When Arnold and Helga left the theater it was about time for them to split up and head home for dinner.

Although Arnold might have been expected to invite Helga home with him he did not, for reasons which are not entirely clear. Of course, he knew that a dinner visit would tend to compromise their secrecy, which he valued more for Helga's sake than his own. Another part of him, recalling what he'd learned of Helga's previous shenanigans, didn't want to subject her to the inevitable embarrassing awkwardness. But the biggest obstacle must have been the cold fear which still weighed on him about his family's fate, which would have made any dinner difficult to enjoy.

But Helga was happy enough to go home, and indeed felt obligated to do it since with Bob arrested "someone has to take care of Miriam."

So they took the bus back to their neighborhood, and when they debarked near the head of Vine Street, Helga offered to walk Arnold home.

"I'd love to walk with you," he said, "but if my place is still being watched, uh…I guess maybe you shouldn't be seen there. Let's split up a block away."

"OK, football-head," said Helga affectionately, "It's too bad, though; I was looking forward to teaching you the best ways to sneak into that house of yours."

Arnold laughed. "Ah, I'm sure there will be other times. Anyway, I think at this point it's me who should be sneaking into your house. I mean: I'm behind, after all."

"You're right about that, football-head! And the fact is, sneaking into someone's room is way easier if you're doing it with the room-owner's permission. I don't know the exact ratio, but you'll need to sneak over a lot if you're going to catch up to me."

"Oh," said Arnold with chagrin, "I don't know if I'll ever catch you then. After all, my points will be cancelled out whenever you come over to my place."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Arnoldo. I've got your house down to an art form. With you in on it, it would be nothing! I won't even count those points. Heck, by now I could sneak in there in my sleep!"

Heck, she thought suddenly, I did sneak in there in my sleep. Twice.

"Anyway Arnold, as I'm sure you'll find out, the physical obstacles at my room are a bit more…daunting. You're in for a challenge, football-head."

But "Challenge," for all we know, was Arnold's middle name.

"So," he finally said, "I guess I'll see you at PS 118, at ten."

"No, Arnoldo… show up early, like Bridget said. I'm sure we can find 'something to do' for a few minutes!" replied Helga.

This was much to Arnold's liking. Nevertheless he nearly tried to give Helga the thumb gesture, but caught himself and hugged her instead. Arnold finally let Helga go and started walking home.

In the early-evening light Arnold noticed for the second day in a row an occupied, parked car across the street from his front door (or rather, from the substitute door which had been installed after Grandma was hauled to jail on the real one). But it was a different make, and the idle driver was not the same guy.

So he again decided to go around the back. This time, however, he saw another parked car across from his backyard, also occupied. When he got a bit closer Arnold saw (his depth perception being enhanced by the larger-than-average distance between his eyes) that the driver's hair was cut short. He looked fit too: a police officer in plain clothes. A shiver went down Arnold's spine. Yesterday, the watchers had consisted of a single journalist parked in front of the house; now the journalists had dropped to zero, and he had two cops instead.

And our dear football-head had been planning to sneak into his own house by some devious, as-yet-undetermined route, both for practice and as an homage to Helga's exploits. But now, as he felt the cop's stare, he knew this was impossible. He could do nothing but walk as normally and unsuspiciously as possible through his back door. And as he nervously tried to look normal and boring, it occurred to him that his plan to meet Bridget at ten was in very serious trouble.

When Arnold opened the back door he was alone; no pets rushed through. Entering through the kitchen he found that most of the cabinets were open, and empty: pots and pans were spread over the counter, the table, and the floor too, but no one was working. Where was Grandpa?

He went through the main hallway, where he noticed that the under-the-stairs closet door was ajar, and so was the grandfather clock by the front door, whose pendulum was stopped. Finally Arnold entered the living room and found his Grandpa watching TV, a vacant stare on his face, rocking lightly back and forth. But his posture was tense: he sat straight-backed in the chair, and his knees were at near-right angles; his hands gripped the armests tightly. In this room the cabinets were all open as well and the sofa had been stripped of its cushions, which now littered the floor around Grandpa's chair.

"Oh, hey shortman," said Grandpa flatly and without turning his head. "How was your day?"

Until a few minutes ago, this had been one of the best days of his young life. But now?

"It was OK."

For the first time our poor, pitiable football head was aware of a need to tread lightly around his normally-trusty old Grandpa, lest some insensitive comment provoke him to a violent explosion. He put one of the sofa cushions back, took a seat, and looked blankly at the TV. It was wrestling. But Arnold also studied Grandpa's face in his peripheral vision, and saw there the extreme tension which stretched a disturbing mixture of shame, rage, fear, and guilt into a quasi-neutral non-expression.

When the TV went into a commercial break Arnold decided he had waited long enough.

"Grandpa," he said expecting the worst, "what happened?"

The explosion began.

"What happened? What happened? I'll tell you what happened! A couple hours after you left, the cops busted the door open, held me and the boarders at gunpoint in the backyard, and turned the whole place inside out! That's what happened! And what's more, they know it was me who blew up the second building! I'm toast, Arnold!

"First they ordered us all outside: me, the other boarders, and put guns in our faces. Then they sent vicious dogs into the house and searched every nook and cranny of the common areas, and most of the boarders' rooms! Their leader took me aside and said he knew we blew up that building and tried to get me confess; they said it would be easier for me. Meanwhile, they're opening all the cabinets, throwing crap everywhere, and making a complete wreck of the place. Finally after about an hour or so they got done, and let us back in to clean up the mess."

"But you didn't, Grandpa…did you?"

"Oh, of course I didn't confess, shortman! And no one else did either. But we're toast anyway. It's only a matter of time now! Oh Arnold," he said as he began to cry, "I'm so sorry. I promised your parents I'd keep you safe, and now look at me! I'm going to jail, and you'll be sent to some foster home or something! Oh, Arnold…"

"Don't worry, Grandpa," said Arnold in the wrong tone of voice, "maybe it'll be OK…" and he reached to touch the back of Grandpa's hand…

But the latter jerked it back.

"Don't touch me! I'll infect you with my criminality!"

As Phil sobbed in the background, Arnold did some thinking. Could Big Bob have spilled the beans so quickly? No...if he had, the authorities wouldn't have contented themselves with a mere search, but have arrested Grandpa on the spot. Perhaps Bob had not quite talked, but merely let something slip sufficient to inspire the raid, and then clammed up? In that case, Grandpa might come out of this OK. He didn't confess, after all...But Arnold knew that ultimately, Grandpa was right: It's only a matter of time. Unless Monkeyan's scheme could work quickly, they really were toast.

"Grandpa," he finally asked, "where's Abner?"

Grandpa dried his tears and looked kindly on the boy.

"Ah, shortman…Abner got panicky I guess, while they were searching the house. As the cops were lining us up in the backyard he rushed out the door, scurried along the fence, and disappeared down the street. God knows where he is now!"[1]

Arnold sighed. He was glad Abner wasn't hurt, and although it was terrible to know that his pet was lost in the urban wilderness, Abner had found his way back once before, and could probably do so again. In any case, although it hurt him, Arnold knew he had other things to worry about.

"I hope he's OK," said Arnold. "Do you think the cops found anything?"

"Well, shortman…I'm sure they didn't find anything important. And anyway"—he leaned in closer and whispered—"we used all the stuff; we left nothing behind. They couldn't have found that."

At this Arnold leaned back, allowed the slightest hint of a smile to cross his face, got up from the couch, and said, "Grandpa, I'm hungry. I'll go try to cook something."

Then he walked briskly, if not sprightly, out of the room. Experience, you see, had taught Arnold that even if he thought Grandpa had reason for hope, telling him so was useless. He therefore resolved to appear unfazed, content, and completely oblivious to pain, so that his buoyancy might be communicated nonverbally, and uplift the old man in spite of himself.

Once in the kitchen Arnold started organizing things again. He put the pots in their places; he picked up all the utensils and spice containers that had been strewn all over, mentally noting as he did the great mess the cops had made. When the kitchen looked moderately clean, Arnold took a cookbook down from the shelf and started flipping through it. What could he make by himself? As Arnold found a recipe he liked (which took some time, since he had to read many of them) and started looking around for ingredients, Grandpa entered the kitchen, his eyes twinkling.

"Need some help, shortman?"

Natrually he did, and would have done even if he was tall enough to reach all the cabinets.

"What're you thinking of making, anyway?"

Grandpa looked at the open cookbook.

"Hmph! Arnold, let's not make that! Here, I know a real nice recipe for Beef Stroganoff.[2] I mean, this could be the last dinner we have together, shortman! Might as well make it good."

Arnold didn't try to correct him about that 'last dinner' part. It was better not to talk about such things until they were eating good food. Besides, joked Arnold to himself, if he succeeded his only reward would be a slightly worse meal.

As Arnold and Grandpa worked together, the latter held forth on the art of cooking. Arnold did his best to pay attention, while at the same time looking for opportunities to start a playful "ingredient-fight" with the old man. Unfortunately, this recipe did not offer much opportunity for this—Arnold only thought to take some of the sour cream on his finger and poke Grandpa somewhere. But as Arnold was too short to reach Grandpa's head effectively with his fingers, and the other options seemed unmanly, he declined to start anything.[3]

When the meal was ready, Arnold and Grandpa sat down together to eat it. By now the old man was feeling much better, and he decided to tease Arnold a bit.

"So, shortman, how was your day? Did you and your little girlfriend do anything fun together?"

Arnold grinned. "Actually, we went on a boat ride."

"That sounds romantic, shortman. Did you hold hands?"

"A little. But only during the scary parts."

"The scary parts? But you love the water…Did you kiss her, shortman?"

Arnold's grin broadened. "Not on the boat, Grandpa!"

"Hahahaha…good for you, shortman!"

And now our football-headed hero sensed that the time was right. He leaned in a bit closer and lowered his voice.

"Grandpa," he said, "when I came home I noticed that the house is being watched from both sides. Are there any other ways out of the boarding house that you know of…like, I mean, underground?"

Grandpa, still mirthful, replied, "Oh, shortman…this isn't so that you can have a secret tryst with a certain special someone tonight, is it?"

But Arnold just sat there and looked Grandpa in the eye with that wide, almost stupid grin again on his face.

"Arnold, you know I don't approve of sneaking into girls' rooms in the middle of the night…you have to start early!"

(We hasten to remind our readers that Grandpa was under a great deal of stress that day.)

"Well Arnold…since this might be our last night together for a long time, I figure we might as well enjoy it to the full…give you something nice to remember me by. It turns out we have direct access to some secret tunnels dating back to the Tomato Incident, or even earlier. After dinner I'll take you down there, and we'll see what there is. But mind you, shortman, I haven't been down since the blast, and for all I know it could still be choked with noxious fumes."

"Awesome! Thanks so much, Grandpa! Secret tunnels…that's exactly what I need."

As well as their obvious advantages for tonight's mission, it would be nice to know something about the boarding house that Helga didn't.

But now Arnold had to think of how to keep the conversation going without depressing Grandpa again. Have you heard from Grandma? Obviously not. How was wrestling? Stupid question. "Grandpa," said Arnold, "do you want to hear how Gerald, Helga and I got that tape out of Scheck's building?"

Of course he did; Arnold told him how, following the advice of the pseudonymous Deep Voice, and amply equipped for operations by that same Bridget whom Grandpa later saw playing the tape, they followed Nick Vermicelli, stole the key, and rode the bus to FTI. He omitted no detail of his contact with Deep Voice and its helpful nature, without however revealing her identity until he came to describe their rooftop meeting.

"I'd rather not share," said Arnold, "what happened up there on the deck, but basically I realized that you were right about her. She really did like me… and then we hopped down the side of the building on my rope, got on the bus…and you know the rest."

Grandpa, his eyes watering, beamed at Arnold.

"Why shortman, that's wonderful! I guess you turned about to be a real hero."

Arnold blushed.

"Grandpa," he said, "what happened up there, between Helga and I, needs to be kept secret, and I mean totally secret. You mustn't tell anyone!"

Grandpa nodded.

"We decided that when we go to the press—soon!—we'll say we learned Deep Voice's identity at the second phone call—near Nick's house—and that Gerald and I gratefully accepted her help, as a friend, after that. We've thought about it and everything fits."

"Very clever, shortman. Arnold, I have to tell you, that's a wonderful story. Why, if you sell it at the right price, between that story and a mortgage on the boarding house, we might have enough money to make bail. Then we could skip town and ride the rails to Mexico!"

But Arnold didn't laugh, since it was by no means obvious that Grandpa was joking. Eventually, however, it became clear that he was; the dinner ended on a happy note.

...

[1] Author's note: I was this close to having the cops kill Abner during the raid. This would have been justified by (1) the real-life shooting of pet dogs by the police (See e.g. huffingtonpostdotcom / 2012 / 04 / 27 / cop-shoots-dog-puppycide_n_1446841dothtml and links therein), (2) the need to "restore balance to the universe" since there were no casualties from the reckless use of high explosives during the movie, and (3) a specific desire to punish our heroes for violating the extremely important rule, never to play with insurrection.

(The arguments against killing Abner are best left to the imagination.)

[2] Beef Stroganoff was selected solely because it is something I know how to cook. The precise meal is completely irrelevant to the story and you should feel free to imagine something better if you can (and if you think the ingredients were handy).

[3] See note 2.