and approached him, grabbing his suit coat and pulling it aside to reveal a red stain spreading on the white linen. He looked down and then up, shocked that he had not realized that he had been shot.
 
"Laura," he said, "if I don't make it, I want you to know how much I--"
 
"Shut up," Laura snarled and silenced him with a hard kiss. "You're going to make it!" Her brown eyes were fierce, and her hands upon his face were the last thing that he remembered before blacking out.
 
To Part 10
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