Cat In An Alien X-Ray

Chapter 53

Two Close for Comfort

Matt dreamed he was swimming in an infinity pool that wasn’t an optical illusion, but a river of water that went on and on forever, a lane of illuminated artificially turquoise water, his exact body temperature.

But his head wasn’t turning from side to side to breathe, and something was biting at his side, a grim, slim fish. Barracuda.

He surfaced, blinking water out of his eyes, feeling the dozens of teeth still stinging, yet the sensation was blurring into an ache rather than a sharp pain.

“That was some sleeping pill,” a familiar voice to his left said.

Matt turned his head in the water and saw a bizarre face. The man wore a helmet of bound gauze, like a mummy. His head was propped on one elbow. High and dry. In bed.

Matt realized his swim trunks were some sort of … apron?… wrapping him, and he was in a bed too.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Max Kinsella said. “Love the concentric circles on the gown, though. Mine has little dancing triangles on it.”

Matt struggled to sit up, but stopped when the pain in his side intensified. He remembered the sound of a firecracker exploding somewhere on his torso. Oh, yeah. Shot.

“Hospital?” he asked Kinsella.

“Just for observation, but your repair job was a bit longer and rougher than mine.”

“When is it?” Matt asked.

“About seven P.M. of the day after the night before.”

“Temple’s all right?”

Kinsella hesitated.

“She’s all right?” Matt had to know right now.

“Better than us, physically. A wee bit agitated otherwise.”

“You’ve seen her?”

“She flew by to soothe your sleeping brow and leave this.” Max elevated a couple pieces of typing paper.

Matt couldn’t focus for a few fuzzy seconds. Max’s long, muscled freakishly bare left arm handed the paper across the chasm between the beds.

“They put us in the same room?” Matt asked, finding the fact irritating.

Kinsella nodded to a curtain on his left. “The same ward. We have a ruptured appendix and bleeding ulcer down the line.”

Matt found himself still frowning. “What are these papers?”

“Printout of a digital story on the Vegas newspaper site. It won’t hit print until tomorrow. You’ll want to study your lines.”

“My lines?”

“Just read it. I predict you and Temple will set a wedding date pronto.”

“What?” Matt, still woozy, realized the bandages made it look like Kinsella had an inverted white cereal bowl on his head. Ludicrous. He bit his lip to smother a grin. “And what happened to you?”

“I had a gun-butt contusion—a love tap from Kathleen—a bit bigger than a quarter on the back of my temple. They decided they had to shave off a section of hair the size of a grapefruit in order to slap a few stitches and some iodine on it.”

“The Mystifying Max without half his mane? Excuse me for finding that funny.”

Kinsella nodded at Matt’s sheet-swaddled torso. “You now have matching scars from Kitty the Cutter, left and right. I guess we could say you’re well balanced.”

Matt shrugged and noticed something over Kinsella’s hospital-gowned shoulder. Something as red as blood.

“Roses?”

“Wild Irish roses, thorns not removed.” Kinsella made a wry face. “Many condolences to you. It looks like I’ve successfully diverted Kathleen’s attentions back to me. The card is signed with crimson nail enamel, ‘Forever.’”

“Man, I wouldn’t wish that woman’s attentions on a serial killer.”

“Maybe you’ve softened her up some.”

Matt shook his head, and then was sorry for jolting it. “Doubt it. I did get down to the first stratum of her psychosis. I think she hates you for getting there first.”

“Figures.” Kinsella had always been calm about things that would drive Matt crazy.

“How’d she get the drop on you before we arrived?” Matt wondered.

“Embarrassing. Still some cotton wool between my ears from the amnesia, I guess. Slowed my reaction time. Speaking of embarrassing, you’d better read that stuff.”

Matt shifted and spotted a whole line of floral offerings on the narrow ledge of his window. “It’s been too short a time for flowers—”

“Oh, word got out fast on the Temple Barr Telegraph, and Teleflora.… Read ’em and weep.” Kinsella nodded again at the papers.

Before Matt could do either task—read or weep—a nurse in scrubs covered with colorful teddy bears whisked around the corner bearing two identical and stunning floral arrangements of purple irises and yellow tulips.

“More for you, Mr. Kinsella,” she chirruped, “and for Mr. Devine.”

When Matt eyed her inquiringly, she caroled out the name of the donor so the whole ward could hear. “From Tony Valentine. Lovely surname.”

She was gone and Matt was scratching his head, which he could do, because it wasn’t swathed with a ridiculous hat of gauze.

“That’s my agent,” he told Kinsella. “Why’s he sending you flowers?”

“I told you. Read the story. Temple said it was the best she could do on instant notice.”

“What would Temple have to do with it—?” His glance fell on the larger-type headline on the pages. GOSSIP-A-GO-GO. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. She had to explain the assault scene not only to the police but the media. She’s the mistress of spin, no doubt about it. We’ll have a hard time living up to her inspired improvisation.”

Matt pushed himself up against the pillows, winced and sighed simultaneously, and began to read. “Oh my God!” He glanced at Max. “That wasn’t swearing; it was a religious ejaculation.”

“Good thing I’m familiar with Catholic terminology, or I’d have taken your explanation for something else.”

“Enough with the jokes, Kinsella. Did you see what this two-bit entertainment columnist is saying?”

“All too clearly.”

“Good grief.” Matt began reading snippets aloud in disbelief. “‘Attempted robbery at semi-retired magician’s house reveals an intriguing new entertainment deal in the works. Is the “hot new couple” in town Max Kinsella, aka the Mystifying Max, and syndicated radio shrink Matt Devine? What kind of act could they dream up? Magic and mind-reading? Sounds promising. These two local celebrities are a reverse Siegfried and Roy, with the brunet of the duo lean and mean and the blond warm and fuzzy.’”

“Gag,” Matt said, for the first and hopefully last time in his life.

“Swearing for real is far more satisfying than sounding like a teenager,” Kinsella said.

“Shut up. ‘The Odd Coupling—’ No!”

“Yes. It gets worse.”

“‘… could have betrayed a big secret on the showbiz front. According to well-known publicist Temple Barr, who reps both men, Matt Devine suffered a flesh wound when caught in the crossfire after a robber broke into Kinsella’s Las Vegas home near dawn yesterday.’

“‘The robber knocked out Kinsella before escaping without any ill-gotten goods. While police investigate, we can speculate. According to Barr, the men had been visiting backstage with local headliners into the wee hours and surprised the miscreant when they finished their tour at Kinsella’s home. Let’s hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship, if not a performing alliance.’”

Matt lowered the pages. “This implies a whole lot of stuff.”

“I was saying, you’ll want to marry Temple ASAP, just to quash the rumors about ‘us.’”

“I want to marry her ASAP anyway.” Matt groaned. “This is worse than getting shot.”

“No, the worst thing will be telling Temple you’ve been dating Kathleen O’Connor for the past couple weeks.”

Matt felt his stomach knot up tighter than the pain had accomplished so far. “It was the only way to keep that psycho from going after Temple.”

“It’s not what you did and why you did it; it’s that you didn’t tell her. Secrets are not a healthy foundation for a marriage.”

“You’re telling me that, Mr. Professional Prevaricator? You kept her in the dark about your counterintelligence activities for more than a year.”

“And I’m not the one marrying Temple.”

Matt sat up in bed and put his head in his hands.

“And,” Kinsella said, “you’re not the one with a fresh head injury on top of a brain crash.”

The guy’s rueful good humor was grating on Matt. “Kathleen told Temple about our enforced ‘trysts’ while she held us all at gunpoint. The big shock is already over. And where is the gun anyway? You and I were hauled out of there plenty fast by the ambulances.”

“Back in its safe hidey-hole in the house,” Kinsella said. “I was more mobile at the time than you.”

“I still can’t figure how Kathleen got the gun away from you.”

Kinsella shook his head, and then winced. “I’m not one hundred percent, Devine. And I never was invincible. I’m not sure how she did it, either, but I’m not worrying about it. Her next moves are worth worrying about, but I think she’ll be dealing direct, now that she’s finally found me.”

“‘She’s finally found you.’ Funny, that could be the title of a romantic ballad instead of a stalking song.”

“Speaking of which,” Kinsella said, sitting up in bed. “Temple has finally found you again.”

The sound of hurrying high heels echoed in the hall. Temple appeared around the corner, a burst of color and energy.

“You can come home, Matt,” she announced joyfully. “You’re released. I’ve brought your clothes and have extra tote bags for the flowers—oh, there are more—we can hang the totes on the wheelchair that’s coming.…”

“I’m released and I need a wheelchair?” Matt sat up, his legs dangling off the high hospital bed like a child’s. “How come he’s not getting out? I had the more serious wound.”

“Hospitals kick women out a day after childbirth nowadays,” Temple said, nodding at Kinsella. “Max will be released soon too. Thanks for the quick defensive motion in my behalf, Max.” She aimed a smile Kinsella’s way before stretching up to pull Matt’s bed curtain closed.

She turned and beamed at Matt without waiting for Kinsella’s acknowledgment. Her voice went low and intimate. “And now I get to undress you and dress you and undress you again.”

Obviously, Matt realized with relief as she kissed him long and deep, the talk they needed to have about his devil’s deal with Kathleen O’Connor was not the first thing on Temple’s wish list.