Twinkle, Twinkle, "Killer" Kane by William Peter Blatty Read Free Book Online

won’t you go to the Moon?”
    Cutshaw leaped up. “What’s there? ” he demanded. “Viet without Nam? What’s there? What’s there? ”
    Kane looked thoughtful. “When Columbus sailed from Spain, did he dream he’d find America?”
    “Columbus was an idiot! Starts out looking for India, winds up in Pismo Beach! Honestly, Hud, I’m starting to worry about you!”
    The door flew open, banging against a wall.
    “Doctor Fell, I need attention.”
    The inmate in the beret stood framed in the doorway. In one hand he held a palette, in the other a brush, and in his mouth a Greek accent.
    Fell weaved toward him. “Blue Cross? Blue Shield? What’s your coverage?”
    “Coverage?” the inmate looked fuddled.
    Kane intervened. “What is ailing you, my boy?”
    “Who but Douglas! Always Douglas!”
    “Lieutenant Douglas Morris Fairbanks, the one with the sword,” explained Fell.
    The beret quivered with outrage. “Once again he has given me that fiendish ‘Mark of Fairbanks’! Look! ” he pouted, turning. “I am bleeding!”
    He wasn’t. But slashed into his trouser seat was a very palpable “F.”
    “Only a scratch,” said Fell. “Get a band-aid from the clinic, Corfu.”
    But Corfu was eying Kane, vexed by some problem of weight. “You are Colonel Kane?” he asked.
    “Yes. I am.”
    Corfu rubbed his paint brush into the palette. “Your coloring is bad.”
    “Look out!” cried Fell; but much too late. In a sudden, lightning movement, Corfu had brushed red paint onto both of Kane’s cheeks.
    “There!” Corfu beamed. “Not a ‘Portrait of Jenny,’ but at least not Dorian Gray! ” He raised his paint brush high in salute. “Ciao!” he grinned, and left.
    A desk drawer slammed shut. Kane whipped his head around, saw the astronaut tossing a folder onto his desk, declaring, “I’m ready.”
    “Ready for what?” queried Kane.
    “For the ink-blot test. It absolutely flips me!”
    Kane, thought Fell, looked slightly apprehensive.
    Kane spoke flatly, “Ink-blot test?”
    “Yes-yes- yes! ” bubbled the astronaut. “ Now, while you’re fresh with those roses in your cheeks!” Kane wiped his face with a handkerchief. “Come on, let’s go!” continued Cutshaw. “You’re a psychologist, right?”
    Kane threw a darting glance at Fell. Then quickly looked back at Cutshaw. “Very well—we’ll do just one. And then the rest when I’ve fully unpacked.”
    “No, the batch! ” Cutshaw sulked. “I want the batch! The bloody lot! ” He scraped his chair to the side of the desk. “Hud, I swear, I’ll be good for a week!”
    Kane saw Fell staring out the window: humming; dreaming; swishing the contents of the mug. “All right,” said Kane. “All right.”
    Kane sat behind the desk, opened the folder—he’d brought it with him—to the first of a series of Rorschachs. Cutshaw bent his head over it, his nose almost touching the page. He studied the blot intently. Then he looked up at Kane. “Well?” he demanded.
    “Well, what?” responded Kane.
    “Well, ask me what I see. ”
    “What do you see?”
    “An elephant on water skis.”
    “Right. Now this one.” Kane turned the page. Fell stared into his coffee mug, then turned to regard the Colonel with a mild look of amazement.
    Cutshaw examined—for barely a moment—the second of the Rorschachs, then firmly announced his judgment: “An old lady in funny clothes blowing poisoned darts at a buffalo.”
    “Right. Right again,” said Kane.
    Cutshaw looked into his eyes. “You’re purely out of your mind, Hud! You’re purely full of shit! ”
    “If you say so.”
    “Ingratiating bastard. You’re insane, but I adore you.”
    “Good.”
    “Watch your tongue!”
    Captain Fell had moved in closer. “Listen,” he began, “aren’t Rorschachs supposed to be—”
    “Later we’ll do the rest,” Kane interrupted very firmly. He closed the folder with finality, shoving it back into the drawer.
    “Marvey!” glipped Cutshaw,