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It was a lovely warm night, and Bilbo didn’t even have to turn the indoor heater on. Not even after his shower, when he came out, towelling his damp hair, singing “He likes boys!”, and moving his hips to the tune. He did like boys, after all. Quite a lot. And his current dry spell had gone on far too long. What he needed was to meet a tall, handsome man who liked a spot of adventure. Or a spot of cuddling. Or a little spooning after a night of long, satisfying sex.
He looked upward briefly and sent a silent prayer to his Maker, or whoever was up there pulling the strings of the world’s dating algorithms. Then he looked at himself in the mirror and grinned mockingly. Had it come to this, then? Bilbo Baggins, a man with an international reputation in three continents, asking God to get him a date?
The image in the mirror grinned back, equally mocking. Bilbo studied his reflection. Not bad at all, he said. On the wrong side of 35, but still rather cute, with curly copper-coloured hair, big blue eyes, and smooth glowing skin, courtesy a killer moisturising routine. And reasonably fit, thought Bilbo. He sucked in his stomach and looked at himself sideways. Oh well, couldn’t be helped. He might go to the gym tomorrow. Or lay off the fries. Or not.
A sharp rap at his cottage door startled him. Who the heck was visiting him this time of night? Bilbo draped the towel over his shoulder and opened the door.
A wild looking man slipped inside and closed the door behind him quickly. Bilbo stepped back, alarmed. The man was tall and broad, with a dark beard, a wild gaze, and the most handsome face he had ever seen. But what Bilbo noticed immediately was the blood running down the side of his head.
“Hide me!” the man gasped, pain, fear and pleading in his eyes. Bilbo had seen that look several times before, in the most dangerous areas of the world. This was the look of a man who would die if Bilbo pushed him back into the street. This was prey, not predator. At least at this moment. There was no way Bilbo could fail to respond to such a plea, whatever the danger outside.
Bilbo felt adrenalin rush through his veins. He quickly took his towel and wrapped it around the man’s head. “Keep that on or you’ll bleed on the floor,” he hissed. The man nodded quickly.
He pulled the bigger man through the corridor to the kitchen at the back. Luckily the cottage was centuries old and had an honest-to-goodness trapdoor leading to the basement. Bilbo had a comfy den down there where he hid from unwelcome visitors, so the trapdoor, being frequently used, opened smoothly. Bilbo gave the man a little push, and he practically slithered down the steps in seconds. Bilbo quickly pulled the rug over so that it covered the trapdoor.
Hmm. There was still a risk. If anyone walked over that particular spot, they might feel the difference in the floor under their feet. That would never do. He spotted the cat’s sleeping basket and had an idea. He lifted it and placed it on that spot. There. That was quite clever, if he said so himself. No one would think that a sleeping cat could be hiding a hidden door.
His cat Marmaduke was less impressed at being so rudely awoken. He opened an eye, looked at Bilbo reproachfully, then went back to sleep.
The whole thing had taken less than a minute.
Now to prepare. Bilbo ran into the bedroom, opened the cupboard, pulled out his gun and pushed it into his waistband at his back. He always kept it oiled and loaded, a habit from different times. He grabbed a book and his reading glasses, and sat down on the bed. Within a few more seconds, he heard loud knocking at the door.
Bilbo took a deep, calming breath. There was danger outside the door, but he didn’t know of what kind. He went to the door and yelled through it, “Who is it??”
“Police! Open up!”
He opened the door and a huge man came in. He was definitely not in uniform, and if this was a policeman, Bilbo was an alligator. The man loomed over Bilbo aggressively. He was a foot taller than Bilbo, bald and pale. A long scar ran from his forehead to his upper lip.
“Did someone come through this door just now?”
While Bilbo’s brain screamed “danger, danger, danger!” at the sheer size and bulk of this monster, he wasn’t about to be cowed by anyone. Fear was the enemy. Time to level the playing field somewhat. After all, mind games were his forte.
Bilbo stepped back, out of the man’s “loom radius” and ran his eyes down the man’s figure appreciatively.
“No, I live alone.” Bilbo smiled. “Why?”
The man looked a little confused at Bilbo’s blatantly displayed interest. This was clearly not the kind of reaction he was used to getting from normal people. “I’m chasing a fugitive.”
Bilbo decided to take it a little further and add a little “camp”. Keep them off balance – that was the ticket. Bilbo stepped back even further and put a hand to his heart in exaggerated “diva” style. “Oh my God! Is he dangerous?”
The man was definitely thrown, as he stepped back a bit. “Very dangerous. Can I search the house?”
Bilbo smiled, letting a little seductiveness enter his voice. “Not at all, handsome. Go right ahead.”
Careful, Bilbo told himself. He needed to calibrate it just right. If he came across as too aggressive, he could end up awakening the man’s latent homophobia. He needed to project the vibe of an older, sexually non-threatening gay man. The last thing he wanted was a showdown inside his house, especially since he could see the outline of a holster inside the man’s jacket. While Bilbo was a quick draw, he really didn’t want to put it to the test unless as a last resort.
The man went inside, and Bilbo sat down on the sofa to wait. There was no way this man would find the trapdoor. Soon enough the man came back, looking both confused and thwarted.
“He isn’t there. I could have sworn he came in here.”
Bilbo didn’t let any relief show on his face. “He could easily have slipped around the cottage, you know. Can I help you in any other way? Would you like a cup of tea before you set out?”
The man shook his head ponderously. “No, I need to go.”
Bilbo sighed. “Another gorgeous guy turns out to be straight. What a waste.”
The man stopped halfway to the door and turned around. “Huh? What?”
“I mean, gays would go for you like a shot, but I’m pretty sure girls don’t appreciate you as they should. Do you have a girlfriend?”
Bilbo was taking a bit of a risk here. He needed to stall this guy. If he was a policeman, no harm done. If, as Bilbo’s instinct and knowledge of physical posture told him, this man was a criminal, and the man in the cellar the real policeman, stalling for time could bring the police to his door in time to catch him.
With his years of training as psychologist, researcher, and journalist, Bilbo had spotted the man’s deep-seated insecurities about his looks. Putting two and two together, it was an easy conclusion to draw, that the man felt women humoured him because they feared him. There were some lovely strings there an expert could pluck on. Would it work?
The man looked a little gloomy. “No. No girlfriend,” he said.
Bingo.
Now to stretch it out. But first, Bilbo needed to pretend he wasn’t the one who wanted to converse.
“It’s the clothes.” Bilbo said sagely, and picked up a magazine from the coffee table, as if he had ended the conversation. There was no risk now. The man wasn’t going anywhere until Bilbo elaborated on that point.
As he had expected, the man came back and sat down opposite Bilbo. “My clothes? What’s wrong with these?” He indicated the leather jacket, stone-wash jeans, and boots.
Bilbo looked him up and down carefully. “Entirely too macho. For your looks.”
“What do you mean?” The man was looking more and more bewildered.
Bilbo smiled kindly and prepared to lie through his teeth. “Well, I worked in the fashion industry for ten years. Female attraction is a funny thing. They are attracted to masculine men, but only up to a point. And you my boy, are far beyond that point. So what you need to do is dial it back till you get to the point where women’s eyes pop.”
There are lies, damned lies, and then there are beautifully told stories. Bilbo had never worked in fashion in his life, and he wasn’t too interested in what any woman wanted romantically, but he did know what this man wanted to hear. He wanted hope, and Bilbo was quite prepared to give it to him. Which just goes to show that all human beings, even psychopaths and killers, have their own little wants and desires, levers that their more intelligent superiors can pull.
The man stayed silent and for a moment Bilbo really thought he had laid it on too thick. Would he go for it?
But once again, Bilbo’s expert manipulation bore fruit. The man went for it. “Oh! how?”
A man of few words, evidently. Bilbo tucked an errant curl behind his ear and went on, “Ditch the biker’s uniform and go hipster style. Wear a dark turtleneck, which will soften your lines. Grow your hair out or wear a wig. Just soften the whole look and make it more boy-next-door than urban bad boy. Abandon the boots.”
The huge man looked almost wistful. “No boots?”
“Never boots. Dress shoes or loafers. Sports shoes at a pinch, but pair them with light coloured track pants and a plain T-shirt. Not a vest. Cover up those biceps – they look like lethal weapons.”
The man looked flattered and hopeful at the same time. “You think that’ll help?”
“Of course it will help. You have the kind of rugged good looks that gay men really go for. But women, you know women constantly live in fear. Fear that their date will kill them is at the top of the list. They won’t date you if you look like that. They have to see you as non-threatening, but strong enough to be a protector. Some people use clothes to look strong. You, my boy, need clothes to make you look softer.”
“Wow. You’re like a psych.. phsyc.. psychology chap.”
“Of a sort, my boy. Of a sort. Everyone has to be.”
The man stood up. “I need to go… find the… fugitive.”
“Yes, of course. It was very nice meeting you.” Bilbo got up and held out his hand.
The man shook Bilbo’s hand, holding it gently in his huge paw. “Thank you for your help,” he said gruffly.
“My pleasure entirely.”
The man opened the door and went out, closing the door behind him.
Bilbo let out a long breath, sat down and waited. If his calculations were right, and the policeman in the basement had called for backup, the police should either already be waiting outside, or arrive in a few minutes.
And there it came – shouts, a loud screech of tyres and shots being fired. Clearly the police had arrived. Had they managed to catch the man? Bilbo sent a silent prayer up that they had caught him and not killed him. He probably deserved to die, but many die that deserve to live. Whatever Bilbo’s adventurous past had taught him, it had not taught him to devalue life.
Someone hammered on the door again. Now this had to be the police. Bilbo quickly got up and opened the door.
A tall man stood there, this time in actual police uniform. Bilbo looked up. The man was bald, like the other man, but there the resemblance ended. This man was much better looking, despite the bald head and pepper and salt beard. He also looked distraught with worry. He pushed a badge at Bilbo. Bilbo read it - “Inspector D. Fundinson.”
“I’m looking for an injured man.”
Of course. This was the real deal. A policeman looking for his colleague or partner.
“Come on in.” Bilbo went into the kitchen and moved the cat’s sleeping basket again. Marmaduke mewed loudly in protest and walked away into the sitting room, tail held high.
Bilbo quickly removed the rug and opened the trap door. “He’s down there. Better call out or he might shoot you, if he has a gun.”
The chief inspector bent down and peered through the trapdoor. “Thorin! Are you there?”
There was a faint reply from the depths of the basement, but that was enough for the inspector to climb down the steps. Bilbo stayed where he was, although he was dying to see if the beautiful man was all right. When they came up, they would need help getting out of there.
Sure enough, in a few minutes the “fugitive’s” head and shoulders came out of the hole and Bilbo helped him step out. He led the man tenderly to a chair and carefully helped him sit down. The man had wrapped the towel around his head like a turban – it was soaked in blood. He was pale and haggard and had clearly lost a lot of blood. And he still was the handsomest man Bilbo had ever seen, with a sharp nose, regular features, blue eyes, and a pronouncedly brachycephalic head.
Fundinson spoke into his phone briefly and then turned to Bilbo. “I’ve called the ambulance. Could you please let them in?”
Bilbo went to the door and opened it. A team of paramedics came in and Bilbo watched anxiously as they helped Thorin lie down on the stretcher and carried him out to a waiting van.
Bilbo and the chief inspector stepped out together and looked around.
“Did you get him?”
Fundinson growled, “Yes. He’ll go to gaol for a very long time. He’s a very dangerous man. Thorin should never have gone after him alone.”
“Is Thorin a copper, like you?”
“Detective. Same force, though.”
Fundinson turned and looked at Bilbo seriously, “Thank you, laddie. That was the bravest rescue by a civilian I have seen in years. I’ll see you get the reward, but if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, let me know. Thorin is not only my cousin, but also my best friend.”
Bilbo grinned and decided to chance it. “Is he single?” he asked.
Fundinson gave him a knowing grin. “Give me your contacts, I’ll see that he gets them.”
Bilbo sent a silent prayer heavenward. He would never lose faith in his Maker again. They had sent him a beautiful man with a taste for adventure. It was up to Bilbo now to put that international reputation to use.