'They'll show up,' Arbeiter said.
'Better to wait for a big shot,' Frank said. 'Blow the place another night. Wait for an important opera. If you blow up Lucia,' Frank reasoned, 'the Viennese will applaud! They'll think your target was Donizetti, or, even better -- Italian opera! You'll be a kind of cultural hero,' Frank argued, 'not the villain you want to be.'
'And when you get your audience,' Susie the bear told Arbeiter, 'who's going to do the talking?'
'Your talker is dead,' Franny said to Arbeiter.
'You don't think you can hold an audience, do you, Arbeiter?' Susie the bear asked him.
'Shut Up,' Arbeiter said. 'It's possible to have a bear ride in the car with Freud. Everyone knows Freud's got a thing for bears. It might be a nice idea to have a bear ride with him -- on his last trip.'
'No change in the plan, not now,' said Schraubenschlussel, nervously. 'According to plan,' he said, looking at his watch. 'Two minutes.'
'Go now,' Arbeiter said. 'It will take a while to get the blind man out the door and in the car.'
'Not me!' Freud cried. 'I know the way! It's my hotel, I know where the door is,' the old man said, hobbling on the baseball bat toward the door. 'And you've parked that damn car in the same place for years!'
'Go with him, Schraubenschlussel,' Arbeiter told Wrench. 'Hold the old fucker's arm.'
'I don't need any assistance,' Freud said, cheerfully. 'Goodbye, Lilly dear!' Freud cried. 'Don't throw up, dear,' he urged her. 'And keep growing!'
Lilly gagged again, and shook; Arbeiter moved the gun about two inches away from her ear. He was apparently disgusted with her puking, though it was only a very small puddle that Lilly had managed; she was not even a big vomiter.
'Hang in there, Frank!' Freud called -- to the entire lobby. 'Don't let anyone tell you you're queer! You're a prince, Frank!' Freud cried. 'You're better than Rudolf!' Freud yelled to Frank. 'You're more majestic than all the Hapsburgs, Frank!' Freud encouraged him. Frank couldn't speak, he was crying so hard.
'You're lovely, Franny my dear, Franny my sweetheart,' said Freud softly. 'One doesn't have to see to know how beautiful you are,' he said.
'Auf Wiedersehen, Freud,' Franny said.
'Auf Wiedersehen, weight lifter!' Freud cried to me. 'Give me a hug,' he asked me, holding out his arms, the Louisville Slugger like a sword in one hand. 'Let me feel how strong you are,' Freud said to me, and I went up to him and hugged him. That was when he whispered in my ear.
'When you hear the explosion,' Freud whispered, 'kill Arbeiter.'
'Come on!' Schraubenschlussel said, nervously. He grabbed Freud's arm.
'I love you, Win Berry!' Freud cried, but my father had his head in his hands; he would not look up from where he sat, sunk in the couch. 'I'm sorry I got you in the hotel business,' Freud said to my father. 'And the bear business,' Freud added. 'Goodbye, Susie!' Freud said.
Susie started to cry. Schraubenschlussel steered Freud through the door. We could see the car, the Mercedes that was a bomb; it was parked against the curb almost in front of the door to the Hotel New Hampshire. It was a revolving door, and Freud and Schraubenschlussel revolved through it.
'I don't need your assistance!' Freud was complaining to Wrench. 'Just let me feel the car, just get me to the fender,' Freud complained. 'I can find the door by myself, you idiot,' Freud was saying. 'Just let me touch the fender.'
Arbeiter was getting a stiff back, leaning over Lilly. He straightened up a little; he glanced at me, checking on where I was. He glanced at Franny. His gun wandered around.
'There it is, I've got it!' we heard Freud crying, cheerfully, outside. 'That's the headlight, right?' he asked Schraubenschlussel. My father raised his head from his hands and looked at me.
'Of course that's the headlight, you old fool!' Schraubenschlussel yelled at Freud. 'Get in, will you?'
'Freud!' Father screamed. He must have known, then. He ran to the revolving door. 'Auf Wiedersehen, Freud!' Father cried. At the revolving door, Father saw the whole thing very clearly. Freud, with his hand feeling along the headlight, slipped toward the grille of the Mercedes instead of toward the door.
'The other way, you moron!' Schraubenschlussel advised. But Freud knew exactly where he was. He tore his arm out of Wrench's grasp; he leveled the Louisville Slugger and started swinging. He was looking for the front license plate, of course. Blind people have a knack for knowing exactly where things that have always been are. It took Freud only three swings to locate the license plate, my father would always remember. The first swing was a little high-off the grille.
'Lower!' Father screamed, through the revolving door. 'Auf Wiedersehen!'
The second swing hit the front bumper a little to the left of the license plate, and my father yelled, 'To your right! Auf Wiedersehen, Freud!' Schraubenschlussel, Father said later, was already running away. He never got far enough away, however. Freud's third swing was on the money; Freud's third swing was the grand slam. What a lot for that baseball bat to go through in one night! That Louisville Slugger was never found. Freud was never entirely found, either, and Schraubenschlussel's own mother would fail to identify him. My father was blasted back from the revolving door, the white light and glass flying in his face. Franny and Frank ran to help him, and I got my arms around Arbeiter just as the bomb blew -- just as Freud had told me to do.
Arbeiter in his black tuxedo, dressed for the Opera, was a little taller than I was, and a little heavier; my chin rested firmly between his shoulder blades, my arms went around his chest, pinning his arms to his side. He fired the gun once, into the floor. I thought for a moment that he might be able to shoot my foot with it, but I knew I'd never let him raise the gun any higher. I knew Lilly was out of Arbeiter's range. He fired two more shots into the floor. I held him so tightly that he couldn't even locate my foot, which was right behind his foot. His next shot hit his own foot and he started screaming. He dropped the gun. I heard it hit the floor and saw Lilly grab it, but I wasn't paying much attention to the gun. I was concentrating on squeezing Arbeiter. For someone who'd shot himself in the foot, he stopped screaming pretty soon. Frank would tell me, later, that Arbeiter stopped screaming because he couldn't breathe. I wasn't paying much attention to Arbeiter's screaming, either. I concentrated on the squeezing. I imagined the biggest barbell in the world. I don't know, exactly, what I imagined I was doing to the barbell -- curling it, bench-pressing it, dead-lifting it, or simply hugging it to my own chest. It didn't matter; I was just concentrating on its weight. I really concentrated. I made my arms believe in themselves. If I had hugged Jolanta this hard, she would have broken in two. If I had hugged Screaming Annie this hard, she would have been quiet. Once I had dreamed of holding Franny this tightly. I had been lifting weights since Franny was raped, since Iowa Bob showed me how; with Arbeiter in my arms, I was the strongest man in the world.
'A sympathy bomb!' I heard Father yelling. I knew he was in pain. 'Jesus God! Can you believe it? A fucki