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Standing on the sidewalk while Laura
exited the limo, Remington looked up at the faded sign above the
pawnshop that read: "Fast Cash from Fast Eddie."
"Catchy slogan," he commented dryly when Laura joined
him. Hearing the door close, he turned to the chauffeur. "Keep
a watch, Fred."
"Yessir, Mr. Steele."
The man behind the counter had little to make him stand out in
a crowd. Medium height and build, balding, he looked at the two
people entering his shop and smiled. "Good morning. What
can I do for you?" he asked cordially.
Laura leaned on the glass counter. "You can start by answering
a few questions," she told him.
His eyes narrowed as suspicion grew. "You two aren't cops-"
Remington and Laura both showed him their identification. "Private,"
Remington explained.
"Steele? Whatcha doin' down here?"
Remington's attention was apparently on something inside the glass
case as he answered. "You don't listen very well, Eddie.
We're looking for some answers to some questions."
Eddie showed his hands, palms up. "Ask your questions. I
got nothin' to hide."
"Do you know someone named Manny?" Laura asked.
"I did," he corrected. "Cop was in here early this
morning, said Manny was dead."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Yesterday evening. I was locking up when he came to the
door, said he had something to pawn."
"And what was that?" Remington asked.
Eddie shook his head. "You know that I don't have to tell
you that-" he began, only to fall silent as Remington placed
the pawn ticket onto the counter between them. "Like the
ticket says - he had a watch. Real nice one, too. Expensive. Never
seen one in here like it."
"Did you ask Manny where he got the watch?" Laura questioned.
"He said a friend gave it to him," Eddie explained,
and seeing their doubtful looks, he continued. "I checked
it against the hot list," he insisted, referring to the list
of stolen property that was distributed to places like this by
the police. "It wasn't there. So I figured it was legit."
"Would you happen to know where Manny hung out?" Laura
wanted to know. "Who his friends were?"
"Didn't have many friends. Burned most of them to support
his habit. Worked off and on as a snitch for a couple of P.I.s
-"
"Wouldn't happen to recall the names of those P.I.s, would
you?" Remington asked softly.
"Sorry. Doesn't pay to mess in someone else's business down
here. Not if you want to stay healthy - if you get my meaning."
They did. "Where did he hang out?" Laura asked.
"Sally's - It's a coffee shop down the street - across from
the Belvedere."
**********
Laura knew she was frowning just as deeply as Remington as they
surveyed the tiny, grimy little diner with its crooked, red checked
table cloths and depressing atmosphere. The clientele wasn't much
of an improvement, either. There were two men sitting at the counter,
speaking in quiet tones that stopped as they realized someone
had come in. The men ignored each other as if they'd never met.
A woman sitting in a booth against the back wall gave Remington
an approving look of invitation through a haze of cigarette smoke.
Remington pulled out a chair at the nearest table, inspecting
the seat before Laura sat down. He then repeated the process with
his own chair. "Wonderful ambiance," he murmured.
The waitress, a middle aged woman with bleach blonde hair and
too much make up slapped two glasses of water before them, ignoring
that she spilled them on the dingy red plastic. Remington took
several napkins out of the dispenser at the center of the table
and began blotting. "Special of the day's meatloaf,"
she announced in a voice that reminded Laura of fingernails on
a blackboard, sending shivers down her spine.
"We're not really hungry," Laura began, only to stop
as the woman place both hands on her hips.
"Look, hon, this isn't a bus stop. You sit at a table, you
order something. Otherwise -"
"We'll have some coffee," Remington told the woman quickly.
"And some information, if you've got a moment."
The woman gave him a closer look, and Laura could see that hard
heart already melting under his brilliant blue gaze. "I might
be able to take a couple of minutes," she told him. "Let
me get the coffee."
Laura rolled her eyes in resignation as the waitress moved away
from them toward the coffee pots. Remington grinned, lifting his
shoulders. Laura leaned across to whisper, "Charm isn't supposed
to be a weapon."
"It's a tool," he corrected, smiling brightly as the
waitress, whose name tag identified her as Marge, returned to
place two chipped mugs before them. "I've got a few minutes
before the lunch crowd shows up," she told him. "What
do you want to know?"
"Did you know Manny?"
"Sure. Everyone down here knows Manny. He owes most of us
money. Why? He in some kind of trouble?"
"You haven't heard?" Laura asked.
Marge frowned, revealing more lines beneath the make up. "Heard
what?"
"He died last night," Laura told her as gently as possible.
"Dead? Was it the drugs or-" she stopped, glancing around
as if uncertain it was safe to continue.
"Or what, Marge?" Remington prompted.
"Nothin'," she said.
He met her gaze. "It's important, Marge. It's possible that
Manny was murdered to cover up another murder."
The woman sat heavily in a nearby chair. "Murdered?"
Laura looked at her. "When was the last time you saw Manny?"
"Uh, yesterday evening. Some guy met him here, gave him something.
When the guy left, I asked Manny what was going on. He said he
was going to make a big score- that he might even be able to pay
some of us back -" she shook her head sadly.
"This *guy* that met him here," Laura asked slowly,
"do you know who he was?"
"Don't know his name," Marge told her. "He comes
in from time to time- usually to talk to Manny. Manny told me
once that he was a private cop that he worked for sometimes."
Laura sat forward as she asked the next question. "Could
you describe him?"
"Short, heavyset, dark hair cut real short. Always looks
like he needs a shave - and he smokes really cheap cigars."
"Could you identify him if you saw him again?"
"Sure could." She shivered. "The guy gives me the
creeps."
Remington pulled out a business card. "If you see him again,
don't question him about Manny, just give me call."
Her eyes flicked from the card back to Remington. "Remington
Steele. Thought I recognized you. I'll call, Mr. Steele,"
she promised. "I liked Manny. Sure, he was a liar, and was
usually pretty strung out, but beneath it all was a good kid.
A real charmer when he wanted to be. Just never got the good breaks
that lets someone like him get a fresh start, you know?"
He nodded. "I know, Marge."
Laura watched his expression, then asked, "Did he have any
family?"
"No. His mom took off years ago- his old man still lives
in the area- but he tossed Manny out when the kid stole his beer
money and bought some junk with it." A customer came into
the diner, and Marge slipped the card into the pocket of her uniform.
"I gotta go."
**********
Laura looked at Remington as they stood on the sidewalk outside
the coffee shop. He'd left a fifty dollar bill on the table. "She
got to you, didn't she?"
"Not her so much as what she said about Manny-" he told
her.
"And his not getting the good breaks?" Laura questioned.
He nodded, taking her hand. "There was a time when she might
have been describing me. But I was lucky. I got two chances to
turn it around. First when Daniel pulled me off the streets, and
then the day I met you."
She smiled, then nodded toward the hotel across the street. "Let's
go over to the Belvedere. Maybe the clerk saw Manny there the
night Robert du Mont was murdered," she suggested, hoping
to distract him from the memories of the dark days of his early
life.
He nodded.
**********
The desk clerk recognized them immediately- probably due to his
watching television so much, Laura thought. His eyes widened.
"Well, if it ain't Mr and Mrs. Remington Steele. Need a room?"
"No," Remington said. "Just wondering if Manny
was here in the hotel when Robert du Mont was killed."
"That kid knew better than t'come through those doors, Steele."
Laura was curious. "Why?"
"He'd stolen too many things from the place. I told him not
to set foot in here again."
"He couldn't have gotten past you without your seeing him?"
Remington questioned.
Sal shook his head. "No one gets past-"
"*I* did," Laura reminded him. "I came in and went
out- and you never looked up from your television."
"Maybe you could get by, but Manny knew better than to risk
it. I told him next time I caught him here I'd use this."
He pulled out a double barreled shot gun and placed it on the
counter. "And he knew I'd use it. Why you asking?"
"Did you know that he was found dead last night- not far
from here?"
"I heard. That young cop that's been patrolling the area
told me about it this morning." He returned the gun to its
place beneath the counter.
"Is there anyone else that might have known Manny?"
"You mean friends? Everyone knew Manny. He'd do just about
anything to support his habit."
"Including robbing a perfect stranger and killing him?"
"Now that, that wasn't something Manny would do. Hated guns.
He only stole from people he knew. People he could pay back someday
when he got straight, so he said. Guess that ain't gonna happen
now."
**********
"None of this makes any sense," Laura said as the limo
pulled out into traffic. "The picture we've been getting
of Manny doesn't paint him as a cold blooded killer."
"No. It doesn't, does it?" he agreed. "But you
realize, Laura, that if we clear him of du Mont's murder, that
puts you back on the hot seat."
"I don't think so. Because someone gave him that watch and
ring to pawn - and from the description the your friend Marge
gave us, that someone was probably Max Grumby."
"I think it's time that we paid a return call on Mr. Grumby,"
Remington decided.
Laura leaned forward and gave Fred the address.
**********
"Lt. Jarvis, call for you. Washington."
Jarvis picked up the telephone hoping that it was the information
he was waiting for. "Jarvis here."
"Lt. Jarvis, this is David Hawkins. I've got a request on
my desk for some information about someone who works for me- and
the request is signed by you."
"If it's a request for information on Tony Roselli, Mr. Hawkins,
I'm your man."
"Before I can release the information, I need to be sure
of your reason for wanting it."
"It's possible that Roselli's involved in a double homicide
here in Los Angeles," Jarvis said.
"You don't have any proof?"
"Nothing concrete."
"Los Angeles. Does this somehow involve Remington Steele
or Laura Holt Steele?" Hawkins asked thoughtfully.
"Yes, it does, as a matter of fact." The silence after
his confirmation stretched out, and Jarvis was about to check
the line when Hawkins spoke again.
"Can you detain Roselli for us, Lieutenant?"
"Why? What's he done?"
"I can't discuss it over the phone. I'll send the report
asap," he said. "It should arrive tomorrow morning."
"I'll be waiting for it," Jarvis assured him. He sat
there, wondering what Roselli could have done that would cause
his own people to order his capture. He had no reason to order
an all points on the man - not until he had a chance to read the
report. Picking up the telephone again, he dialed the number for
Remington Steele Investigations.
Mildred answered the phone on the first ring. "Remington
Steele Investigations."
"Mildred, it's Jarvis. Are Laura and Steele back yet?"
"They just called. They're going to pay a visit to Max Grumby,"
she told him. "Why? Did you get something back on Tony?"
"It'll be here tomorrow morning. Just tell them to watch
their backs, okay? I'm going home and get some sleep. They have
my number if they need me."
"You got it. Get some rest."
**********
The door to Grumby's office was locked, and Laura nodded at Remington
as he took out his lock picks and set to work while she kept an
eye out. Inside, Remington cast a surprised eye at the empty desk
top before him. "Mildred said that he let his receptionist
go last week," Laura told him, moving toward the second office.
Inside, she turned on the lamp on the desk and opened the file
that lay there. "This is the file that I saw in du Mont's
room," she told him. "He must have grabbed it on his
way out after putting the gun in my hand."
Remington nodded, his attention focused on a note pad next to
the telephone. "I think we have a problem, Laura."
"What?" she asked, pausing as she looked through the
various news clippings.
He held up the paper on which was written a telephone number.
"This is the telephone number for Immigration- the extension
is Estelle Becker's."
"He couldn't know-"
"He could if your friend Antony told him."
"But Tony promised-"
"He promised not to go to immigration. He hasn't. He's sent
Max Grumby to do his dirty work for him."
**********
"What can I do for you, Mr. Grumby?" Estelle asked in
a pleasant tone that hid her instant dislike of this man. He reminded
her in some way of Norman Keyes - even down to the cigar in his
hand.
"It's about Remington Steele's marriage."
Estelle frowned. "What about?" she asked.
"It's a fraud," he announced. "They're not really
married at all."
"I was there, Mr. Grumby. A witness -"
"Steele conned you. That guy that performed the ceremony
wasn't the captain of that boat. He cleans fish for a living."
Estelle got up and closed the door to her office as she said,
"I think we need to talk, Mr. Grumby."
To Be Continued . . .