Who: Bernie Rhodenbarr and Frodo Baggins What: Establishing a safehouse When: After the newsstory implicating Bernie for the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne came out. Where: Frodo's house Rating: PG-13 for talk of CRIME, mentions of dead bodies and also lots of drinking. Status: Complete
Things had been an absolute mess. Bernie was still struggling to figure things out in his head. It pretty much rested on him, at this point. The police were putting their resources into a manhunt for the burglar and leaving the murderer free to roam around. Hopefully Bernie would remain free to roam, too, if he had his way.
When he showed up at Frodo’s, he was wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses, a baseball cap pulled low, and a sports t-shirt he’d picked up at a drugstore since the baseball cap didn’t match the tux he’d worn the night before. So far, he hadn’t been recognized and he didn’t think anyone was following him.
Bernie just hoped Frodo believed he was innocent and was willing to help.
A lot of people would have warned Frodo he was being exceptionally stupid, welcoming a wanted man into his home. But Frodo did not see it that way. He knew Bernie too well, he was an old friend, and what they were saying about him could not possibly be true. Not in a million years. That was what Frodo would have told those warning voices, were they real. As it was, he was acting without consulting anyone. He had not thought twice, when he invited Bernie to come to his home.
They would be starting off with a long chat, of course.
"Well, this is just like in the movies. Come inside," said Frodo, ushering him in.
Bernie chuckled a little, though there wasn't much cheer behind it. "I wish it was a movie," he said. He walked inside, pulling off the hat immediately. It looked weird on him, and he was glad to get it off once the door was closed.
"Thanks for this. I couldn't stay with Barbara." He was worried about her, now. He trusted her to keep his confidence, but he didn't like the idea of the police bothering her. And he didn't want to think about the questions they'd ask her. No doubt they'd try to draw a link between Bernie and the recent break-in at Barbara's home.
Frodo motioned for Bernie to follow him into the kitchen. It was a central room in the house, and if one steered away from the window that faced the ocean, it was also the most private. "First things first, can I get you a drink? I imagine you need one." His old drinking buddy looked in need of a few shots and a long nap.
"Yes, please," Bernie said, following him. "Don't suppose you have any whiskey on hand. Beer's fine, if not." Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all. Stronger was better, though.
"Who do you think you're speaking to?" Frodo asked, as he opened a cabinet and pulled out an expensive-looking bottle. He brought two glasses to the counter and began to pour. "So... "
Bernie chuckled, taking a seat at the bar. Frodo was too good to him. “Been a rough few days..” He sighed. Frodo expected an explanation, and he deserved one. “I paid the Waynes’ summer home a visit.. Uninvited and not strictly legal, but they were already dead by the time I got there.”
"Ah," Frodo breathed, lifting his drink and giving the alcohol a spin. It cycloned in the glass. "Long dead...? I mean, by how much do you think you missed the murderer?" He thought briefly, very briefly, of his own parents’ death. Bernie knew nothing about that.
Bernie shook his head. "I really don't know. I've never seen a dead person before. Sort of.. panicked." And he'd thrown up in the Wayne's flower bushes, but Frodo didn't need to hear about that. "Looked fresh, I suppose. There wasn't any smell, not that I could tell. Though I can't promise I would remember it if there was. I'm guessing it wasn't too long." Bernie shook his head again.
Assuming the police could somehow figure out the timing of the murder, freshly dead was probably much worse. Not much room for error. Frodo frowned. He drank down a little wave of fear that the police might track him to the house. But Frodo was so positive Bernie was innocent. He wasn’t capable of something like this.
“Well, if you need a character witness, you have me. You know that. But what are your plans for the immediate future? You can’t hide forever. Are you just hoping the trail on the other man heats up?” he asked. “Wait... what do you mean, not strictly legal??”
Bernie had been fairly careful to make sure the police wouldn't make the connection to Frodo. They didn't have a long past, nothing written in stone, anyway. It wasn't as though anyone had even seen him together recently.
"I know, I can't hide forever. I think I need to find the real killer."
"Oh, about that. Right. Well. I might have been... planning to steal things." God, that was embarrassing.
Frodo lowered his glass. "I'm sorry, but what?" He was reacting to both statements at once: Bernie finding the killer himself and petty theft. "Are you serious?"
“Um. Yes." Bernie scratched the back of his head. "Not that I'm going to steal from you, cross my heart." He shook his head. "I've been having dreams and... Well. It seemed like a good idea at the time, I suppose."
Frodo tilted his head. He was probably going to need more than one drink. "You've been dreaming, too? About... robbing people?"
"Burglary, not robbery," corrected Bernie. Now wasn't really the time, but it was an important distinction for Bernie. "Robbery is something people do at gunpoint. I'm not a violent person, even in my dreams."
“I didn’t realize there a was a difference,” said Frodo. All this time, he had been on his feet, standing on the opposite side of the counter. He finally pulled out a stool and took a seat. “But I agree, you are not a violent person. I really do believe you are innocent.”
Frodo lifted the bottle to offer Bernie a second drink. “So this was your first attempt at burglary then?”
“Yes,” Bernie replied, to both the question and the drink. Well, he certainly wouldn’t be working tonight. “Burglary is something you do when nobody’s home. Well. Theoretically. Turned out somebody was home, just not...alive.” And something similar had happened in Bernie’s dream, so he really should have known better. He’d tried so hard to make sure no one was going to be there. It must have been a last minute decision of the Waynes’ to vacation for the weekend.
Bernie was pale thinking about it, despite the ‘liquid courage’ he was imbibing. He certainly didn’t look like a stone cold killer. “So I can still get that character reference?”
Frodo nodded, pouring a drink for himself, as well. “Of course. If it comes to that. Hopefully, it doesn’t. Do you really plan on trying to catch the real killer yourself?” He was starting to think about a few details he’d previously ignored. Who was Barbara, to start? Did Bernie need a place to hide until things cooled down? Frodo really hoped his friend wasn’t planning on becoming a vigilante when the stakes were so high.
Bernie hoped it wouldn’t get there. Barbara’s lawyers were at work, but he was sure they would just tell him to turn himself in. He nodded. “Well, I’m not thinking of dressing up in costume, but I want to figure out who the real killer is. Once I have a name and can put all the pieces together, I’ll take it to the cops.”
It was entirely possible Bernie had been reading too many mystery novels.
Frodo would have agreed. But Frodo was also very naive, and he tended to think about his own safety last of all. “Would you like to stay here for a while? I have plenty of room.” (He might have been less willing to open up his home if he knew more about Merrill’s condition... but it was more likely he would have offered it now anyway, and just regretted it later.)
The offer was quite a relief, and Bernie nodded. “If you’re sure.” He could have skipped town and found a home with an old girlfriend back east. He could’ve started over with a fake name and a cheap apartment in another town. But Bernie liked the life he had now. The shop, his apartment, Barbara... He didn’t want to be pulled away from it for something he didn’t even do. Having somewhere in the area as a base of operations would be a great help.
“I’m sure,” Frodo replied. And he was. He should not have been, but he was. “We’ll say you can stay here to feel things out, and then we will see what happens next.”
Bernie nodded, raising his glass to toast his old friend. The liquor was strong, and he was already feeling it. He’d have a few more before the night was over, though. Eventually he would need a clear head to figure things out. For now, though, he needed to wallow, and in order to do that he had to be stupidly drunk.