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

are mutually exclusive, ass.”
    “There are arguments from reason,” said Kane.
    “There are arguments from reason,” snapped Cutshaw, “for baking people in ovens! Do better than that, Colonel Aquinas!”
    “Give me a moment and I’ll try.”
    “Fap!”
    “For life to appear on Earth,” began Kane, “a protein molecule of a certain configuration was the necessary building block. Hundreds of millions of them, in fact, but just for the moment, assume it was one.”
    Cutshaw yawned elaborately, looking at his watch.
    Kane ignored it, kept talking. “For just one of these molecules to appear by chance would require a material volume of more than sextillion, sextillion times that of the known size of the universe. And considered strictly from the angle of time, given a material volume the size of the Earth, such a probability would require—well, guess how many years?”
    Cutshaw glared and answered, “Ten to the two hundred forty-third power billions  … That would give us just one molecule of the right configuration: but in fact, for life, we’d need billions! Right?”
    Kane looked stunned. “Right.”
    “And all that proves,” thrust Cutshaw, “is that we read the same books.” He rose. “Colonel Aquinas, do me a favor.”
    “What?”
    “Pack up and leave; you’re an insufferable bore!”
    The astronaut Grouchoed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Kane exhaled heavily. Then got up, stooped to the floor, picked up the crumpled letter to Mawr. He stared at it a moment. Then abruptly, blindly, he threw it against the wall. It struck the portrait of Lastrade.
    Kane opened his door and stepped into the hall. He saw Groper in a far alcove, grappling with Bemish for the hammer. Kane walked slowly toward the staircase, then paused to examine the inmates’ paintings, looking to find some new addition. He did find one in bright, fresh colors. It was a Pop Art sketch of Smilin’ Jack. The cartoon hero was depicted plunging a rapier into a blubbering “Fat Stuff” who was hiding behind a weather map in an airport control tower. It was captioned rather simply: “How, now! A rat!” And was unsigned.
    “May I speak to you for a moment?”
    Kane turned, saw Fromme. “What is it?”
    “I want schooling, sir, schooling. I wish to fulfill my life’s ambition. I can’t live without my dream, sir. It’s been my dream since I was a boy. It isn’t too late if I go to school.”
    “Medical school?”
    “Don’t be absurd. I wish to play the violin. I wish to play ‘Humoresque.’ On a stage,” added Fromme.
    “Come to my office tomorrow morning,” said Kane. “We’ll talk about it then.” He walked to the staircase and Fromme called after him, “Get some sun and eat fresh fruit!”
    Kane went to his quarters. But as his hand took hold of the doorknob, he quickly turned his head to the side. He thought he had seen, peripherally, the long trailing folds of a black velvet gown disappearing around a corner near the far end of the landing. For once he doubted his senses, but investigated anyway. As he was about to turn the corner, he heard the closing, soft, of a door. He rounded the corner. Now he stood in the East Wing. No one was quartered there but Fell. He went to his door—knocked—no answer. He waited a moment, then returned to his room; never heard Fell growl behind his locked door: “Where the hell have you been!”
    During this time, Lieutenant Spoor had entered Kane’s office in search of his dog. He found him, as he’d suspected he would, crouching under the desk and plainly reluctant to emerge. Spoor tugged at his collar, pulled him whimpering across the carpet, chiding, “Rip Torn, you are incorrigible. It’s a play, just a play! Clown, the knives are made of rubber! See? You really don’t get killed! It’s only—!”
    Inadvertently, Spoor saw a book propped on a shelf beside the door. “Look! Hey, look! Colonel Kane! He reads the Bard!” Spoor rushed to the shelf