- Turnabout Steele
Round Robin "Remington Steele" fanfic
- Part 1
The Characters of Remington Steele and Laura Holt don't
belong to me, I'm just borrowing them. This is just a bit of
fun and tribute from the SteeleWatchers.
- So please don't sue us!
Original content Copyright 1999 SteeleWatchers and individual
authors.
- Permission to reprint required.
Part One
by Nancy Eddy
nancye@flash.net
Detective Remington Steele looked out of the window of his office
at the London skyline, trying to get a word in edgewise to the
woman on the other end of the telephone line. "Yes, Mother.
I'm aware that I haven't been spending much time - "
"Is it that you simply don't WANT to spend time with your
family, Remington, dear?" Abigail Steele asked her eldest
son.
"No, that's not reason -"
"Why are you always cancelling, then? Or worse still, simply
not showing up at all?"
"Well, I've been quite busy with work-"
"Work. You don't work twenty four hours a day -"
"I've tried to explain that being a detective isn't a nine
to five job -"
"I STILL have no idea what being a DETECTIVE means,"
his mother sighed. "Poking around in other people's lives
seems so- seedy."
Remington lifted is eyes to the ceiling in frustration. "Mother,
was there a specific reason you called? I have work to do-"
he told her, his eyes on the papers spread out before him on
the desk. He wondered what she'd say if he told her that half
of his time was taken up with filling out forms and writing reports.
"Today is Maxwell and Deidre's seventh wedding anniversary."
"I'm aware of that, Mother-"
- "They want BOTH of us to
come to dinner this evening."
"This evening?" Remington asked, frowning. He was going
to have a long talk with his younger brother, he mused. "I'm
not sure I can, Mother. I have to meet with a client-."
"Maxwell is counting on your being there, Remington,"
Abigail insisted.
"What time?"
"Nine."
"I'll do what I can, Mother," Remington said. "But
I'm not making any promises."
"I wish I knew what I was going to do with you, Remington.
You're thirty years old - you should be married and have a family
of your own by now."
"I'm fine with my life the way it is, Mother," Remington
said. "Let me worry about-"
"No, I'M the one who worries," she insisted. "Every
time I pick up the newspaper, there you are with a different
young woman - when was the last time you dated someone more than
once?" she asked.
"Ah, but variety is the spice of life," Remington said,
smiling grimly. He looked up as his receptionist knocked on the
door between their offices. "I have to go, Mother. Give
Maxwell my regards."
"But-"
"Good bye," he said firmly, and then placed the reciever
back into its cradle with a gentleness that belied his anger.
"Yes, Betty?"
"Mr. Davidson just called- he's expecting you in ten minutes."
Remington glared at the mountain of paperwork on his desk. He
could have been halfway through it if he his mother hadn't interrupted
him. Rising, he turned down his shirtsleeves, fastening the cuff
links, then straighened his tie before picking up his jacket.
"I'm going to have to get some help with this," he
admitted, looking ruefully at his desk. "I don't suppose
you could-?"
Betty began picking up the papers on his desk. "Consider
it done," she said. "Fred's got the limo ready downstairs."
"You're a gem, Betty. If my mother calls again- Tell her
I ran away with a circus."
Betty smiled as the door closed behind her boss. She didn't blame
him for feeling closed in by his mother. While Abigail Steele
wasn't overtly domineering, she DID cling a bit too much, especially
to her eldest son. But it was only natural, she supposed, since
Remington had been forced to take over as man of the house at
sixteen when his father had deserted the family. Betty sighed,
looking at the wall of photographs across the room. But she also
wondered why her boss was so wary of settling down with one woman.
She knew that SHE wouldn't be adverse to helping him overcome
whatever it was that was holding him back from making a committment.
- ~~~~~~~~~
Remington was shown into Lucius Davidson's office at the Davidson
Museum by a smiling secretary who, upon seeing him, had changed
from an almost dowdy clerk to a sultry vamp right before his
eyes. "Mr. Steele, sir," she purred, brushing against
him on her way back out to her desk.
Lucius Davidson wasn't alone, Remington noted as he shook hands
with the owner of one of London's most pretigious private museums.
"Steele. Glad you could make it."
"Sorry I'm a bit late- traffic," Remington apologized.
The young woman in the second chair before Davidson's desk looked
up at him, and Remington smiled. "Hello."
She nodded in return as Davidson said, "Allow me to introduce
Miss Pheobe Chase. She works for Providence Insurance -"
"The company responsible for insuring the gems," Remington
nodded, trying to see past the glasses that the woman was wearing.
Her brown hair was pulled up onto her head in a tight bun, and
her suit was a dark, business-like cut. "Miss Chase,"
he said, reaching out to shake her hand.
"Mr. Steele," she replied in a nasal voice that made
Remington cringe. "Providence Insurance is concerned that
the gems you're protecting might be stolen-"
"I can assure you, Miss Chase, that isn't going to happen.
I'm sure that Mr. Davidson has shown you the security system
I installed."
"Well, actually, Steele, no, I haven't," Davidson admitted.
"I thought you might do a better job of explaining the system
than I could. Considering that you and installed and tested it
yourself."
Pheobe stood suddenly, causing Remington and Davidson to follow
suit. "So, are you ready to go, Mr. Steele? I have to make
a report back to my office by five -" She glanced pointedly
at her wristwatch.
"I suppose so." He opened the door, then stepped aside
for her to precede him from the room. Pausing, he looked at Davidson.
"I assume you've checked her creditials?"
"Well, no. I thought you would do that."
Amatuers, Remington thought. How the devil was he supposed to
show this woman around, explain the security set up, when he
didn't even know for sure that she was who she claimed to be?
"Coming, Mr. Steele?" she asked, sending a disapproving
glare towards the secretary who was primping before a small mirror.
"This way," he said once they were outside. "You're
American, aren't you?"
"Born and bred, Mr. Steele," she said.
"How did you come to be working for Providence, then? They're
a London based firm."
"They have branches in New York and other places,"
Phoebe reminded him. "I started working in that office and
recently transferred here to London. You're not English,"
she said.
He gave her lopsided grin. "Half," he said. "My
mother's English. We lived in Ireland until I was sixteen."
"I see."
"Would you mind if I have a look at your creditials, Miss
Chase?"
Pheobe paused beside a marble statuette to pull out her wallet
and open it before handing it to Remington. "As you can
see, it's in order, Mr. Steele."
Remington looked at the photograph, then at the woman before
him. He wondered what she would look like without those thick
lenses, with her hair loose, hanging over her shoulders in soft
waves - shaking his head to clear it, he handed the wallet back
to her. "You won't mind if I call your office and check
you out before we start the tour?"
"By all means, Mr. Steele. It makes me feel secure, knowing
that you're so thorough." He went to a bank of telephones
near the entrance and dialed the number for Providence Insurance,
and spoke to someone in charge. When he hung up, she looked at
him. "Well? Am I who I claim to be?" she asked, and
Remington thought he caught a glimpse of humor behind those glasses.
"They said you work there, yes. But you weren't supposed
to be on this case. You're SUPPOSED to be in Monte Carlo. I believe
they mentioned a - Rachel Marsden?"
Pheobe gave a frustrated sigh. "HONESTLY. I wonder sometimes
how those people ever manage to do anything. We TOLD them that
we were switching. Rachel wanted to go to Monte Carlo to meet
her boyfriend. He's a dealer there. I offered to take care of
this while she went there."
"Nice of you."
"I'm not a fan of gambling, Mr. Steele," Pheobe said
in a disapproving tone.
"Pity. It can be rather exhilarating," Remington said
as they continued toward the room where the gems were on display.
A guard turned and smiled at them. "Henry. Is the system
armed?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Steele. I just did my first check."
"I'm going to be showing Miss Chase the set up - so if things
look a bit strange-"
"I understand," he said, nodding at Pheobe, then turning
toward the next rooms.
When Pheobe would have taken a step into the room, Remington
grabbed her arm. "I wouldn't." She looked up at him,
curious. "Infra-red beams crisscrossing the room at varying
levels," he explained. He pointed to the control panels.
"The buttons beside the doors control the beams, and if
you're too low or high when you try to turn it off or arm it,
you'll break a light beam, setting off the alarm." Having
said that, he reached inside, pressing the required buttons from
memory and feel, watching Pheobe as he did so. There was a soft
"beep", and Remington extended his hand. "After
you, Miss Chase."
He remained behind her as she looked around the room. The only
item on display in the room were a handful of gems enclosed in
a glass case. The white satin was a perfect contrast to the blue
stones. "What would happen if someone DID get the beams
turned off and got in here? They could cut the glass-" Her
long fingers examined the case. "Or simply remove it-, and
pick up the gems-"
"Go ahead," Remington invited. "Try it."
Pheobe Chase lifted the glass - "It's plexiglass,"
she commented, then set the clear box on the floor. Reaching
out, she took one of the blue gems into her hand, and then froze
as the only door to the room slammed shut, and alarms began to
sound.
Remington went to the control panel, and pressed a series of
buttons, keeping his eyes on Pheobe. The door slid open, revealing
Henry and three other guards. "It's all right, gentlemen,"
Remington assured them. "Just testing the system for Miss
Chase." Once the guards were gone, Remington joined her
at the case, watching as she inspected the blue gem in her hand.
"Lovely aren't they?"
"Yes. Yes, they are." Remington's eyes narrowed. Had
he heard that nasal tone slip a bit?
He took the stone from her hand and looked at it himself before
returning it to the spot where it belonged. "A weight sensor
inside the display cushion," he told her. "Remove even
one, and it sets the alarms off, locking the would be theif inside
the room." Replacing the cover, he remained before the case.
"Royal Lavulite," he said. "The rarest gems in
the world."
"You know, of course, that they're stolen," she commented,
looking around the room.
"Yes. From South Africa. It's being handled in the courts
- but I believe they've offered a rather substantial reward to
anyone who manages to return them."
"Which is exactly why I think someone WILL try to steal
them, Mr. Steele."
"Anyone in particular? Or is this just a hunch, Miss Chase?"
"The two men who arranged for them to be stolen originally
are in London. It's possible that they might make an attempt."
"Well, as you can see, there's no way they can possibly
succeed in such an attempt. There is no way for anyone to steal
those gems and not be caught in the process."
"That sounds a bit - over confident, Mr. Steele," Pheobe
commented. "I'd be careful. You know what they say about
pride going before a fall." She moved toward the exit, pausing
as Remington re- armed the system. "Thank you. I'm sure
my company will be relieved to know that you've done such an
excellent job, Mr. Steele."
"Do you have any plans for dinner, Miss Chase?" Remington
asked, surprising himself.
"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do. Good day, Mr. Steele."
He watched her walk away, saw her turn and smile at him as she
passed through the glass doors into the sidewalk. Remington found
himself intrigued by Miss Pheobe Chase. Going to the telephones
again, he dialed the office number. "Remington Steele Investigations,"
Betty answered in her crisp tones.
"Any calls, Betty?"
"Just your mother again, Mr. Steele. And she told me to
tell you that the circus story won't wash. She expects you at
your brother's this evening for dinner."
Remington sighed. "I need you to do some digging for me."
"Digging?"
"I want you to find everything you can about Miss Pheobe
Chase. She works for Providence Insurance, out of their London
office."
"Anything in particular I'm looking for?"
"Everything."
"I'll do what I can."
"I know you will. I'll be at home, getting ready for dinner.
Let me know when you get something."
- ~~~~~~~~~
Pheobe opened her hotel room door, smiling at the memory of a
pair of eyes that were even bluer than the Royal Lavulite. That
one could be a challenge, she thought to herself. Too bad she
wasn't going to have the time to take a shot at anything except
the gems. She reached up to turn on the light, only to find herself
thrown onto the bed and held there by the business end of a switchblade
knife as someone turned on a light. "What's going on here?"
she demanded, then froze as the cool metal touched her neck.
"Awfully messy that way, don't you think?"
"Who are you, lady?" the second man asked. He was tall,
with dark hair and a mustache, American, by the sound of him.
"I say we go a'ead and kill her," the man with the
knife said. "After we 'ave a little fun, of course."
He grinned, and Pheobe repressed a shiver at his words.
"You got in our way in Paris when we went after those stones,
now you're here." He dropped four leather wallets onto the
bed with her. "You've got four passports with four different
names and four different countries -"
"You know how it is, a girl likes to take a good picture."
The knife tightened again.
"Wrong answer, lovely."
"He kills me, you'll never get your hands on those gems,"
Pheobe told the second man. He motioned for his partner to let
her go. "Thank you," she said, reaching up to free
her hair from its confines and removing her glasses. "Why
don't we team up? I mean, we're not getting anywhere except in
each other's way right now."
"Why should we trust YOU, lovely?" the knife man asked
menacingly.
"Because I can get those gems for you."
The American looked at her for a long moment. "You'd better
not try to double cross us, lady. We don't take kindly to people
doublcrossing us."
"You mean like the courier who stole the gems originally
and then sold them on his own?"
"He's been dealt with," the man, who she now knew was
Raymond Kessler. "And so will you be. And it would be a
pity for my friend here to cut up that pretty face."
Leo Neff nodded, the blade of his knife moving in and out of
the sheath. "Yeah. AFTER we 'ave some fun," he agreed,
turning to follow Kessler out of the door.
Pheobe ran to the door and locked it behind them, leaning against
the panel. Things had just gotten more difficult. But she'd overcome
worse, she reasoned. And hadn't Daniel always taught her never
to give up without a fight? She would get those gems, and stop
those two killers in the bargain. Somehow---
-
- To Be Continued ---
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