Scott Medbury - Inga

As per the protocols he had established years ago, Molenski stopped before reaching the door and allowed Ivan to come forward. The mob boss hardly ever knocked or entered a door before Ivan. If there were to be a surprise attack, Ivan would bear the brunt of the assault, allowing Molenski valuable seconds to take action to protect himself or escape if need be.

The protocol had only been tested once, during the ambush at the hotel thirteen months before. It had worked as planned. While another guard had been killed, and Ivan almost shot to death, their misfortune had allowed Molenski and his lieutenant, time to take down the shooters.

Ivan knocked on the door. It was opened by a big man in a white, sleeveless undershirt and black pants. Andre Chichenko, Molenski’s lieutenant.

Chichenko was a scary looking customer. His heavyset frame, hairy apelike arms, and heavy brow gave him the appearance of being a few rungs back on the evolutionary ladder. But despite his Neanderthal-like appearance, he was intelligent, dangerous and quick.

He looked over Ivan’s shoulder and nodded to his boss before stepping back and allowing them to enter. Ivan waited until Molenski was through, then followed him in and closed the door.

In the center of the windowless room, facing away from the door, was a timber chair with a naked man tied to it. His head and shoulders were slumped. Another member of Molenski’s security team, a new guy called Marco, stood at the rear of the room, an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder. He was taller than Ivan, though not as well built.

“How is our guest doing?” asked Molenski, pleasantly.

“Tired and emotional,” Andre replied, smiling grimly.

“Excellent.”

Molenski walked to the center of the room and rounded the chair, looking down at his captive.

“Robert.”

The chin of the man in the chair remained on his chest, the thick hair he always seemed so proud of, messy and obscuring his face. He shook his head as if denying the name.

“Robert! Look at me.”

The naked man slowly raised his head. Robert Kittinger’s eyes were red-rimmed, and the normally well-groomed businessman had a line of snot running from his nose to his upper lip. He didn’t say anything but did raise his knees in a futile attempt to preserve his modesty as a fat tear squeezed its way from the corner of his eye.

“I am sorry to see you in this position, Robert,” said Molenski in his clipped Russian accent. “You look terrible. Andre, please, clean his face, the man deserves some dignity!”

Kittinger latched onto the small kindness.

“Mr. Molenski, they’ve treated me like shit since they… since they kidnapped me. I know they’re your men and all, but surely after our history…”

Molenski raised his hand.

“Now, now Robert, just calm down. I apologize for any inconvenience, but we’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said, as Andre handed him a small towel.

The naked man nodded and sighed in relief. The mob boss proceeded to gently wipe Kittinger’s face clean and sweep his hair from his brow.

“There, that’s better. Now, do you know why I had you brought here?”

Kittinger’s eyes were frightened but calculating. After a moment he shook his head. Molenski leaned over and put his face very close to Kittinger’s.

“Now Robert. I need total honesty from you. Your life depends on it. Do you understand?”

Robert Kittinger’s bottom lip quivered, and he nodded.

“Why are you here, Robert?”

“Because…”

“Yes?”

“Because I— I made a deal with the Columbians.”

“Bravo Robert! I applaud your honesty, and what was the deal?”

Kittinger’s shoulders slumped.

“To let them know the route of one of your shipments…”

“Continue!” said Molenski.

“So they could – please Mr. Molenski I—”

“So they could what Robert?”

“So they could intercept it!” Kittinger wailed, tears springing to his eyes.

Molenski clapped him hard on the bare shoulder causing Kittinger to flinch.

“There, that wasn’t so bad was it?” the Russian asked, before straightening and folding his arms. He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Now, how do you think I felt when I discovered your… treachery?”

“I— I don’t know— upset?”

“No Robert,” said Molenski. “Not upset… murderous !”

“I’m sorry Mr. Molenski… I can make it right, really I can. Just tell me how much and I’ll pay it – I – I’ll pay anything.”

Molenski theatrically exhaled and looked down at his prisoner.

“Robert, it’s not about the money. It’s about the betrayal. There is no monetary compensation that can heal my broken heart. Not only that, with your tiny dick dangling there like that, I find it very hard to take you seriously.”

Kittinger again raised his feet to try and hide his exposed manhood.

“Please! I…”

“No Robert, it’s too late for please and sorry. You betrayed my trust, and you will be punished. Andre, is my toolbox ready?”

“Da, it’s on the bench.”

“Excellent. Ivan, bring me Bertha.”

Ivan walked across to the bench. Upon it sat a red toolbox. He opened the lid, now an accomplice to the violence to come. In truth, there weren’t a lot of items in the toolbox, just Molenski’s favored instruments of torture. He picked up the claw hammer and closed the lid before taking it over to his boss.

“Robert meet Bertha, Bertha, Robert,” said Molenski.

The man’s eyes widened. He began crying and shaking his head as the Russian turned the hammer this way and that, inspecting it like a master tradesman.

“Oh, look at that, would you. Bertha wasn’t given a bath after her last adventure.”

He used his fingers to pull away a small clump of hair that was stuck in the fork of the claw and held it up for Kittinger to see before flicking it to the floor.

“No please Mr. Molenski…”

Molenski stepped forward and raised the hammer.

“Please! I’ll do anything!”

The Russian lowered the hammer, looking thoughtful.

“Anything?”

Kittinger nodded vigorously.

“Would you sacrifice your wife, Robert?”

Kittinger looked dumbly at him, as if not understanding the question.

“I take it that’s a no?”

With a swift movement, he raised the hammer and brought it down on his prisoner’s right knee cap. There was a terrible, meaty crack and an equally terrible scream.

Molenski let the scream drag on until it ended in a pitiable gurgle as the businessman’s chin again found his chest. There was a deep, rapidly darkening purple indent where his kneecap had been.

“I asked, Robert, would you sacrifice your wife?”

Kittinger didn’t look up, just shook his head hopelessly.

“Hmm… okay.”

Molenski raised the hammer again, bringing it down on the other knee. The noise of the kneecap popping and the shrieks that followed made his men wince.

After the screams faded to heavy sobbing, the mob boss again addressed the whimpering businessman.

“Now, before I smash your dick and balls into a Bolognese, I want you to answer my question.”

The threat to his manhood revived Kittinger, and he looked up at his tormentor. Molenski knew the man had come to the realization that he wasn’t leaving the room alive.

“Tell me, Robert. Would you sacrifice your wife?”

“Fuck you…”

Molenski shook his head, a disappointed father to an obstinate child. He rested the head of the hammer on the wooden seat between Kittinger’s bare thighs, just a few inches away from his shrunken manhood.

“Guess what? You already did.”

Kittinger looked puzzled. Molenski nodded to Andre who went to the back of the room and picked up a container. It was a fancy hat box, white with a red ribbon tied into an extravagant bow on top. Ivan watched with a sinking feeling. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out what was in the round box.