The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  Being torn from the moment I had agreed to help the detective wasn’t a new problem for me to solve. Ever since he had approached me, I hadn’t fully wanted to do it. It had always felt more like a requirement, something I had to do to deal with what had happened to Mimi. I had needed to do it to get Mimi justice and to settle my own soul. But that didn’t mean I wanted it to cost me my own life.

  And I was beginning to feel that I had been used unfairly. I knew nothing at all about the world I had been thrust into and it seemed wrong that Detective Emerson had preyed on my connection with Mimi to get me to help him.

  “Miss MacClare, I know about last night,” he finally said. He clasped his hands together on top of the desk as he scrutinized my face. “I know about the woman.” He leaned back then. “He name was Emily Murdock. She was from Brooklyn, was twenty-six years old, and got engaged to John Malcolm last month.”

  My mouth was open slightly, my lips dried and crack as tears flooded my vision. My chest heaved, each breath more painful than the last as echoes of Emily Murdock’s muffled screams filled my brain. I remembered how she finally fell unconscious as Basso took a knife slowly down her back.

  “Was she yours?” I asked, my voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “Was she your spy before me?”

  Detective Emerson considered me for a long moment before he leaned to the side, opening a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a bottle of dark liquid and two glasses.

  My eyes widened in surprise, making me momentarily forget my fear, and watched him pour us both a healthy dose.

  He slid one glass to then gulped down his own.

  “There are more pressing matters to deal with, Miss MacClare, than my having alcohol,” he said, looking quietly amused at my surprised expression.

  “Right.” I took an obliging sip then set the glass back down. Having a fuzzy head would not help me convince Detective Emerson to let me out.

  He poured himself another glass and drained it. When he had finished his fourth glass, he put both the bottle of brandy and his glass back in the drawer then met my gaze, saying, “No, Miss MacClare, Miss Murdock was not mine. But she was a spy. She had been working with a detective in New Jersey last year but was pulled out after a month. Basso discovered her deceit about a week later and ended up having her followed for months. Since last night was supposed to be the first night you weren’t around and her fiance was going to be out of town, he seized the opportunity and had her brought to his club.” He got to his feet and leaned against the corner of his desk, arms folded over his chest, his expression serious. “You, however, surprised him and caught him torturing a woman.” Detective Emerson smirked. “I don’t suppose that was something he wanted you to see.”

  “I want out,” I said, my voice smaller this time. There was a definite note of pleading now and the tears had returned. I didn’t bother to blink them away. “I don’t want to end up like Emily Murdock.”

  Detective Emerson sighed heavily and nudged the brandy towards me, but I refused it.

  “I am afraid, Miss MacClare,” Detective Emerson said gravely as he pushed away from the desk and returned to his chair, “that the window for your exit has long since passed. You no longer have a choice. I cannot get you out with raising suspicions and without you getting killed.” He shuffled some papers on his desk then looked back up at me. “You can’t get out now, not until we’ve finished this.”

  “Or I die,” I shot back, terror flooding me. I gripped the armrests of the chair tightly.

  “My informants won’t let that happen,” the detective assured me. “One of them is very close to Basso. He’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

  “But you can’t guarantee that,” I said furiously and Detective Emerson’s eyebrows rose. “You aren’t there to keep an eye on me and his informants won’t always be standing guard. I’m sure that there will be times when Basso and I are alone. No one can protect me if I am alone with him.” No one but me.

  “Then I suggest that you play your role perfectly.”

  I thought of Basso wielding the pliers and shot to my feet, my fury propelling me forward until I slammed my hands onto the detective’s desk.

  “He did it himself,” I told him, anger biting at every word. “Did you little informants tell you that? He didn’t have someone else do it. He did it. Basso did it. He tortured someone! Isn’t that enough? Can’t you arrest him and end this?”

  Detective Emerson leaned forward again, eyes fixed unblinking on mine.

  “We still need more,” he said. “Basso is ruthless, Miss MacClare. Only one of my informants was there last night and while he told me the same as you, there is still more proof that is required. When I get enough, then we’ll make our move. Until then, keep your head down and play the part you offered to take.”

  I stood back, stunned and enraged that the detective didn’t think torture was enough to arrest someone. What more could he want?

  “I will you call in,” he went on, his eyes now on the papers before him, “a few days from now, under the guise of having a potential suspect that you need to identify. We can talk more then. But for now, don’t come unless I tell you too. It’s too dangerous.”

  I stood there for a moment longer, staring down at his bent head as he scribbled away.

  Whatever I did next, I would need to make sure I didn’t slip up and let Basso think I was anyone other than a stupid girl looking for a bit of danger and fun. I would need to get him to do something more, something worse than torture. He would need to trust me implicitly, maybe even help with interrogations and torture myself. He needed to know that I could help him where his men could not.

  And if Emerson wasn’t going to help me get alive, then I had to make damn well sure that I did it myself.

  As I made my way, though, I couldn’t stop myself from puzzling over the identities of Emerson’s informants. None of Basso’s men seemed capable of being a spy. They all seemed far too loyal to Basso for the notion of anything else. Except for Judd, I thought crossly as I remembered Basso striking him.

  Judd was scarcely older than myself, perhaps twenty or so. He looked far too sweet to really want to be involved in Basso’s dealings, but I seriously doubted that Emerson would be using him for anything.

  My mind shifted next to Al, the man who had murdered Mimi.

  He seemed to enjoy torture, I thought with a shudder. The way his eyes lit up when someone screamed made my skin crawl. There was no way Emerson would have someone as volatile as Al be his informant.

  Next was Robert, but he was practically Basso’s right-hand man. He was too loyal and was the brute force Basso needed for difficult victims. Robert was also one of Basso’s most trusted men. Wherever Basso went, so did Robert.

  James did, too, I reminded myself as I let myself inside the house. And James was like a snake. He hid in the shadows, slithering across the room without being noticed, ever-watchful of the proceedings until Basso called him to strike.

  There were plenty of other men that worked for Basso, but I hadn’t met them personally. I wasn’t sure if I ever would. Basso seemed to keep most of his business under wraps, aside from the ‘torture information out of people for my special clients’ bit. And since I was only a passing tryst, I knew I would never know even a fraction of how his business worked.

  As I walked through Central Park by myself the next afternoon—my mother was out having lunch with a few of her friends and had left me alone for the afternoon—I spotted Frankie striding towards me.

  My heart leapt at the sight of him, but then I anxiously glanced around, terrified that whoever Basso had tailing me was going to report it if I spoke to him.

  It struck me then, as I was watching Frankie approach, how much the motion had reminded me of the day Mimi had dragged me all over the city.

  “This isn’t safe,” I said as he drew near. I tilted my head back to look up at the canopy of trees overhead. “I’m being watched. We can’t be seen together. He knows we were close bef
ore Mimi’s death and if he knows I was with you, it’ll be bad for both of us.”

  “Sod him,” Frankie said harshly and I resisted the urge to smile at him. But I did lower my gaze to meet his. “I shouldn’t have been as angry with you as I was. You’re doing what you think is right.”

  “Even if it’s stupid and dangerous.” I stepped towards an empty bench and sat down, my eyes now fixed on the strangers passing by. Frankie dropped down at the other end and I felt my fear spike. Whoever was watching would think Frankie and I were secretly meeting.

  “I didn’t say that,” he said.

  “No,” I agreed and leaned back on the bench, looking out towards a group of children playing nearby. “I did. And you’d be right to think that anyways.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Frankie said and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him fold his arms over his chest and stretch his long legs out. Anyone passing by would think he was getting ready to take a nap. “But are you making progress? Does that detective think you’ve got anything worth nabbing him?”

  I bit my lower lip, more afraid than ever. He was talking too loud, too openly. If anyone heard and it got back to Basso....

  I shuddered at the thought.

  “We can’t talk here,” I said after a moment. “It’s too risky.”

  “Then where?”

  I thought about it for a long time. I had no idea where we could go that I wouldn’t be followed and definitely nowhere without them knowing Frankie was with me.

  Frustrated at how trapped I suddenly felt, I shot to my feet and looked directly at Frankie.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” I said irritably and Frankie, after a moment’s hesitation, followed suit. “Basso will just have to deal with the fact that we knew each other before him and that we were simply catching up.”

  I straightened my dress, bristling.

  It wasn’t far from the truth, at least, I reasoned as Frankie fell into step beside me.

  “There isn’t much to go on yet,” I lied as we kept up a leisurely pace. Frankie didn’t need to know that Emerson had completely disregarded Basso torturing someone. We weaved in and out of couples and families, looking to all the world as if we were just another couple out for a stroll on a lovely early summer afternoon. “I haven’t done much or seen much of anything since I fell in with him.”

  Another lie. And it burned my throat as it came out. I cleared it surreptitiously as images of all the men he had had murdered, of Emily Murdock being tortured not two days before, assaulted my mind. I gave my head a violent shake to dispel the gruesome memories.

  “Hazel?”

  I glanced over and saw Frankie looking at me, brow furrowed with concern and worry.

  “Are you alright?” he inquired, stepping towards me, his hand outstretched.

  God, how I wanted to take his hand. But I moved out of his reach and plastered a smile on my face, ignoring the wounded expression on his own when I put more distance between us.

  There was no way I could tell Frankie about what I had seen, about how I endured each horrific act against another human being without flinching much. And I doubted he would understand in any case.

  There was no need to burden him with my sins.

  “I’m fine.” Turning my gaze ahead, I went on. “Basso, so far, hasn’t let me see or do much of anything. I know he’s got warehouses somewhere along East River and that have been multiple people from New Jersey trying to start a rivalry with him, but he stops them before they can even begin.”

  “Stops them how?” he pressed.

  I pursed my lips, glancing over towards him. When I met his gaze, I looked quickly away again, feeling ashamed of my inaction over what all I had witnessed. “I can’t say,” I answered vaguely.

  “Can’t or won’t?” he countered, but this time, I didn’t respond.

  He snorted and silence fell between us like a great chasm.

  “I want to see you more,” Frankie announced suddenly after several long minutes of silent walking. “I don’t care that you’re with him—much. I just want to see you.”

  “We can’t.” I tried to smile at him, but I couldn’t make my lips curve. Instead, I tried to ignore how my heart seemed to be breaking a little with each beat it took. “This is probably the only time I’ll be able to see you, Frankie. Basso has me being followed. I’ll most likely be questioned about this when I see him tonight.”

  “You’re seeing him tonight?” Frankie asked, looking dumbfounded.

  I nodded once, slowly. “I am.” I frowned at his curious expression. It was like he had swallowed something and didn’t quiet know what the taste was. “Why do you want to know?”

  Frankie swung his head left then right, as if he finally saw the shadows that never left me.

  “He’s asked me and my brothers to play there tonight,” he told me, looking back to me. “We said yes, of course. We need the money.”

  Bastard. “It’s a test.” I felt furious at the realization. I had only just told Basso not too long ago that Frankie and I could be in the same room without it being an issue. “He wants to see if I’ve truly left you for him.”

  At least it wouldn’t be a surprise now. I would know how to control my expressions, my emotions. I would be able to keep my attention fixed solely on Basso and not let my gaze stray from him to Frankie. And I wouldn’t be drunk like I had been the last time Frankie and his brothers had been at the Golden Sparrow.

  Now would be the real test, I thought as Frankie and I kept walking. Now I got to show Basso that he was only thing I cared about.

  Chapter 16

  I spent the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening at the mercy of Mrs. Roberts, the dressmaker, while Mama sat in her chair, a magazine resting open in her lap. She was watching the proceedings with a disinterested eye, but she let her opinions on the lavender dress be known.

  “I thought we agreed on a lower hem.” Mama got to her feet and circled us, her expression thoughtful. “She’s been too interested in those flapper fashions and I need to see her dressed decently for once.”

  I shot her a scowl, but kept silent as Mrs. Roberts adjusted the hem accordingly so that it now skimmed my ankles.

  A large part of me was curious as to why my mother was even bothering with a society wedding at all, having already had one when she married my father back in 1906. But not really having enough energy to care, I shrugged it off and counted the clock until I was finally released. I still had to get ready for the evening with Basso and since I knew Frankie would be there, it would require a bit more effort to keep my emotions in check.

  “I want you to be here for dinner,” Mama said, cutting through my thoughts like a razor sharp knife. “Anthony’s son and daughter are coming. It’s high time you met them.”

  I quelled my sudden irritation at her demanding my presence by closing my eyes and breathing slowly. She would not stop me from going out. Who knew what would happen if I didn’t show?

  “I can’t,” I said, opening my eyes again when I sure the worst of the sudden rage had dissipated. “I’ve got plans tonight.”

  Mama threw her hands up in exasperation and, at my feet, Mrs. Roberts glanced up nervously, pins protruding from her thin lips.

  “You are hardly home these days, Hazel,” she said angrily. “I don’t know where you are or who you’re with. Furthermore, the one night that I ask you to be present, you choose to go out and do God knows what.”

  “I’m a flapper, Mother,” I said coldly and Mama went quiet. At my feet, I felt Mrs. Roberts still for a brief moment before she suddenly got to her feet and began packing up. “I thought that was obvious enough. I go out and I drink and I dance until I can’t anymore. I spend my evenings with your friends and then come home.” I stepped away from her, my rage filling every space inside me until it had nowhere to go but out. And my words were like venom now. “I don’t play piano anymore because I just don’t care enough about it. I saw my best friend get killed and you are g
etting remarried to someone I don’t know a thing about in less than two months. I didn’t even know he existed until you announced your engagement to him. I’m not the only one keeping secrets around here, so yes, Mother, I will be going out tonight and I will not be meeting your future step-children tonight.”

  With that, I turned on my heel and stomped up the stairs. I would be getting in trouble for my outburst, no doubt about that, but at that very moment, I couldn’t have cared less.

  The second I was back in my room, I shredded the incomplete dress and pulled out a beaded blue and black one before getting ready.

  Outside, the sun was finally beginning to sink beneath the buildings as I smudged my eyes and painted my lips.

  Once I had arranged my hair with a diamond diadem then slipped my feet into black shoes before moving towards my door.

  I paused, hand on the doorknob, and turned back to my desk. If Basso thought my meeting Frankie was a slight against him, then someone would need to know where to look.

  With a small groan and a roll of my eyes, I made my way over to it and scribbled a quick note to my mother on the off-chance that I didn’t come home.

  The Golden Sparrow in Harlem with Walter Basso.

  Stuffing it under my pillow, I finally left and when I stepped out into the twilight, I saw Judd standing by Basso’s black car.

  Flashing him a broad grin, I climbed into the backseat and we were off.

  My nerves jangled as we sped into Harlem.

  “He isn’t in a good mood tonight,” Judd informed me as he helped me out of the car fifteen minutes later. “One of his more powerful clients apparently backed out today. Some rich fellow in your neighborhood, I think.”

  “Isn’t that all of them?” I asked with a smirk as I led the way down to the door.

  Judd chuckled softly, but before I could lift my hand to knock, he put a hand on my arm, stopping me.

  “Look, Miss Hazel,” he said, looking serious, “I kept Miss Mimi’s secrets, too. She was nice to me and you remind me a bit of her. And I know she was friend and everything, too. But I just wanted to tell you to be careful. Al hates tailing Mr. Basso’s girls, so it’s usually me, but it isn’t always. Just... remember that.”