Twinkle, Twinkle, "Killer" Kane by William Peter Blatty Page A

Black” whom he claimed was prowling the Slovik grounds—“twice on Shrove Tuesday!” There was only one way to be rid of Spoor, and Cutshaw now adopted it: he quickly walked away from him, heading for the door. And walked into the arms of Groper.
    “Come with me!” growled the Captain, seizing the astronaut by the shoulder and hustling him into Kane’s office. “Here he is, sir!” he gruffed, shoving Cutshaw through the door.
    Kane, seated at his desk, held up the letter addressed to Occupant. “Did you write it?”
    “Are we going to have a scene, Hud?”
    “Kindly answer the question.”
    “But the question is pre pos terous!”
    “The handwriting, though, is yours. ”
    Cutshaw snatched up the letter and quickly crumpled it in his fist. “Fap! A crude and obvious forgery!” He tossed the letter over his shoulder and kicked it in mid-air.
    “Good,” said Kane; “good. That being the case, you won’t be annoyed.”
    “At what?”
    “That letters addressed to Occupant will henceforth not be forwarded but ceremonially burned.”
    “I protest!” cawed the astronaut.
    “Then you wrote it!” pounced Kane.
    Cutshaw leaned across the desk. “Oh, you’re a psychological devil, Hud! I’m putty in your hands! Yes! I wrote the letter! ”
    “Got him!” grinned Groper.
    Cutshaw spread-eagled his arms in a sacrificial gesture and in the process managed to “accidentally” cuff Groper’s face. “Shoot me for giving the spinster hope! Love to the loveless! Depravity to the deprived! Never mind the space race, Hud! Feed me to giant ants! Yes! Make widows of five hundred pen pals!”
    “Purely a pleasure,” breathed Groper.
    Cutshaw leaned in closer to Kane, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Sir, I’ve noticed an exotic odor in here, and being as you’re a colonel, sir, it’s got to be Captain—”
    Groper moved in to him menacingly and Cutshaw leaped behind Kane, shouting, “Don’t let him touch me! I’m crazy! ”
    Kane stood up, lowered his head and ran a hand over his eyes. Cutshaw shook him roughly as he eyed a menacing Groper. “Stay awake!” he rumbled at Kane. “I may need you, Colonel Caribou!”
    The room suddenly trembled with the vibration from a hammer blow. Groper turned pale orange. “Where did he get it!” he fumed, then turned hooded eyes on Cutshaw. “Did you give him the hammer?”
    “Listen, is this going to be like the strawberries, Queeg? If it is I’m having no part of it!”
    “Captain Groper,” Kane said softly, “kindly handle that disturbance.”
    Groper saluted and went out after Bemish. Cutshaw still clung to Kane. “Colonel Caribou, you were grand,” he said.
    “Thank you. Please let go.”
    “Is it safe?”
    “Perfectly safe.”
    Cutshaw patted Kane’s head. “Bless your nostrils, Hud, you’re marvey. Now let’s talk.”
    “What about?”
    “Where the hell have you been for the last ten days!”
    “In my room.”
    “Doing what? ”
    Kane said, “Reading.”
    Cutshaw said, “Hah!” then brazenly ripped the Colonel’s shirtsleeve from the wrist all the way to the shoulders and fell to scrutinizing his arm.
    “What are you doing?” said Kane expressionlessly.
    “Looking for needle-holes, you idiot. Show me a Catholic and I’ll show you a ‘junky.’ A kindly old teacher told me that, a Baptist minister named Farrago. Told me that monks have frolics with nuns.” He rolled down Kane’s sleeve. “You’re clean. Sit down.”
    Kane sat on the couch and Cutshaw raced swiftly back of his desk, plumping heavily into the chair. “Now talk! Talk, you monster; spill your guts out.”
    “Didn’t you ask to talk to me? ” said Kane.
    Cutshaw pounded the desk, roaring, “Silence when you’re speaking to me! And cover your feet, sir, they offend me!”
    “Feet or Foot?”
    “Are you awake?”
    “Of course,” said Hudson Kane.
    “And you really believe in Foot?”
    “Yes.”
    “Blind faith?”
    “Faith; not blind.”
    “The terms