Fred cleared his throat to get their attention. Harry paused, his lips hovering just above Laura's. "Yes, Fred?"
"Where to, sir?" he asked.
Harry grimaced, looking at Laura, who told Fred, "Back to the office, please, Fred. I'll go and see Jerry and Larry alone-"
"Nonsense," Harry insisted. "Murphy would never forgive me if I allowed you to speak to a possible drug dealer on your own." Laura gasped in surprise as he unfolded the paper that Mr. Oliver had given her, which she had put into her jacket pocket.
"How did you-?"
He grinned. "One of my many unused talents," he informed her. "Not one that I'm in practice doing, though. I'm surprised I got away with it."
"You won't again," she assured him.
Harry looked at the names. "Which one first?" he asked.
"Larry, I think. He was pretty nervous about Murphy finding them. It's possible that a visit from Murphy's *boss* might send him running to the tunnel to make sure he's okay."
"Larry it is, then," he said, and gave the address to Fred. Sitting back, he put his arm around Laura. "Now. Where were we before we were interrupted, hmm?" he asked.
"Discussing your need for 'reassurance', I believe," she said.
"I don't recall a discussion," Harry said, frowning at her.
"Mr. Oliver really bothered you, didn't he?"
Harry sat back in the corner of the seat. "Laura, drop it, okay?"
"Another part of your mysterious past?"
"My past is an open book," he assured her.
"Not from where I'm sitting," she said. "That official bio is a bit sketchy. Too many questions left unanswered."
"Hmm. Sometimes it's best that way," Harry mused darkly. "Often the answers aren't what people want to hear."
"I want to hear them," Laura said in a quiet, sincere voice.
"Do you really? Are you certain that you want to hear about how men like Mr. Oliver used to troll certain areas of London for young boys with promises of food and a warm place to sleep?" He saw her flinch at the anger in his voice, and softened his tone. "There are parts of my life that I try *not* to remember, Laura. The not so pretty underside of life that most people are lucky enough to never have the misfortune to see."
Laura placed a hand over his as it lay on his thigh. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want your sympathy, Laura," he said, turning his hand to thread their fingers together.
"I meant that I'm sorry for asking you- but if you ever want to talk about it- I'll be here."
Harry lifted his free hand to gently touch her face. "Thank you. That means a lot to me. There haven't been a lot of people in my life that I felt that I could trust. Wholly, I mean. Even my grandfather had his own agenda in bringing me under his wing. I think, perhaps, I've finally found an exception to that rule."
"I have a few trust issues myself," Laura admitted, her eyes on their joined hands. "Long story, best left for another time," she told him, looking through the window as Fred parked the limo alongside a run down residential hotel. "We're here."
Harry looked through the window as well. "Can't say much for his choice of residence. You'd think someone involved in dealing drugs would have a bit more money."
"Maybe they're just the middle men," Laura suggested as Fred opened the door for them.
"Keep an eye on things down here, Fred," Harry warned, his distaste for the area clearly visible.
"Always, sir," Fred assured him.
"Good man," Harry said, following Laura into the hotel.
The front desk was vacant, but the sound of a television blaring in a room behind the area, almost drowning out the crying children and yelling adults on the floors above. "Hello?" Laura called, trying to make herself heard above the din. "Anyone here?" When there was no response, she pointed toward the narrow, dark stairway and indicated that they should continue.
Harry stayed as close as he could to Laura without crowding her, following her up the dark stairs to the second floor, into an equally dark corridor, which smelled of urine, beer, broken dreams and wasted lives. One of the doors opened, and a sad faced, hopeless little boy stood there, staring at them, before he was pulled back and the door closed again.
"Three oh six, three oh eight," Laura said aloud, looking for Larry's room. "Here it is. Three ten." She knocked on the door. When there was no response, she told Harry, "Keep a look out."
Harry watched as she took a leather case from her purse, and then withdrew two metal lock picks. "May I?" he asked.
"You've done this?"
"Usually not with picks, and I'm a bit out of practice, but-"
Laura held out the picks and stepped aside, looking up and down the corridor. "It's all yours."
"Do you have a hairpin, by any chance?" he asked, not taking the picks. He looked at her hair as she pulled out a pin for him. "Thank you."
"Don't take too long," Laura said. "We can't-" she turned in surprise as he opened the door. "Out of practice?" she asked him, giving him a suspicious look before pushing into the room ahead of him. "Larry?" she called. "Don't touch anything," she told Harry.
Harry followed her into the room, watching as she went into the bathroom. He went to the window, seeing that it was open, thinking that Larry might have left that way if he'd been here at all. His gaze fell to the floor between the bed and the floor. "Uh, Laura?"
"Yes?" she said, coming back into the room. "I guess he's not here."
"What did this Larry look like?"
"Young, early twenties, at the most. Dark complexion, short hair-"
"I think he's here," he told her, kneeling as she joined him to gasp at the sight of Larry lying on the floor, a used hypodermic needle nearby. Harry pressed two fingers against the man's neck, and then shook his head. "He's dead. Apparently an overdose." He winced. "Not an easy way to die."
"This is no longer just kidnapping and drugs," Laura said. "Larry's friends just graduated to cold-blooded murder."
Harry rose to his feet. "Laura, you don't have any proof that his partner did this. The police will no doubt say that he was simply another junkie who's habit got the better of him."
"Why don't we ask his partner in crime?" Laura said, turning on her heel, leaving Harry no choice except to follow her.
***
Back in the limo, Laura gave the driver Jerry Baxter's address.
Fred turned to look at her. "You're certain about that address, Miss Holt?"
"Yes," she said, consulting the paper again. "That's what it says. Why?"
"No reason," he responded, turning back toward the front of the car to pull into traffic.
Laura mused over the address, trying to figure out why Fred had reacted the way he had. "You don't think he'll be here, do you?" Harry asked. "Not after killing his friend that way."
"He won't leave without taking the drugs with him- and tying up some loose ends," Laura said, frowning as she thought of Murphy.
The limo stopped five blocks away from the warehouse- in a part of town that had recently been "reclaimed" and turned into an upscale apartment building. "Nice," Harry commented. "This Jerry lives in regal splendor while his partner ekes by in squalor."
Laura glanced at Fred. "Next time, Fred, tell me what's going on, okay?"
Fred shrugged and smiled a bit sheepishly as he opened the door for them. Before they could get out of the car, though, a flashy red sports car shot out of the underground parking garage and down the street. "That's him!" Laura told them.
Harry closed the door. "Let's go, Fred."
"Don't lose him," Laura said as Fred managed a neat u-turn to follow the red car. "But try not to let him *know* you're following him."
The sports car turned down a back alley a block away from Mr. Oliver's warehouse. "Stop the car, Fred!" Laura said, and had the door open before it was completely stopped.
Harry took a deep breath. "Good job, Fred," he said, "Block the alley in case he tries to leave, eh?" he suggested, and then followed Laura along the sidewalk to the alley.
She was plastered against the side of a building, peering around the corner, when Harry caught up to her. "He went in there," Laura told him, pointing to a slightly ajar door into the next building.
"You're not carrying a gun, by any chance?" Harry asked her, looking at the door.
"No. I don't usually need one," she said, and then moved toward the red car. "Come on."
"Angels rush in," Harry muttered, following her around the car to the door. Laura looked around them, and picked up a length of wood lying nearby. Lifting it above her head, she nodded in his direction.
Harry pulled the door open as quietly as he could, fully expecting Jerry to rush out at him. But there was only silence in the warehouse. Dirty windows high on the brick walls, giving the interior an eerie, otherworldly feel, filtered the dim light.
There was a noise to the right, and Laura turned to look at Harry, verifying that he'd heard it. Harry nodded in response, then took the stick of wood from her and indicated that she should go ahead.
They nearly missed the entrance to the tunnel. It was in a wall, behind a stack of empty crates. The metal plate in the wall was open, and Harry stepped inside, trying to see in the near total darkness. He took his lighter from his pocket and flicked it on, revealing that the tunnel slanted down. Taking Laura's hand, he extinguished the light, and they set off, listening for any hint that Jerry might be ahead of them.
The floor of the tunnel eventually evened out, but it had collected water, and Harry was certain that they were making enough noise to alert an army, much less one man who had probably already killed one person today. He kept Laura close to him with his left hand, and maintained a wary hold on the wood with his right.
"Com'on, you. Wake up!" A man's voice said. His words were punctuated by a grunt of pain.
The faint glow of a flashlight reached them from around a corner, and Harry pulled Laura against the wall of the tunnel.
"We got places to go," Jerry said. "I've gotta make sure that boss of yours doesn't find your body till it washes up on the beach somewhere. Might give me some time."
"You won't get away with it," Murphy said.
"I got nothing to lose, pal," Jerry told him. "Let's go. I don't want have to kill you right now. But if you make any noise, - Now go."
Used to the darkness, Harry managed to find Laura's eyes and nod toward the other side of the tunnel. He lifted the piece of wood. Laura nodded and moved away.
Jerry came around the corner, a flashlight in one hand, and a gun in the other. The gun was against Murphy's back, and Murphy's hands were still tied behind him.
Laura leapt from her hiding place, throwing her arms around Murphy to push him to the floor as Harry swung the wood in Jerry's direction. It connected with an echoing 'snap', and Jerry fell into the water that covered the floor.
Harry collected the flashlight and gun, before going to where Laura and Murphy were just getting out of the water. "Are you okay, Murphy?" Laura was asking.
"Yeah. I think so." He told her, wincing as he held a hand to his side, his eyes on Harry. "What's *he* doing here?"
"Is that anyway to thank someone for helping to save your life?" Harry asked him, dropping the wood into the water and dragging Jerry to his feet. "What shall we do with this one?" he asked Laura.
"*This* one goes to the police," she told him. She put her arm around Murphy. "Come on, Murphy. Let's get you to a doctor."
"I don't need a doctor," Murphy said.
"You were knocked unconscious, dragged through a warehouse and dumped into this tunnel, then left here for half a day. I think you should see your doctor," she told him firmly.
"I still want to know what that guy's doing here," Murphy said, and Harry could feel the daggers in his back as Murphy stared at him.
"I'll explain later," Laura told him.
***
Once they were outside, Laura called the police, and then turned to Harry. "You'd better go on, Harry. I think Murphy and I can handle it from here."
"You're certain?" he asked, dropping the still groggy Jerry to the pavement. "I can stay-"
"And how are you going to explain that Lord Bryce-Davies became involved in this investigation? I don't think the police will be as quick to believe that you're Remington Steele as Mr. Oliver was."
Harry saw Murphy's confused look and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "You're welcome, Murphy."
"Yeah. Thank you," Murphy said in a grudging tone..
Harry smiled at Laura. "I'll call you."
"Okay. Thank you, - Mr. Steele," she said, returning his smile as he turned toward the limo and got inside.
As soon as the limo turned a corner, Murphy turned to Laura and said, "Okay, so explain. *Why* was Harry pretending to be Remington Steele?"
***
Laura insisted that Murphy let the ambulance take him to the hospital to be checked out. "You've been hit in the head at least three times over the last week, Murphy," she reminded him. "Besides that, the paramedics say that you've probably got some bruised or cracked ribs. I'd rather be safe than sorry."
"Is that an order, boss?" he asked with a grin.
"That's an order. I'll drive your car back to the office and pick up mine. I'll call you later."
"You go home and get some rest. You look like you've been through the wringer," he told her, taking her hand. "We'll talk tomorrow."
***
Once she got home, Laura took a shower and fell into her bed, exhausted, but sleep proved strangely elusive for a long time. She kept thinking that there was something she should have told the police, something important. But for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it might be.
She tossed and turned for what seemed hours before finally falling into a fitful sleep. The ringing of the telephone beside the bed woke her just an hour later. Groaning, Laura covered her head with a pillow, hoping to ignore the summons. But the strident ringing continued, forcing her to push the pillow aside and fumble to answer. "Hello?"
"Oh, Miss Holt," Mr. Oliver said in an agitated tone of voice. "I was about to give up."
"I was sleeping," she told him, sitting up and pushing the hair from her face. "Is something wrong, Mr. Oliver?"
"The police were just here-asking all kinds of questions. I think they consider me a suspect. *Me, *" he emphasized. "I was all quite distressing. The told me that you found your associate-"
"Yes. I don't think he was hurt seriously, but- thank you for being concerned-"
"You don't understand, Miss Holt," he told her. "I asked if they knew anything about the other two men. Pedro, wasn't that one of them? They told me that they were looking for him. *Looking* for him. Did you tell them about the drop that he's supposed to make at my warehouse this evening?" he asked.
Laura was suddenly wide-awake as she realized what she it was that had kept her from sleep earlier. She had forgotten all about the planned drop for that evening that Jerry and Pedro had set up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Oliver. I guess it slipped my mind with everything that happened. I'll call the police as soon as I hang up-"
"You don't understand, Miss Holt," Mr. Oliver said. "I barely managed to avert the police getting a search warrant that would allow them into that warehouse. But if they find out about *this*, they'll get one anyway. I simply will *not* risk their damaging any of my antiques. I'm delivering most of them to clients this week- if I still *have* any clients after all of this."
"Mr. Oliver-"
"I want you and Mr. Steele to capture those two thugs. And I don't want any further visits from the police. My clients won't look favorably on my name turning up on a police report."
"Mr. Oliver, Mr. Steele isn't-" Laura tried again.
"I know. I didn't hire him, Miss Holt, but I want him on this."
"But he's-"
"No excuses, Miss Holt. It's either that, or I find another agency that can deliver the discretion that I require?"
Laura took a deep breath. "No. I'll- try to get in touch with Mr. Steele," she said.
"Good. I'll leave you to get on with that, then. Good afternoon, Miss Holt."
"Good afternoon," Laura said absently, and hung up the phone. She picked it up again, and then realized that she had no idea what Harry's telephone number was. Which meant that she would have to go over to his apartment.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Laura dialed Murphy's number and was relieved when he answered. "Murphy. What did the doctor have to say?"
"I've got a concussion," he told her. "And three very cracked ribs. He taped me up and sent me home to recuperate for a couple of days. I just took a couple of pain pills. You okay?" he asked. "I thought you'd sleep all day after the last twenty four hours."
"Me too. I was just- curious, that's all. I'm- fine," she said unconvincingly.
"I know that tone. What's up?"
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Do you remember my telling the police about the drop that Jerry set up for tonight at the warehouse?"
"What drop?" Murphy asked. "I don't recall your telling *me* about that, much less the police."
"I was afraid of that."
"Simple solution, Laura. Call the police. Let them handle it."
"I would, but our *client* wants it taken care of discreetly. The man's absolutely paranoid about letting the police into that warehouse."
"Umm. Okay. I can meet you down there-"
"No," Laura told him.
"I don't mean this as a reflection on your abilities, Laura, but you can't handle this alone."
"And *you* can't* handle this at *all*," she told him. "They've seen your face, know who you are. One look at you, and Pedro and his buddy will take off. Besides, Mr. Oliver wants Remington Steele on the case."
"Laura, you can't be serious! The guy's not a detective, he's got no training-"
"Maybe not formal training, Murphy. But- he's got a- natural gift for this kind of thing. He did save your life, remember."
"He got lucky," Murphy growled. "You can't go down there with him alone."
"I don't have much choice, Murphy," Laura told him.
She heard him sigh. "Okay. But at least carry the agency gun with you."
"Murphy-"
"Look, I know you don't like carrying the thing, but I have a bad feeling about this case. You know how the hair on the back of your neck stands up when you feel that way?"
"Yes."
"Well, mine's at full attention right now. Promise me that you'll take the gun."
"I will, Murph."
"And call as soon as it's over so I know you're okay. God, I hate this, Laura."
"I'll call," she promised. "Try to get some rest."
"Fat chance of that," he told her. "Be careful."
"Always." She hung up the phone and went to get dressed.
To Be Continued . . .