The Remake

by Stephen Humphrey Bogart

  Now, seeing R.J. arrive with a pretty young woman in tow, he simply gave a slight nod to himself as if to say, Naturally. And he gave R.J. that look.

  But he was too much of a gentleman to say anything. He simply bowed an inch when he was and introduced and said, “Miss Kelley?”

  Mary Kelley gave him a slight bow in return and the three of them headed down the long, bright hallway and out into the brown air of the Los Angeles afternoon.

  Portillo didn’t say much. He held the door for Mary and threw her suitcase into the trunk of his car, but he didn’t speak until he was nosing the Chevy onto the Freeway.

  “You said you had found what you were looking for, R.J.?” he finally asked.

  “That’s right. William Kelley is alive.”

  Portillo looked skeptical. “You are certain?”

  R.J. shook his head. “I don’t have a Polaroid of Kelley holding up today’s L.A. Times, Uncle Hank. But I’m as sure as I can be, short of that.

  “I found some proof that Kelley faked his own death. The Connecticut troopers are getting an exhumation order to check the body. I think it’s going to turn out that there’s a biker named Jingo in Kelly’s grave—”

  “R.J.,” Portillo interrupted, glancing at Mary Kelley.

  “She’s heard it, Uncle Hank,” R.J. said.

  “Even so—”

  “I think you’ll find she’s tougher than she looks. Maybe tougher than you and me.”

  “Go ahead, R.J.,” Mary said. “I don’t mind hearing it. The important thing to me is that my father might be alive. Whatever he may have done.”

  “See what I mean?” R.J. said.

  Portillo sighed. “Go on,” he said.

  “Kelley killed this biker, probably by accident, and decided to use the body to fake his own death. That freed him up to get even with his ex-wife. So he had his buddy from Somers identify the body as his.”

  “Even if this is all true,” Portillo said thoughtfully, “you are still a long way from proving that Kelley is the killer. And farther still from catching him.”

  R.J. grinned. “You always did look at things backward, Uncle Hank. I’m thinking that if I catch him at it, I’ll know he’s the killer.”

  Portillo snorted. “I think you have jet lag, R.J.”

  “It’s a lot simpler than it sounds,” R.J. said.

  “It had better be. If I understand you, you are planning to set a trap for the killer?”

  “You always were the only one who understood me, Uncle Hank.”

  “This is a dangerous man, R.J. So far he has made us all look like fools.”

  “This time will be different,” R.J. said. “We’ll be waiting for him. You, me, the LAPD—” he nodded at Mary “—and his daughter.”

  “No,” said Portillo quickly.

  “Yes,” Mary told him.

  He shook his head. “No. It is far too dangerous. He has not seen her for what, fifteen years? He may not know it’s her.”

  “He’ll know,” Mary said.

  “And you don’t even know it’s him,” Portillo said stubbornly.

  “I think it is—”

  “You think it is, hijo, and you make a good case. But if you are wrong—if it is not Kelley—what kind of danger are you placing her in?”

  “Extreme danger,” R.J. said. “But I’m not wrong.”

  “R.J., no,” Portillo said. “I can’t allow it.”

  “Why not? This is the only way everybody gets what they want. I stay out of jail, you catch a killer, Mary gets to see her old man. I don’t see a problem.”

  Portillo gave R.J. a disgusted look, but he said nothing more.

  “Uncle Hank, I could really use your help on this.”

  Portillo let out three or four quarts of air through his teeth. “R.J., I do not like putting an innocent person in danger. I will not allow a plan that does so.”

  “If you help me swing this, she’ll be surrounded by a hundred people. As many cops as you want. Nothing can possibly go wrong.”

  Portillo said nothing for a moment, then, “What did you have in mind?”

  “A press release from the studio. We get them to announce they’re shooting a new version of the airport scene from As Time Goes By.”

  “Oh, God, I love that scene,” Mary gushed.

  R.J. grinned. “Everybody loves that scene, kid. That’s why I picked it. Maximum instant publicity. Everybody will be on hand for the shoot, from Janine Wright on down. And if I’m a killer trying to get to Janine Wright, I’ll be there, too.”

  “It is too risky for Miss Kelley.”

  “Mr. Portillo—Lieutenant—you can’t stop me,” Mary said. “I don’t take orders from you, or anyone else. It’s private property, owned by my mother. And we’re talking about my father, and I want to be there. I will be there.”

  “We will be there,” R.J. repeated. “It’s our best chance, and you know it, Uncle Hank. I can’t do it unless you talk to Janine Wright and get her to go along with it.”

  Portillo clearly didn’t like it. But in the end he gave in and agreed to help.

  “I will speak to her,” he said finally as he approached the intersection for the Santa Monica Freeway. “By the way, where am I going?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, where are you staying, Miss Kelley?” he asked.

  “I don’t—I hadn’t thought—I mean, I don’t know,” she said, and a slow blush climbed into her cheeks.

  “Forgive me if I do not offer my house,” Portillo said carefully. “Although it would be a great pleasure, there is simply not enough room.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch,” R.J. said.

  A slight scowl crossed Portillo’s brow. “R.J., I do not think—”

  “I want her near me,” R.J. said.

  “I know perfectly well what you have in mind, R.J. I do not wish my house used for such a purpose.”

  R.J. snorted. “Relax, Uncle Hank. We’re not looking for a place to play strip poker.” He turned to Mary. “He thinks I’m hell on wheels with women. Ever since he caught me playing strip poker with Melissa Gallagher in the eighth grade.” He shook his head. “She was winning, too.”

  “Oh,” said Mary, still blushing furiously. “And he thought—I mean, it was… What happened?”

  “Uncle Hank taught me to play poker,” R.J. said.

  “R.J.,” Portillo said with a warning in his voice.

  “Take it easy, Uncle Hank,” R.J. said. “I’ll be fine on the couch. Nothing is going to happen.”

  CHAPTER 40

  In the middle of the night R.J. woke up with the sure feeling that he was not alone. He reached under the pillow for his gun before he realized he didn’t have one. He wasn’t at home; he was on the couch at Henry Portillo’s house in the San Fernando Valley. And someone was very quietly, very carefully moving in on him.

  And as he took a deep breath and prepared to whip his legs out of the blanket and into the attacker he caught a faint whiff of Obsession and a soft hand slid onto his hip.

  He grabbed at the wrist, pulled—

  —and a naked Mary Keller slid into his arms.

  “Mary!” he hissed.

  “Yes,” she whispered back, wiggling closer to him and sliding her hand down his hip and around to his crotch.

  R.J. tried to pull away but she held on. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked her.

  She purred into his ear. “I thought it was obvious,” she said.

  “For Christ’s sake, let go of me,” he whispered.

  “No,” she said, and she bit his neck.

  He put out a hand to move her away and came up with a handful of breast. She arched her back to press harder against his hand. “Damn it, kid—!”

  “Stop calling me that!” she said. “Does this feel like a kid to you?”

  “No,” R.J. said, struggling to sit up. “But it acts like one.” He managed to get out from under her and sit up awkwardly, but she still held on with one hand around h
is neck and the other—

  He gently pulled the other hand away. “We have to talk, Mary,” he said.

  “Let’s talk later,” she suggested, again sliding as close to him as she could get. “Afterward.”

  “Now,” he said.

  “I know you want to, R.J.,” she said, and slid her hand back again to prove it.

  “That’s got nothing to do with it,” he snarled, reaching to take her hand away again. His heart was pounding and his mouth was dry and yes, damn it, he did want to and she was holding proof of that in her hand.

  He grabbed her wrist and moved her hand off him, but she just nestled down against his chest, placing her face against his shoulder. “Mmmm,” she said.

  R.J. stood up. The motion caused Mary to slide off him and onto the floor with a bump and in the dim light he could see her looking up at him. He pulled her to her feet, grabbed the blanket off the couch, and wrapped it around her. “What the hell has got into you, kid?” he asked.

  She kicked him in the shin. “Stop calling me kid,” she said. “You keep calling me that, and I’m not a kid. I’m a woman.”

  “I guess you are at that,” R.J. admitted ruefully. “But you don’t need to rape me to prove it.”

  “It wouldn’t be rape if you’d cooperate,” she said. “Why won’t you?”

  R.J. shook his head. He had been about to say that he couldn’t, that he was committed to somebody else, and suddenly that made him wonder if that was true. And then he almost laughed out loud, because he was sitting in the dark with a beautiful naked girl, mooning about Casey.

  “There’s someone else,” he said finally. “I think.”

  “What does that mean? You think? Shouldn’t you be a little more sure than that before you say no to me?”

  “It’s complicated,” he admitted. “We’re kind of at a crossroads with each other right now.” And he realized as he said it how true that was.

  “I’m not asking you to marry me,” Mary said. “Just—you know. For now. If it works out, great. If it doesn’t, we’ve killed some time, right?”

  “I can’t,” R.J. said.

  “Because it’s wrong?” she hissed at him.

  “Yeah. For me, right now, it’s wrong.”

  She sat there on the couch with the blanket draped around her. It didn’t hide the fact that she was naked underneath it. It didn’t hide the fact that she was feeling pretty blue, either.

  “Well, shit,” she said, her head hanging down toward her knees.

  “Damn it, ki—Mary, don’t take it like that.”

  “How am I supposed to take it?”

  “Listen,” R.J. said, with as much kindness and firmness as he could manage. “I’m flattered as hell. You’re a terrific-looking girl and I’m going to have to sit in a bucket of ice water for a week to get over this, but the answer is no. It would be great, but it’s too complicated. I have to work out this other thing first. And besides, you’re my client. I have a hard and fast rule—I almost never sleep with my client.”

  There was a rustle of cloth as the blanket moved and he felt a quick squeeze. “Hard, anyway,” she said and stood up. The blanket slid to the floor and she stood in front of him again, naked and looking great that way.

  “All right, R.J.,” she said. “Just so you think about what you’re turning down.” And she slowly turned, making sure he saw all of her, and then slithered away down the hall.

  “Believe me, I’m thinking,” he muttered, and shook his head. Forget getting back to sleep. He’d be throbbing for hours. What the hell got into her? And for that matter, what the hell got into him, turning her down? Was he going crazy, or just getting old?

  Maybe that was it. Senile dementia. Too much aluminum in his diet. He didn’t eat enough fish and now his brain was shrinking. Hell, he’d never in his life turned down a tumble with a girl as good-looking as that. And whatever he’d said to her, he had slept with clients. Plenty of times. It was surprising how often they wanted to, figured it was part of the deal; after all, he was in a service industry.

  He’d liked most of them a lot less than he liked Mary, too, so that had nothing to do with it. So what did it have to do with?

  Casey?

  Again, he’d never been particularly faithful in past relationships. Why stay single if you were going to get yourself trapped in something with all the disadvantages of marriage? “Seeing someone” didn’t have to mean “not seeing someone else,” and as far as he was concerned it never had.

  Until now. Until Casey.

  He hadn’t thought about it, but he’d blurted it out and now he knew it was true. He was committed to Casey. Even though he had no idea if she was committed to him, he had said no to fooling around with Mary because he didn’t want to put his relationship with Casey in any danger. He didn’t even know if he had a relationship with her anymore, but didn’t feel like taking the chance.

  R.J. flopped back down on the couch with a groan. His brains were turning to mush, going soft on him, no matter how hard he was elsewhere.

  And why did all of this have to come down on him right now, when he needed to be especially sharp? How could he catch a killer with all this other stuff slamming into him? What was the old saying, about how it never rains unless it pours? In his case, it was pouring, and that wasn’t water falling on him, either. It was pure, uncut raw sewage.

  R.J. lay there for a long time, thinking about love and death. He never did get back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 41

  It was bright and early when they rolled up to the gates of Andromeda Studios. R.J. wasn’t feeling particularly bright, but he couldn’t argue with the early part. He hadn’t slept much the night before, thinking about what might happen today, and he hadn’t slept at all the night before that, after his naked visitor had left him.

  The encounter with Mary had left him in short temper for the meeting with Janine Wright, but luckily Portillo and Bertelli had been there to sweet-talk her—and to keep R.J.’s temper in check. He felt his bile rising just being in the same room with her.

  But in the end she had agreed. Had to, really. There was no other way, and whatever she might say about bad publicity selling tickets, the body count was high enough now, even for her.

  “Good morning, John,” Portillo greeted the handsome young actor at the gate.

  John flashed him a smile. “Hey, Lieutenant,” he said. He glanced into the car and did a small double take when he saw R.J. “Um, Lieutenant, I’m not supposed to let that guy on the lot.”

  “There’s been a change in plans, John,” Portillo told him. “I’m sure it’s all right. They just forgot to update you.”

  The young actor still looked doubtful. “I don’t know. It could mean my job.”

  Mary leaned over so John could see her. “It’s really okay, Johnny,” she said. “I kind of need him with me for protection.”

  “Muh-Mar—Miss Kelley?” the gatekeeper blurted, and to R.J.’s surprise the kid blushed. “Whu-when did…what are you…?”

  Mary gave him a sweet smile. “We’re all supposed to be on the set. Mr. Brooks is working for me.”

  “I, I…um,” John stammered. He was fire-engine red, and obviously so flustered by Mary that he couldn’t find the floor with his foot.

  “Please?” Mary said, and John lurched backward and stumbled for the button that opened the gate.

  As the car moved forward onto the lot, R.J. snorted. “I think he likes you, Mary,” he said.

  She looked at him coolly. “Some people do,” she said. “I don’t know why you find that so strange.” And she turned away and looked out the window.

  Portillo gave R.J. a dark look. “Oh, brother,” R.J. muttered to himself.

  Since the incident on the couch two nights ago Mary had been a little distant, which R.J. guessed was only natural. He couldn’t be sure since he’d never turned a woman down before, not when she was naked and in his arms, but he guessed this was how she might be expected to react.

  Still
, it was certainly putting a crimp in the working relationship. She hadn’t said a word to him since, nothing more complicated than “Yes, no, pass the salt, please.”

  But what the hell. They were here, and there was a job to be done. And in a little while it would be over, one way or the other.

  Portillo pulled into a parking spot next to a step van that was parked near the soundstage.

  R.J. put a hand on Mary’s shoulder and she stepped away from it. He shrugged. “Listen, Mary,” he said. “Just keep your eyes open, and stay close to me.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, with a tone of voice that said it would be hard work to stay close to him.

  R.J. ignored it. “My guess is, it’s going to be a lot of waiting and maybe nothing happens. He knows we’re waiting for him, but I think he’s got to try, anyway. You’ll be safe, there are twenty cops all over the soundstage, and another dozen studio security guys. And I’ll be right there with you.”

  She gave him that tone of voice again. “Oh. Then I guess there’s really nothing to worry about,” she said, and she turned away and went in.

  R.J. was beginning to wish he had just said fine, the hell with it, and let her have her way with him on the couch. He swore under his breath and followed her in.

  Portillo went to check the perimeters and talk to his men. Mary quickly and pointedly found somebody she knew and went to stand and talk with them, leaving R.J. by himself.

  All around the set, everything looked almost exactly the same. To R.J., it looked like the crew were even wearing the same T-shirts. The long row of food tables still stood along the wall, surrounded by casually grazing Teamsters, and the same three or four guys were still hustling at top speed while everyone else stood around in clusters, talking, and sipping coffee.

  The set itself was completely different. The walls of the cheap hotel were gone and in their place was a smooth, featureless white screen. It folded around the stage with no visible seams or corners.