I didn’t bother disguising my look of disgust when he came to ask me to join his boss. I wanted him to know that I knew who he was and he seemed to understand. He smirked at me a little then led the way to Basso’s table.
A sidecar already sat waiting for me and I flashed Basso a dazzling smile before sliding into a chair, setting my first one beside it.
“I must be getting predictable,” I lamented before taking a sip of my first drink.
Basso laughed, a rich, warm sound that threw me. I supposed I was suspecting some maniacal laugh, not something that sounded normal and even inviting.
“Or maybe it’s that you never drink anything else,” he pointed out.
I forced a laugh. “Right.”
He watched me closely, his own glass lifted to his lips but he didn’t drink.
His eyes narrowed slightly before he shifted them to the man who had brought me over.
“You may go,” he said curtly.
I watched him go, not wanting to speak just yet. Sometimes, if I thought too much about what I was doing, then my heart would start to race, my palms would begin to sweat, and I would begin to tremble with fear.
As I stared at his retreating back, I felt my heart kick up a faster rhythm, my hands went slick against the table, and I felt panicky.
Stop.
Turning my attention back to Basso, I found him watching me closely and, with a smirk, he took a sip of his whiskey.
“You don’t like him.”
I sat straighter, my eyes dropping to my glass as I turned it slowly in place with my fingers.
“You’re right.” I lifted my eyes to him, appearing much bolder than I actually felt. “I don’t like him. There’s something about him that makes my skin crawl.”
Basso’s eyebrows rose in quiet surprise and a little bit of poorly masked humor.
“Honestly, I’m not keen on him, either,” Basso said and I stared at him, slightly taken aback. “He seems a bit too cruel for my taste, but he’s loyal to me and that’s what matters.”
He lifted his glass to his lips again and let his eyes scan over the club, ever watchful.
“Aren’t you worried that you’ll be raided?” I kept my tone casual, wanting desperately to forget about the man who had killed my friend. “I’m surprised you weren’t shut down after that incident with my friend.”
Basso chuckled slightly. “Incident,” he repeated and I felt my cheeks redden with embarrassment and shame. “I’m impressed that you would call the murder of your friend a mere incident.”
“Well, seeing as the police seem to have absolutely no idea who did it,” I said, praying that I sounded genuinely frustrated, “it’s easier to not think about it. When I do, I simply think of it as an unfortunate incident. Otherwise, I doubt I’d be able to make it through the day.” I lifted my chin slightly and met his gaze. “After all, I was the only witness.”
Basso frowned a little at my words.
“The only witness?” he questioned. “Aren’t you forgetting your little Irishman? He was with you, wasn’t he?”
“He didn’t see anything,” I said hastily. “I sent him back for a flashlight.”
“Right.” Basso nodded slowly, but something told me he knew I wasn’t telling the whole truth.
Frankie and I had both seen that man following Mimi and coming out of the alley without her. We both knew it was him and Basso knew that.
Swallowing convulsively, I sat back in my seat.
“To answer your question,” he said a few moments later, startling me slightly. “No, I don’t worry about being raided.” He leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “They like me a little too much for all that.”
“And you’re certain that it won’t ever happen?” I asked.
Basso’s grin widened.
“Why do you want to know?” he wondered.
“Seeing as I dine with half of your customers,” I replied, causing Basso to look mildly impressed, “I’m concerned for my reputation.”
“Well, if my club is good enough for your dinner companions,” he replied with a slight sneer, “then it should be good enough for you.”
“It’s not about what’s good enough for me,” I said coolly though my heart thudded hard against my ribs. I sat forward a little so that we were inches apart. “It’s about whether or not you can trust your friends in the police force.”
After nearly three weeks of taking drinks with Basso and slowly gaining his trust, he finally introduced me to a few of his men—and the back room.
The room behind the speakeasy was of moderate size with walls covered in rich oak paneling and lit only by candlelight. I found that a little on the odd side since the rest of the club was powered by electricity, but I knew better than to question Basso about it. The floor was made of stone and left bare except for a single plush rug of deep red and white positioned squarely under a red velvet sofa with a carved mahogany frame. A fireplace sat opposite the door and if I hadn’t been acutely aware of what went on in that room, I might have believed that one could relax on the sofa and enjoy a nice fire.
As it was, I settled down uneasily beside Basso, who was idly swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, and watched as a man strapped down to a simple wooden chair was getting beaten to a pulp.
I didn’t have a clue as to what was going on and I had to clench my jaw tightly to keep it from chattering.
“Just tell us who it was and we’ll let you go,” the greasy-haired man said. Sweat was dripping down his brow and his bony knuckles were covered in scrapes and blood.
“Piss off.” The man spat and the greasy man reeled back, livid as he wiped his face.
The two stared at one another before the greasy man slammed his fist into the others face.
I winced, my hands curling unconsciously into fists in my lap, and Basso turned his head slightly to look at me, smirking.
“This isn’t too much, I hope,” he said, his tone taunting.
I swallowed hard, shaking my head. Let me go home. “Of course not.” My stomach churned viciously at the lie.
“Good.” Basso returned his attention to the interrogation just as the greasy man grabbed the other man around the neck.
“Tell us who it was!” the greasy man shouted. He released him then prompted slammed his fist into the others face. “Tell us, Reeves! Tell us who it was! Who sent you?” Each sentence was punctuated by a blow.
“Go to hell,” the man called Reeves snarled as blood trickled out of his mouth. His face was a mottled black and blue with cuts riddling every inch of his face. What was left of his nose was swollen and misshapen, blood pouring from both nostrils.
Basso got to his feet then and I leaned forward slightly, my hands clutching the cushions beneath me as if to keep me from falling off.
“Enough, Al,” Basso said, his voice calm. “You’ll do more harm than good if you keep this up and then he won’t be any use to us at all and the senator won’t be happy at all.”
Al, I thought, my eyes fixed on the greasy man who was glowering up at Basso. Now I had a name to slap alongside Basso’s for who was going down.
Basso may have ordered it, but Al committed the actual murder. He would pay just as much as his boss would when this was all over.
“We should just kill him,” Al muttered darkly and Basso glared sharply at him, his eyes darting swiftly back to me. “He ain’t gonna talk.”
“That isn’t up to us,” Basso said through clenched teeth, his eyes warning Al to stay silent. I wanted to laugh.
Didn’t he know that this was what I had wanted all along? To see him be, well, himself? I wanted—no, needed—to see him in action. The detective had told me that Basso never got his own hands dirty, that he got his men to do everything for him. But if I could even just hear him tell Al to kill him, then that would be something, I thought.
“It’s up to the senator,” another man said in a reedy voice, coming up alongside Basso.
He was tall like Al, but leaner and a gre
at deal more attractive. His light brown hair was combed back, but was falling slightly across his forehead. His eyes darted to me then back to Basso.
“Want me to go ask him?” the reedy man asked.
“No.” Basso shook his head. “No, if he hasn’t told us anything by now, James, he won’t tell us anything at all.”
Because brute force always works so well.
An idea suddenly formed in my mind and, with a great deal of caution, I cleared my throat, drawing everyone’s, including Reeves’, attention to me.
“Yes?” Basso prompted when I didn’t immediately speak.
“Maybe I can try,” I suggested with a half-hearted shrug.
Laughter burst out all around me and I felt like my face was on fire, but I held my ground.
“Look,” I said, getting to my feet and crossing to where Basso stood, “brutality doesn’t always win the day.”
“You think you can do a better job?” Al sneered, but Basso held up a hand, silencing him.
“And what exactly did you have in mind, Hazel?” he wondered, clearly intrigued. Behind him, Al threw up his hands in exasperation and shook his head.
I swallowed, my mouth suddenly very dry.
“I-I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “But maybe if a woman tries, you might actually get somewhere. Generally speaking, people are more trusting of women.”
Al roared with laughter and even a handful of the other men in the room laughed. But I could see that Basso was seriously considering my words. Hope sprung to life as I watched him mull it over.
Perhaps this was a way to seeing more.
Finally, he said, “Not today. This man is clearly not going to speak.” He reached out and touched my arm gently, the motion surprising me. “Another time, perhaps.” He then turned to another man, a hulking brute with orange hair, and said, “Tell the senator that he isn’t talking.”
“Yes, sir.”
The brute’s eyes slid over me as he crossed the room to the door.
We all stood where we were, no one speaking except Al, who was muttering under his breath as he hovered near the fire behind Reeves. Reeves, on his part, looked calm. His eyes, I noticed, were fixed on me and I thought he might have been trying to work me out, but then Basso turned away and Reeves’ eyes followed his movement.
I turned towards Basso, ready to follow him back to the sofa, when the brute returned, his expression blank.
“Well?” Basso asked as the door closed behind him.
“Get rid of him,” the brute said bluntly and ice slid into my veins, freezing me in place.
Basso nodded and looked expectantly at him.
“Robert?” he asked the brute. “Will you do the honors?”
My heart stuttered in my chest, the ice reaching my fingers now as Robert the Brute withdrew a pistol.
I felt a hand close around my arm, tugging me gently backwards and I didn’t stop until the back of my knees hit the sofa.
Robert lifted his gun and I found myself unable to look away, horror keeping my eyes fixed on Reeves’ face.
He didn’t look scared as he stared down the barrel of the gun. In fact, he seemed pleased.
Another tug and I was suddenly sitting. Basso then took my face in his hands and turned my head so that I was looking at him instead.
“Best not to see,” he said softly before a gunshot rang out.
I jumped, a startled cry escaping my lips as the sound died out. But then hysteria began to rise in me as the realization of what just happened began to sink in.
Basso must have seen it because his grip tightened slightly, his eyes boring into mine. He then pointedly inhaled slowly, held it for a moment, then exhaled and repeated it until my brain caught up to what he was doing and I began copying him.
The hysteria ebbed away slowly and when I didn’t feel like screaming or crying anymore, my face still held between Basso’s warm hands, I nodded at him in quiet thanks and assurance that I was fine.
He lifted an eyebrow, as if asking me if I was sure, then released me.
“Judd, get her out of here,” Basso said, getting to his feet.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, don’t...
I saw a dark hand reach for me and I took it without thinking, allowing myself to be pulled to my feet.
Don’t look.
My eyes darted over to where Reeves sat—and my mouth dropped open in horror.
It was worse than Mimi. Ten times worse. A hundred times worse.
Blood and brains had exploded onto the walls and the floor. The back of his head was a bloody mutilated mess and his eyes were fixed unseeing on the dark ceiling.
Robert was working on undoing the restraints and Al was busy draining a glass of amber liquid.
Who was the unfortunate person to clean it all up? I found myself wondering before the young man named Judd pulled my forcefully towards the door.
“Get yourself together,” Judd advised me in a low voice before we stepped out into the narrow hall that led back out into the speakeasy. “Don’t give it away.”
But I couldn’t make my expression go blank no matter how hard I tried. My eyes were still wide with horror, my chest was heaving, and I couldn’t seem to make the shaking stop. My stomach was beginning to feel like the churning seas during a hurricane and as Judd quickly guided me through the club and outside, my knees began to knock together.
Someone had just been murdered and all I did was sit there.
We had made it up the stairs and to a parked black car before my stomach heaved and I wheeled away from Judd.
I emptied my stomach all over the sidewalk and when I was done, I staggered back, dragging a trembling hand over my mouth.
It was too much. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit there and watch men get beaten and murdered. Whatever I had expected, it hadn’t been that. How could Detective Emerson think I could handle it? I was absolutely out of my depth.
“There now,” Judd said soothingly, his rich voice a balm to my frayed nerves. “You handled it better than the others. Most of ‘em faint.” He allowed himself a chuckle. “The girl before you had to be carried out because she went into a dead faint and wouldn’t come out of it. But she got better and so will you.”
My heart skipped a beat at the casual mention of Mimi.
“This is normal?” I gasped, allowing Judd to steer me into the back of the car.
When he slid into the front seat and started the engine, he said, “Yes ma’am, it is.”
I was trembling and the warm night did nothing to soothe me.
“How does he know he can trust me with something like that?” I asked him, my voice slightly higher than normal. I coughed to return it to normal. “How does he know that I won’t run and tell?”
“Well, he’d know it was you,” Judd explained and I suddenly felt trapped. “He’d understand if you don’t come back, but I don’t suppose I have to tell you what’ll happen if you do talk.”
I thought of Reeves, the image of his exploded head seared into my memory, and I shook my head, feeling sick again. “No,” I said, “I don’t suppose you do.”
What had I agreed to?
Sleep evaded me that night and every time I closed my eyes, I saw Reeves with his exposed head over and over. I knew that Detective Emerson needed to know, but I had no idea how I was going to get that information to him since it was extremely likely that I was being watched. Whatever I did, whoever I went and saw, was most likely being reported back to Basso. The thought made me sick to my stomach.
To my immense surprise—and relief—Detective Emerson showed up a little bit after two the next day and announced, a little loudly, that he was there to ask a few more questions regarding Mimi’s death.
Stepping aside to let him in, I closed the door swiftly behind him, anxious to tell him what I had seen.
“Is anyone here?” the detective asked me when we were stepping towards the sitting room.
“Only the cook, Mrs. Brandt,
” I replied, “and she’s in the kitchen. Our maid, Danielle, has a day off. I can have Mrs. Brandt make us tea, though.”
“That’s not necessary,” Detective Emerson said. “I won’t be long.” He then gestured to the chairs and asked, “Shall we sit?”
Once we were settled in, I looked expectantly at the detective, waiting for his questions.
Finally, he shifted in his seat then said, “I heard about last night. How are you?”
“Shocked,” I said honestly. I blinked and saw the horrific image again. I shuddered. “I didn’t think it would be like that. I didn’t think I’d see it so soon.”
“Nor did I,” Detective Emerson admitted. “One of my informants told me you handled it well. He said you even volunteered to help, which Basso didn’t take you up on, of course. But it helps, you know. It encourages him to see that you’re willing.”
Anger flared to life in the pit of my stomach and burned hotly in my veins.
“Oh yes,” I said, leveling a glare at him. “Yes, it must make him so happy to know that I am absolutely willing to participate in torture and murder.”
“Miss MacClare,” the detective began with an annoyed sigh, “may I remind you that you agreed to help with this? You knew enough before you went in what you would be getting yourself into. You’ve also seen enough by now to know what else is in store, should you return to him. If you go back to the Golden Sparrow, you are telling, not only me, but Basso as well, that you’re willing to continue.” He paused then and leaned forward. “Are you?”
I closed my eyes and rested my head on the back of the chair, my breaths coming slowly and deeply.
Did I want to keep going? I asked myself. I could feel the detective’s inquisitive gaze on me, but I didn’t stir. Did I want to keep putting myself at risk? Did I really want to do it?
This isn’t about you, another, quieter voice said firmly. This is about Mimi. What you’re doing, you’re doing for her.
Slowly, I opened my eyes and brought my gaze back to Detective Emerson, who was still waiting patiently for my answer.
The Golden Sparrow Page 18
