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  "The plan was not working, Steve. You were doing your job too well. It wasn't a part of the plan to bring a psycho like Ravage into the equation. Together you were destroying the mobs. I was willing to accept some losses to gain control, but you were decimating us. The Chinese were making noise and needed to be dealt with, so that's why I steered you that direction. Cadiz is easily enough replaced, so that didn't bother me too much. But doing what you did to the Russians was too much. By the time you were done, there would be nothing left to take control of. Ravage was easy. I just played off his envy of you. A few hundred grand and I figured you were as good as dead. Now I see that I was wrong. I'm glad that things worked out this way. I'm glad that we don't have any secrets left between us. Most of all, I'm glad that you're still alive, Steve."

  "Why? So you can kill me yourself?"

  "No! Can't you see? I love you, Steve. I can't live without you. Join me and we'll run the mobs together – as husband and wife."

  "Are you really that crazy, Holly? Or do you just think I'm that stupid? You're my sister, for god's sake. I can't believe that you'd fuck me knowing that. It's sick. It makes me want to puke. You make me want to puke."

  The whole thing was disgusting. An hour ago I thought that I loved this woman and, god help me, a part of me still did. I had no memory of her as my sister. Only as my lover. The only thing that kept me from taking her in my arms was the knowledge that she'd known the whole time. The night we'd made love, she'd known that she was sleeping with her brother. It made me sick and it broke my heart. And worst of all, it pissed me off.

  "So now what, Steve? Are you going to turn me over to the police?" she asked, with a devilish smile on her face.

  "You know I won't do that. No, I think I'll just kill you."

  The smile faded from her face. I'd tossed my gun on the bed for a couple of reasons. First, hoping that Moore had lied to me and there was another explanation for everything that only made sense that one, horrible way. And, second, as much as I would have liked to, I just couldn't shoot her. It was too cold. Too impersonal. I'd embrace her one last time. I'd squeeze the life out of her with my hands and hate myself for the rest of my miserable life.

  But she was quick. I kept forgetting that she was a professional. Her gun seemed to appear in her hand out of thin air, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. She pulled the hammer back and I found myself staring down the barrel of her .38.

  "Not so tough now, are you Blast?" she laughed. "It was so easy. Adrian had his doubts that it could be done. He thought that you'd just kill us both. But I surprised him. I didn't force you to do anything. I figured that it had been a while since you'd been with a woman and used that. Men are so easy. A little T and A and they become drooling animals, easily controlled. We were good together too. That kind of chemistry can't be faked. As much as it sickened me, I was actually beginning to fall in love with you."

  It was all so disgusting and vile and insane. A part of me wanted for Holly to just pull the trigger and end my misery, but a bigger part of me wanted to make her pay for all she'd done to me. For making me feel like a human being again and then pulling back the curtain to reveal I was even worse than I thought.

  "So, I guess it comes down to you or me, Steve. It really does sadden me." She took aim with her .38 and put her finger on the trigger. "Believe it or not, I really do love you."

  And then I snapped. I leapt at her with a snarl. In the confined space of the small room the shot was deafening. I didn't feel it hit me in the chest and it didn't even slow me down. My hands wrapped around Holly's throat and I began to squeeze. A couple more muffled shots were fired into my body and then she dropped the .38 and began thrashing around, struggling for her life. In the last seconds, she looked up at me with those green eyes and my heart broke all over again. I remembered that first day and I remembered the exact moment that I fell in love with her. For an instant it was almost like she was the old Holly again and I wanted to release my grip on her throat and kiss her and forget all about this shit and just love her. But I didn't. I couldn't.

  She died with a look of bewilderment on her face, eyes wide open, mouth agape, gasping for a breath she would never take. I cradled her in my arms, rocking back and forth. I didn't even notice the pool of my own blood I was now sitting in. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I remembered her last words to me and finally got up the nerve to say them back.

  "I love you, too."

  Then the room started to spin and my vision got cloudy and a moment later everything went black.

  -15-

  I awoke a few days later in a hospital room. Apparently someone had called the cops when they'd heard the first shot. The cops must have found me in a heap with Holly's corpse. It didn't take them long to figure out who I was. Now I had three cops outside my door and several dozen murder charges against me, including Adrian and Holly.

  It took me six weeks to recover from all the bullet holes that I received that night. Holly's first shot had missed my heart by a hair and the doctor's were frankly stunned that I had survived and regained consciousness. I was glad that I'd stopped and mailed the envelope with the disk to pretty much the only government lackey that I trusted (seriously, you think I'd show up at that motel with the real disk? I'm a sucker, but not THAT big of one). When that came to light, a lot of the heat got taken off of me. Not all of it, but a lot.

  Do I regret killing Holly and Adrian, my brother and sister? I suppose so. A part of me will always wonder 'what if. . .', but, looking back, I guess I really didn't have any other choice. I go through it in my mind every day, each time hoping that it will turn out differently. That Adrian had lied to me about Holly or even that she had somehow convinced me that he was lying. But each time when I look up from my daydream, reality hasn't changed. Holly's still dead and for the first time I can remember, I experience fear. Fear that I'm nothing without her.

  But that's not true either. I think back to what I was before I met her and realize that no matter what terrible things she'd done to me, she gave me one thing that I'll always be grateful for. She taught me that I had the ability to love somebody else. For so long I'd been existing on negative or no emotions that this one positive emotion gave me the hope that one day I'd be a whole person again; that I could take back what the government had stolen from me.

  Will I ever get my past back? Probably not. That died with Holly. She was the only one who could tell me if the information on the disk was real or some mindfuck dreamt up by her and Moore to get a government-trained killer on their side. And I'd killed her. So who exactly is Steve Blast?

  There's still plenty of questions I've got. When I get out of here I'll be wanted by the Feds, the CIA, the local cops, the mobs, Ravage, and god knows who else. But I'm not worried. I can disappear anywhere and nobody will ever find me if I don't want them to.

  So I laid in my hospital bed and waited. Waited for my strength to return and for the right opportunity to bust out. Ever since I had regained consciousness they'd had me handcuffed to the bed, anticipating my escape, but I could wait.

  The cops would come in at least once a day, but I never spoke a word. It didn't matter who it was; the feds, the locals, whatever. I've had nothing to say.

  One day I overheard the doctors and the police talking. I was going to be discharged in two days, so I had to make my break. I waited till it was dark before I made a move. The chains were easy, they snapped like twigs. My strength was back in full force. I hunted around the room, careful not to make any noise that would alert the cops outside my door. There was nothing. No clothes, no shoes, nothing. It was no use going back to my place; the cops had found that soon after I was arrested. I was going to have to do this the hard way. What else was new?

  I kicked open the door and smashed one of the guards in the face, breaking his nose. The other two immediately went for their guns. I kicked one of them square in the chest, forcing the air from his lungs. He dropped to the floor, gasping. The third one had managed
to draw his gun. I shot my open hand at the rod and caught a piece of it, sending it flying. I couple of sharp jabs, and he dropped to a heap with his buddies. Pretty good. Three cops down, zero dead. I ran down the hall, scanning for somebody about my size who I could steal clothes from. I damn near ran over an impeccably dressed gent who fit the bill to a tee.

  I didn't even have to use any violence to get the guy (I figured he was a doctor, though I hadn't seen him before) to disrobe. I put his clothes on as fast as I could and got the hell out. Behind me I heard the sirens telling me it was time to get as far away as possible.

  The next morning the papers were full of stories about the psychopath who had escaped police custody and was at large. There were no photographs, only vague descriptions. My hair was thankfully starting to grow back, and I dyed it blonde and shaved in some 24 hour dive. I found the good doctor's wallet, which was packed with cash. So far so good.

  It couldn't have been any later than eight a.m. when I hit the road. I decided not to draw attention to myself by stealing a car. I'd go the old fashioned way and thumb a ride.

  It took me about half an hour to get somebody to pull over to give me a lift. A dark blue Mustang pulled onto the shoulder and I jogged the short distance to the car. I opened the door and climbed in.

  "Thanks for the lift," I started, and then got a look at the driver.

  She was a ravishing redhead with bright blue eyes built like a goddess. She gave me a smile that just about made me blush. She saved me from making a total ass of myself by shifting the car into gear and pulling back onto the road.

  “Nice car,” I said, meaning it.

  "Thanks. Where you headin'?" she asked. She offered me a cigarette and I gratefully took it. She lit hers and handed me the lighter. I took a deep lungful and held the smoke for a few seconds before exhaling.

  "West."

  She looked at me, a little curious, but instinctively knew better than to press the subject. We drove for a few minutes in silence, smoking our cigarettes. She finally spoke again, her voice like music in my ears.

  "My name's Allison. What's yours, mister?"

  I paused for a minute. I hadn't really thought about it. I put out my cigarette and sat back in my seat.

  "My name's Steve. Steve Blast."

  - THE END -