Steve stared at the wall fading into his own private oblivion. He was veritably shell shocked from the sheer amount of torment he'd endured within the past five hours. On and off as the time would pass, his mind would drift over all of his discomforts both emotionally and physically and the tears that had dried would once more silently spill down his cheeks.
He didn't know how long he'd been standing in that same spot, but the sun had set, and Moscov had left for quite some time and come back as well as his men in separate intervals. As the last man to leave came back, Steve could hear the crinkling sounds of something being rummaged out of a paper bag and the familiar smell of a hamburger wafting through the air as the thugs opened their wrappers, ate, and talked in Russian amongst themselves. Steve's stomach growled in protest as it had been at least ten hours since he'd last eaten, and he was thirsty and dehydrated from all his crying. He thought about how standing here doing nothing at all caused him to notice every small twinge, ache, and need his body had. It reminded him of when he was in grade school watching the clock at the end of the day and how ten minutes seemed to stretch into an eternity.
Outside the concerns of his body and deprived of any other activity, his mind was left with little else to mull over other than his own mortality and the many events in his life that had ended him up in the position he was currently in. It was the uncertainty of it all that was the worst part, he didn't know whether waiting to die or living in fear of what he was going to have to suffer through next was more awful. These thoughts plagued him over and over like a broken record making him feel delirious with apprehension.
After finishing the junkyard's daily paperwork, Moscov had left Steve in his men's capable hands while he went to dine with business associates. He wasn't fully satisfied with the chastisement he'd given Steve, but he knew that most any other type of physical punishment he would have wanted to inflict might break the deal he'd made with Nadia, and he was, above all things, a man of his word. He knew he had left his mark, and he would have to settle for that level of torture and trust in Nadia to do the rest. And trust in her he did.
After Moscov had dined, he spoke to Nadia informing her that he had decided he would be giving Steve back earlier than anticipated depending on how long it took for him to acquire the remaining two bricks that Steve had supposedly stashed along with emptying his off shore account for good measure. Once Moscov had the bricks and account monies in his possession, he would deliver Steve to her, so she could fly home early if her business had been attended to.
Nadia had in fact finished her business within hours of her departure from Moscov's, and she had merely planned on going shopping while she'd waited for him to finish with Steve. Moscov arranged to contact her and have his men and Steve meet her at the family's private air strip once the goods had been obtained. She was pleased with the new arrangement ready to collect Steve and get back home to the Ukraine, where she could break him in.
Upon returning, Moscov sat down at his computer desk and checked his accumulated email messages. Once finished, he turned back to the main desk in the middle of his office and rolled over to it. He stated almost offhandedly, "Steve, come here."
Hearing Moscov address him, Steve snapped to attention rigidly as if waking from a dream. His sense of equilibrium faltered from the lengthy time he'd spent standing with his nose against the wall as pins and needles cascaded in waves down his legs. With trembling fingers, he grabbed the quarter from between his nose and the wall looking at it momentarily before clutching it tightly in his hand still inwardly afraid of letting it fall again as he weakly wobbled over to the desk to comply with Moscov's orders.
As he reached the desk, Moscov glared up at him and spat curtly, "I'm only going to ask this once, and I'm warning you, do not test my patience. What you have endured thus far is nothing compared to the devastation I can cause you. Do you understand?"
Steve nodded slowly as he cracked out a, "Yes sir," the terror stricken voice that left his lips, he hardly recognized.
Moscov continued flatly, "You say there are two more bricks yes?"
Steve's eyes widened, a slight glimmer of hope dancing in them, as he nodded quickly responding, "Yes, I can lead you to them. I..."
Moscov cut him off, "No. You will not, but you will write down instructions on where and how to retrieve them while we make arrangements to procure these side monies you've stated to possess. If you have not lied to me; I can promise you that your suffering at my hand will end."
Steve's heartbeat skipped a beat; Moscov's statement meant one of two things to Steve, either he would let him go after taking the last of his gold, or he would kill him after the fact. Either was better than the current ominous void of not knowing what his fate was to be. Feeling he had nothing left to lose, Steve asked hesitantly in both concern and morbid curiosity, "How do I know you won't just kill me afterwards?"
Moscov smiled coyly leaning back in his chair considering Steve thoughtfully before he responded, "You do not; but I can assure you, I am an honorable man that keeps his word. I will not kill you, but... if you are not ready to tell me where this hidden gold of yours is, we can explore many other persuasive measures that can loosen your tongue."
Steve did not want to find out what those other 'persuasive measures' could amount to and quickly stated, "I'll tell you anything you want to know if it means you won't kill me."
Moscov leaned forward replying, "If you tell me what I want to know, I can assure you that you will survive and be out of my care by morning." He muttered in Russian to one of his men to give Steve a plastic bag along with the garbage bag currently holding his belongings. The thug tossed the plastic bag into Steve's hands and dumped the trash bag at his feet as he grumbled dismissively, "You can remove the plant and get dressed."
Steve blushed at the reminder of his current state, but he was more than happy to oblige. The fact that Moscov was giving him his clothes back led Steve to believe that he might actually leave this place while still breathing. Although, deep down, he still had his doubts. The mob wasn't exactly known for being an epitome of honesty. Just being able to remove the ginger root and dress gave him more than a small fraction of his dignity back, which brought on another bout of shame for the realization of how much dignity he'd lost in the first place.
By the time Steve had finished dressing, Moscov had placed a pad of paper and a pen at the desk's edge. He motioned for Steve to take a seat in the chair beside the desk, and Steve followed his lead both glad to be able to give his aching legs a rest from the hours of standing motionless and hesitant to sit on his still very sore and swollen backside. After a moment of easing into his chair, he picked the pad and pen up and began to write out the sought after details Moscov had asked for.
Within an hour's time, Steve had written out explicit instructions. He'd stashed the two remaining gold bars in a downtown bus locker where he'd paid an attendant to keep the locker from getting the lock busted off. He was able to give Moscov the key. He always carried the key, so he could collect the bars in a moment's notice and get out of town. He may not have been much of a planner, but he did have a little backup insurance for getting out of dodge without leaving himself monetarily screwed if the shit really hit the fan. A lifetime walking in the shoes of a thief prepared him that much.
Once he'd finished writing and the man running for the bricks headed out to collect them, Moscov motioned to one of his men and Steve was tossed a paper bag with a left over burger in it and given a bottle of water to which he devoured both gratefully.
The bus station was quite a ways from the junkyard, so while they waited for Moscov's man to return with the bricks, Moscov called one of his top computer consultants. He specialized in hacking and had arrived within the hour. He was a short, spiky haired, kid in his mid twenties carrying a laptop.
He reminded Steve of Lyle. He wished it was Lyle. As the kid set up his laptop on Moscov's desk, Steve imagined Lyle making some stupid joke like he was famous for. The thought made him frown; Lyle, although a dork, was a good guy; he never would have gotten involved with people like Moscov. None of Steve's original crew would have messed with these kinds of people. That crew had been thieves with a moral compass or as much of a moral compass as one could have in this business. Why couldn't he have just stuck with them instead of betraying and screwing them over? He could have settled down and retired with a modest fortune… no use crying over spilled milk right? What's done was done. He'd dug his own grave… hopefully only figuratively.
It didn't take the hacker long to take care of Steve's offshore account. Steve had begrudgingly granted the hacker his passwords, and watched despairingly as all his money was transferred in small increments into new 'savings' accounts under several different people. It was all over and done within a half hour before the hacker was packing up and bidding Moscov farewell with a hearty handshake, disappearing as quickly as he'd come.
Steve would have to buy a new identity and start all over from scratch now. Not that he cared; at the moment, getting away from the Russian mob with his life was a much higher priority. Moscov put the pad and pen back in the desk and went back to flipping through files and pulling out paperwork completely ignoring Steve's presence.
Steve had done his part by willingly handing over what he had, and now only time would tell what Moscov would see fit to do with him, so Steve sat in silence growing more anxious as minute by long drawn out minute ticked by. He fidgeted and shifted in his chair, a pout plastered across his face as he thought about the fact he was just as uncomfortable sitting as he had been standing due to the layer of welts that now covered his ass.
Steve was both relieved and nervous to see Moscov's man returning from the bus station after acquiring his gold with no issues. Now that Moscov had his money and gold as promised, Steve knew he had nothing left to offer and was therefore worthless and exceedingly expendable.
Steve glanced up and down demurely as Moscov studied the two gold bars with a sparkling glint of interest reflecting in his eyes. When Steve could take the anxiety no longer he queried, "So... I did what you wanted. Are... are we square now?"
Moscov's smile grew into a terrible grin that shot a shiver up Steve's spine as he replied, "Square? Oh yes, we are, as you say square, and as promised, you'll be released from my charge."
Steve let a small smile crack across his features inwardly praising the fact that he had somehow managed to make it out of this horrible situation alive and amazingly intact. Feeling a bit more relived he responded with enthusiasm, "Believe me, this will be the last you'll ever see of..." he was cut off as a rag soaked in chloroform covered his mouth from behind. The struggle lasted only moments before the fumes took effect and Steve slumped over unconscious.