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Steele exited from the kitchen with a bottle of beer for his guest. He handed it over then sat back down on the sofa.
Picking up his glass of Chianti he asked, “So. How's it feel to be back in the City of Angels again Murphy?”
“Strange. I haven't been back since I left. This used to be my home, now I'm on holiday here. Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For too many things to mention: the photograph of you in bed, Laura's bra, the picture of you grinning like an idiot next to the office doors, for the 'Upbeat Magazine' issue featuring you as one of L.A's most eligible bachelors, for –”
“I thought it –”
“I haven't finished. For the newspaper article on you, Dorothy Lamour and Virginia Mayo plus the autographed copies they signed. For the documentation on your castle in Ireland, for the centrefold from that P.I magazine, 'The Butler Did It,' – like the composition of that one; blonde bimbos draped all over you strategically holding magnifying glasses. Was that a blatant hint Steele? Were those lovely ladies trying to tell us something about your – anatomy?” Murphy observed, beaming.
“Why don't you ask my wife? She's in the best position to judge when it comes to questions about my, ah, anatomy.” Steele shot back with a broad smile. “Did I mention that she wakes up smiling every morning? But thank you for taking it all so well Murphy. After all, what's life without a little humour, eh?”
“Your wife. I still can't believe rational, logical Laura Holt married you. How'd you do it? C'mon you can tell me. Guy to guy, huh? Did you blackmail her? Was it marriage to you, the slammer or relocation to Iowa? I'd have taken the slammer.”
Steele sipped his wine and surveyed his fingernails. “It's long been the bane of my life, this burden I carry, this magnet-like power over the female of the species. They just can't resist me. It's a curse.”
Murphy groaned.
“And, as you're well aware, Laura was no exception. She badgered me for a commitment every day. 'Mr Steele,' she'd say, 'I want more from you than just a wink and a tumble.' A year of that would wear down the average man but after four, I finally told myself, 'Steele old man, give this wonderful woman what she wants. She deserves it. She deserves you, she deserves to experience nirvana and –' ”
“Modesty. Pity you weren't in the line when they handed it out.”
“I queued up for charm, an unequivocal sense of savoir-faire, savoir-vivre, this granite-like jaw line, steely blue eyes, good looks ... where were you? Stuck in that modesty line I'll wager, eh?”
“Very funny.”
Steele chuckled and then spoke sincerely, “By the way, thank you. For coming to the wedding. It meant a great deal to my wife. And to me, of course.”
“Wouldn't have missed it for the world. It's one of those rare things you have to witness for yourself before you can really believe it. Like one of Jesus' miracles or Haley's Comet or an honest politician.” Murphy took a swig from his bottle.
“Well you're one of Laura's oldest friends and it made her very happy. And what makes her happy, makes me happy.”
“Thanks, I was happy to oblige. So that's settled, we're all slaphappy.” He drank some more before admitting, “She looked really beautiful.”
“Of course she did, she was marrying me.”
“She actually said, 'I do' and she didn't hesitate either. Her voice didn't falter and believe me Steele, I was listening very carefully. It was as if – as if she really wanted to go through with it, with marriage to you.”
“Sorry to disappoint you old chap, but this is the real thing. For both of us.”
“Is there any chance, any at all, that there's a loophole somewhere? That she can still get out of it? I hear that if someone's declared legally insane then –”
Steele slapped a hand on his guest's shoulder. “Ever the optimist, eh Murphy? In this instance, there's no getting away from it. Be a man, face up to the awful truth. You saw me vow to take her as my lawfully wedded wife, love, honour, obey, forsaking all others so long as we both shall live etc. etc. I meant every word of it.”
“We had a rule. Any clients insisting on seeing Remington Steele personally, we pass, we show 'em the door, we tell them to find another detective agency. And then Gordon Hunter shows up with that Royal Lavulite and the rest is –”
“Kismet.”
Murphy swigged his beer. “There were times when I nearly had you out the door. But at the last minute, she'd always change her mind, insisting that you performed a valuable service for us. That it was for, 'the good of the agency.' If I had a dollar for every time she came out with that one. She wanted you around. She never said it but I knew.”
“That's my girl.” Steele said proudly. “And she's still just as stubborn and bull-headed today.”
“Even with you?”
“Especially with me.”
“I was on the wrong end of her temper once or twice. It wasn't a pleasant experience.”
“Once or twice? Child's play to this veteran. Incidentally, marriage hasn't dissipated those formidable outbursts of hers.”
Murphy drew back and looked at the man before him. “You seem almost domesticated. I never figured you for the domesticated type.”
“Does that surprise you?” Steele regarded his guest with an amused eye.
“It intrigues me. Weren't you a hound? A ladies man? On a good day, one bimbo at a time?”
“The love of a good woman Murphy, the love of a good woman. Now can I ask you something?”
“Fire away.”
Steele leant forward slightly. “Why did you leave?”
“Didn't Laura tell you?”
“She told me that you wanted to be your own boss.”
Murphy nodded. “That's what I told her.”
He gazed at his glass of Chianti. “She didn't buy that for one minute. Neither do I.”
“Is that what she told you? That she didn't buy it?”
“She didn't have to tell me. Even then, I knew her well enough to know that she accepted what you said. But she didn't believe it.”
“C'mon Steele, it was so long ago. I can't believe it matters and –”
“It matters to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I like my I's dotted and my T's crossed. Something I picked up from my wife, she's a terrible influence on me y'know. Why?”
He sighed. “Look, part of what I said was true. I did want to be my own boss. I was starting to wake up feeling that I'd gone as far as I could at Remington Steele Investigations.”
“So why not just open up elsewhere? Pasadena, San Diego, Santa Barbara? Why so far away? Why Denver Murphy?”
“In my position, wouldn't you have done the same thing?”
“What position was that?” Steele asked quietly.
Murphy met his eyes. “Let's just say that we couldn't even have a conversation without your name coming up. That was one sick woman.”
“Sick?”
“Lovesick. No hope for the patient's recovery. A terminal case from day one.”
“You asked me what I would have done if the situation were reversed. I would've stayed and fought for her. Why didn't you?”
“You just don't get it, do you? I started to lose any chance of her the minute we found poor Ben Pearson murdered and she wouldn't turn you in. Then a couple of days later, you show up at our office and a client calls you 'Mr Steele.' I thought we were on 'Candid Camera.' ”
“As I recall, the first thing you said to Laura was, 'Nail down the telephones' and then you turned to me with the immortal words, 'Alcatraz is that way.' ”
He smiled. “Yeah but from that day on I was fighting a losing battle and one day I just knew it was all over. That's when I decided to get as far away as I possibly could. Too many memories in Los Angeles and if I'd stayed in California … well, it was best to get put distance between temptation. Denver and new horizons: start afresh, new job, new home, new state, new life.”
Curiosity satisfied Steele decided to move the subject on. “So, you're still in love with Denver, eh?”
“It's great. Great place to live, lots to see and do. Beautiful city, beautiful views and Colorado is a winter wonderland. Great powder, the best skiing experience.”
“You moved your office recently, didn't you?”
“Yeah, a month ago. It's on South Colorado Boulevard now, fairly central. I'll leave you a card. Look me up if you're in the neighbourhood.”
“We'll make it a definite point to do that Murphy. Another beer?”
“Not yet. So, how's business?”
Steele reclined further on the couch. Clasping his hands behind his neck he declared, “Oh, you know what it's like here: murder, intrigue, high divorce rate, palimony suits, alimony contests, industrial espionage and so on. Sheer bliss. It's been a banner year for crime. We're as busy as ever and I'm in the unfortunate position of having to turn people away daily. They all want L.A's premier detective agency, the one that bears my name: Remington Steele.”
“Only one you? Isn't Laura the –”
“Oh, we're partners all the way Murphy. True equals from the boardroom to the bedroom, at home and at work.” He turned to face his guest and grinned. “Get much activity up your way? Enough missing cats to keep you occupied?”
“Business is booming.”
“Oh really?”
“Yep. In fact I had such a good year that, darn it, I had to treat myself to a brand new sports car. A Mercedes-Benz. Got your own wheels these days? Or does Fred still drive you to the men's room?”
Steele aimed for a tone of supreme nonchalance. “I'm the very proud owner of a 1936 supercharged Auburn Boattail Speedster. Vintage model. Classy car.”
“Yeah? Mine's a 560 SL Roadster. Two-door convertible, power steering, comes with both hard and soft tops. Red. Fast. Very fast. There's something about red sports cars. Ladies love 'em. See this little black book?” He waved it under Steele's nose. “Full of numbers. I've got two women listed under 'Q.' ”
“All because of a shapeless red car? Well, I suppose some women prefer the obvious, eh Murphy?”
“Catch an eyeful of that hot baby in action and I guarantee you'll say to yourself, now there's a man who knows a sleek, sexy car when he sees one.”
Steele sat up sharply. “My beauty's white. Soft leather seats. Causes quite a stir whenever I take her for a spin. A car says a great deal about its owner and she's stylish without being flashy, daring yet understated, sophisticated and –”
“That baby of mine's got a biscuit coloured interior. Y'know that tan colour? Great contrast with the fiery, red body.”
“Tan?” An eyebrow raised disdainfully. “Isn't that a shade of colour for women's stockings and tights? Sorry, panty hose?”
Murphy pressed on. “Soft tan, soft and smooth as a baby's bottom. You sit in those seats and you'll feel like you're sinking in cotton candy.”
“Indeed? Well, my beloved's boattail was a signature design of Al Leamy, chief engineer with the Auburn Automobile Company until he left in 1934. Y'know, to many in the industry - and they should know, eh? - the Auburn Automobile Company produced three of the most beautiful cars ever designed. The Auburn itself, the Cord and the Duesenberg.”
“Did I tell you that my girl's got
chrome alloy wheels?” He slowly and precisely enunciated
each word. “Chrome alloy wheels.”
“Chrome alloy wheels you say?” Steele crossed his arms.
“Chrome alloy wheels,” Murphy confirmed.
“Isn't that a rather common facet of most cars these days? Why follow the crowd? Iconoclastic – that's me. Right down to the uniquely exquisite car I drive.”
“There's something to be said about new cars. Parts are never a problem.”
Steele derisively waved a hand. “A mere technicality Murphy, mere technicality. That beauty of mine's over fifty years old and she still purrs like a dream. It's the engine – has to be.”
“The engine? What's so special about it?”
“What's so special about it?”
he echoed incredulously. “It's a Lycoming engine, straight
eight cylinders with 3.16” bore by 4.75” stroke, 279.9
cubic inch displacement and 127” wheelbase. But who's counting?”
A dynamite flash of pearly whites lit up the room.
“Isn't that a –”
“Not to mention the splendid original feature of dual side mounts plus the rather endearing dual speed rear axle drive activated on the steering column.” Steele beamed widely, “I think she speaks for herself.”
Murphy picked up his bottle and took a swig. “I've got a five point six litre, eight cylinder automatic which produces around two hundred and thirty five brake horsepower. She's in great shape. The car of now, the car of today. Nought to sixty in seven seconds flat officially. What's that Auburn of yours do?”
Hesitation. Then bluff. “It's all a tad relative, don't you think? After all let's not forget, she's a grand, old lady. Over fifty years old and –”
“Yeah?” The grin was wide and unmistakably smug.
Backed into a corner, Steele came out fighting. “One hundred and fifty horsepower, nought to sixty in fifteen seconds. But what a beauty! A timeless classic.”
“Well if you ever need to get anywhere in a hurry, give me a call and I'll lend you my car.”
“Thank you Murphy. And if you yearn for business of the human variety, feel free to phone and I'll pass on one of my cast-offs.”
“I think I'll have that other beer now.”
“Of course. Won't be a moment.” Steele got off the couch and headed into the kitchen smiling wryly.
Who'd believe this was Murphy Michaels' first time back in Los Angeles? Four years since he'd clapped eyes on his great vying partner and yet, they'd fallen back so easily into the same pattern of sparring. In truth, it felt good having him around again: a man needs to keep his wit sharpened. And Murphy had always been generous to a fault in that capacity, inspiring endless ripostes. So reassuring to discover a fragment of constancy in these rapidly changing times.
He returned beer in hand. “Something to eat Murphy?”
“Thanks. A sandwich maybe?”
“Ah, splendid suggestion. I think I'll join you. Excuse me, okay?”
Steele strolled into the kitchen whistling happily as he prepared their snacks. Inevitably, his mind focused on Laura. What was she doing at that very moment? His invaluable business associate, his best friend, his wife. Had it really only been three months of marriage? All those years playing games when they could have … why the hell hadn't they tied the knot sooner? Oh well, they were certainly making up for lost time now. He grinned lasciviously, wait 'til she got home. He'd pick her up, throw her on the bed, rip her clothes off, tongue her to a shattering climax and –
“Enjoy.”
“Say, this looks great. Thanks.”
Murphy pointed and asked, “Best case?”
In mid chew, Steele pointed back, “You first.”
“Okay … a local socialite disappears and I'm hired to investigate. Hours into the case, my client receives a ransom note demanding a million dollars. Seemed straightforward, right? Get this, a couple of days later, I found out that she'd faked her own kidnapping. The so-called kidnapper was her lover and they'd cooked up the scheme to extort money from the very rich husband. They wanted a way of financing a life together. Y'see, she couldn't divorce him because she'd signed some sort of legal agreement. I saved the husband a fortune and I opened his eyes to exactly the kind of woman he'd married. He's got me on retainer now.”
“Not bad Murphy. Not bad at all. The sort of case we'd deal with on a Sunday. If we worked Sundays, that is.”
“Okay then let's hear yours.” He folded his arms in expectation.
“A best case scenario … let me see … so many to choose from.” Steele gestured self-deprecatingly then placed his plate on the table. “Well, Hollywood legends Virginia Mayo and Dorothy Lamour hired me because they thought a man – no. Too ordinary. Ah! An insane psychotic framed me for murder and we had to prove – no. Too mundane in comparison. A few years ago, an unbalanced Interpol agent threatened – no. That won't do ... Murphy old chap, I believe my best case involved my own murder. My death and my wife's.”
“Huh?”
“Laura and I returned from a weekend together in New York to find police barricades around our apartments. When I opened my door, police outlines of two dead people were on my carpet, right over there in fact,” Steele indicated the precise spot. “So because L.A's finest discovered a dead man and woman here in my flat, in a state of undress, in a compromising position shall we say, they assumed that the great Remington Steele and his associate Laura Holt had been murdered.
“And then?” Despite himself, Murphy was hooked. Heck, he was a detective too and this was good stuff.
Steele warmed to his story. “I tried to call Laura but couldn't get through so I went to the office only to find the same decorations there. Luckily, I discovered Miss Ho – Mrs Steele in the vicinity proving once again that great minds think alike.”
“Why would anyone want you two dead?
Revenge perhaps? Someone you'd
put away?”
“Believe me we thought of that too but until we had a motive, until we figured out just what the bloody hell was going on, we couldn't let anyone know that we were very much alive.”
“Makes sense. Go on.”
“Well, a grisly account of our murder was everywhere: on the television, in the newspapers on the radio. We had to lie low and you know me Murphy, I never carry cash - too bulky. And we couldn't use our credit cards so –”
“Dead people aren't creditworthy.”
“Hmm. That sounds like a Raymond Chandler
novel,” Steele smiled wryly.
“But yes, we were well and truly stranded. No money for food,
shelter or the niceties of life, Laura and I only had each other.”
He paused. “Actually, it had a certain amount of romantic
charm, just the two of us against the world, so to speak. Unfortunately,
an added complication occurred when our indispensable Miss Krebs
became the prime suspect. For the insurance money.”
“Ouch.” Murphy reached for his beer.
“Turns out that an old mate of mine picked the pocket of a local loan shark. It ended up costing him his life. He'd procured a 'Pick Six' ticket worth a million and a half dollars and came here because he needed my help. You know the old saying, when the cat's away etc? Well, while he waited for my return, he called his lady friend for a celebration but they were both murdered. He was wearing my monogrammed robe and Mildred took that as proof of identification. There wasn't anything left of their faces.”
“That explains why you guys were believed dead. How'd you clear your secretary?”
Steele picked up his glass of Chianti. “We found the real culprit. She was –”
“She?”
“Oh yes, very much a she. A treacherous mutual acquaintance of myself and Freddy's – my poor deceased mate.”
“Wow. Good one,” Murphy admitted. “Remember all those crazy cases we got up to our necks in?”
“Oh yes. Poor Alfred the banker. He springs instantly to mind mainly because Laura and I caught you, not quite but almost, in flagrante delicto with … good lord! I've forgotten her name. The charming lady who could turn her hand to anything?”
“Turn her hand?” Murphy repeated, genuinely puzzled before announcing, “You mean Sherry, Sherry Webster.”
“Ah yes. Whatever happened to her?”
“No idea. We had fun though. I met her in a bar, we got chatting, she came back to my place and then the next day you guys all barged in on us. Clever woman: helped me see the light about quite a few things. Opened my eyes in loads of ways. She had a PhD in psychology, did you know that?”
“I do recall some mention of it, yes.”
“Well, she analysed more than just my perf – She said I should throw off my feelings of inadequacy … or something like that, I can't remember now. It was so long ago. Basically, she unleashed another me.”
“Another you? What was wrong with the old you?” Steele asked midway through a mouthful of food.
“The old me wasn't always a winner.”
“I beg to differ. The old you was – and is – a damn good detective.” He paused, looked Murphy square in the face and added, “I know you think I'm suave, sophisticated, worldly, debonair, good-looking, witty –”
“Why do you always have to take a connecting flight to get to the point?”
“As I was saying, witty, charming etc. I know you think I'm all those things but the truth is, I'm not infallible. I too have been unlucky in love Murphy. I've experienced excruciating moments of self-doubt and anguish.”
“You?”
“Laura. I plummeted to the very depths of despair over her. It hasn't all been plain sailing you know. Come to think of it, it's never been plain sailing, it isn't even plain sailing now but we had a period when our relationship reached a nadir, when we seemed to have permanently parted ways. I didn't feel like a winner then Murphy.”
“But you worked it out. You're married to her now.”
“Look, we're not a fairy tale. She's no princess and I'm no prince. There's no guarantee of a 'happily ever after' either. We've been together on and off for over four years but we were only married three months ago. Yes, I won her heart but the real battle starts here and now Murphy because the stakes are much higher if I lose.”
“So what you're telling me is that you're well and truly married. I don't believe it.” He shook his head, “I gotta admit, you dated some great looking women.”
“You mean you tore your eyes away from Laura long enough to notice?”
“I noticed.” Murphy took another bite of his sandwich. “That Gayle, she was something else.”
A wistful expression crossed Steele's countenance. “Gayle? Oooh yes, she was something else all right.”
“Jennifer. God she was beautiful: long, lean, long-legged, all that red hair.”
“Titian.”
“I'm sorry?”
He patted his lips with a napkin. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, how uncouth Murphy. Jennifer would never, ever forgive me if I allowed her to be labelled merely a 'redhead.' As far as she was concerned, she was 'Titian.' ”
“Whatever she was, she was very attractive. And then there was Rhea and Madeline and Deborah and –”
“You kept a better record of them all than I did.”
“That reminds me, do you mind if I use your phone?”
Steele gestured at it. “Be my guest.”
Murphy pulled a black book from his inside jacket and dialled. “Mitzi? Hi, it's your Murph man calling - I'm in California. An old friend of mine got married but I'm coming back on Monday - I know, I know - I'm sorry but I'll make it up to you. We can meet up next week and I'll take care of you then - I miss you too - I promise, I promise. Okay, see you later.”
“Would you –”
“Sorry. One more call here.” He flicked forward a few pages of the book, retrieved the number and cleared his throat. “Brandy? Hi, it's your Murph man calling - I'm in California and I'm - I know, I know, I know. I'm sorry - I'll make it up to you, I promise - Look, we'll meet up next Saturday and I'll take extra special care of you - Of course I promise - I miss you too sweetie. See you soon, okay? Bye.”
“Mitzi? Brandy?” Steele stuttered, flabbergasted.
Murphy grinned.
“Who are Mitzi and Brandy?”
“It's a long story.”
“I'm rather fond of long stories.”
“Okay, I met them on a case. It was –”
“You met them on a case? They were clients? You're dating clients?” he raised his eyebrows in astonishment.
“When did you develop scruples? Of course they weren't clients. I had to follow up a lead and that's how I met them. They're mud wrestlers.”
Steele was floored. “You're seeing female mud wrestlers?”
“Well I'm not into male ones!” Murphy chuckled. “It all started innocently enough. Mitzi made it clear that she was interested, we hooked up and then she introduced me to her wrestling partner.”
“Not Brandy?”
“Yes, Brandy. She made it obvious that she was interested too. I didn't intend anything to happen between us but we had a little too much to drink one night and I woke up next to her in the morning.”
“You're asking for trouble there mate. They're partners and they're women. They must be friends too. And women talk. About everything. Every detail, it's what they do. It's an infernal part of their biological make up.” Steele tutted reprovingly and shook his head.
“I know what you're saying but I –”
“One day they'll compare notes and discover that they're both using the same paper with the same letterhead.”
Murphy leant back. “That'll never happen Steele. If brains were dollars they'd both have to take out a loan.”
“That's not the point and you know it. If you want my advice I'd say –”
“Did I ask for your advice?”
“You're going to get it regardless. Lose one or both of those enchanting ladies because when they find out, and take it from me they will find out eventually, they'll turn you into the best soprano since Maria Callas. Got that? Right, lecture over. Another beer?”
“No, I'd better not. I'm driving.”
“Coffee then, I'll just –”
A strange sound caught their attention. It appeared to be coming from the hallway outside. Both men glanced at the other with a shrug of the shoulders. Then simultaneously, they both recognised what it was. Buried deep in their distant memory, they'd heard something similar before. Except back then, it was only one voice. Now it was two. They stood up, staring at the front door.
“Is that –?”
“I think so Murphy.”
“And is that Bernice –?”
“I'd say so Murphy.”
“And are they –?”
“I believe they are Murphy.”
The key was placed in the lock and twisted. The door opened.