The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  My heart swelled at his words. We were safe.

  “Thank you,” I said, smiling up at him. “Truly.”

  He nodded once then knocked on the door.

  “Who was the man?” I asked casually as we walked inside. “If you know, that is.”

  “I think I heard Mr. Basso say Hayes,” Judd answered. “Something about how his new wife wouldn’t approve or something like that.”

  My stomach dropped at the sound of Anthony Hayes’s name, but I shook it off. I would deal with Mr. Hayes being a customer of Basso’s some other time. Tonight, I told myself, I would need to focus solely on Basso. Especially if, as Judd hinted, he was in a foul mood.

  Judd led the way to Basso, who was sitting with back to the door, facing the short, dark hallway that led to the back room.

  He was, indeed, in an ill humor, and when I slid into the seat across from him, he merely grunted out a greeting to me. He was swirling his whiskey, his jacket discarded and his hair falling across his forehead.

  Basso lifted his drink, sipped it, then set it hard on the table.

  “Anthony Hayes, your mother’s fiance,” Basso said after a long time of silence. Frankie and his brothers had just walked out onto the stage and I forced myself to keep my eyes on Basso. “Did you tell him to stop buying from me?”

  I shook my head, hands clenched tightly in my lap.

  “I didn’t even know that he bought from you,” I said honestly. Basso’s eyes flicked to me and I made myself sit straighter. “I didn’t know he drank at all.”

  Basso made a face. “No one does these days, do they?” He took another sip. “No one drinks a goddamn drop of alcohol these days unless it comes from me. The goddamn government decided alcohol was the devil’s water, but we found a way, didn’t we? All you need is corrupt politicians and police officers who are willing to turn a blind eye so long as you give them a slice of what you’re making and there you go. And now, I live better than most of your people.” Basso’s eyes found mine again and I could see the monster lurking there, waiting to strike. “I’m probably richer than you.”

  Basso snorted just as the Corcoran Brothers struck up a lively tune.

  “And this goddamned Irish nonsense isn’t even worth listening to.” Basso shot suddenly to his feet, startling me. “But look at them, these foolish idiots who are drinking my whiskey. They think this is good music.”

  He was drunk, and horribly so. I had never seen him so disheveled before.

  If losing Mr. Hayes made him react in such a way, then I doubted my mother’s fiance simply bought alcohol from Basso. He had to have been someone powerful that Basso might have needed.

  To my surprise, Basso held out his hand to me and I knew it wasn’t worth my life to refuse it.

  Basso hauled me to my feet and dragged me out into the dancing crowd.

  “Show your little Irishman that you prefer me,” Basso said when he pulled me close, his lips inches from my ear. His voice had a dangerous edge to it, even though it was slurred slightly, and every fiber of my being screamed at me to run.

  We spun in mad, dizzying circles, fear making my heart dance madly in my chest.

  By the end of the third song, I was so dizzy and out of breath that I needed to sit down. Basso, on the other hand, looked as though he could keep going for hours.

  Sweat was slowly dripping down my back and dampening my hairline.

  “I need a drink,” I said hesitantly before another song could start.

  Basso considered me for a moment then led me over to our table where he pushed me unceremoniously down into a chair before disappearing.

  I was leaning forward in the chair, arms wrapped around my torso and my feet balancing on my toes as I waited for Basso’s return. I stole a glance at the stage and watched as Frankie’s eyes occasionally flicked to me but, for the most part, he managed to keep his eyes on the rest of the club rather than on me.

  Basso returned a few minutes later and put a sidecar down in front of me before dropping heavily into his own chair and promptly draining his whiskey.

  “Not thirsty anymore?” Basso wondered, tone light, when I didn’t touch the sidecar. “Fine. Let’s keep dancing. Besides, it doesn’t seem as though your Irishman cares all that much that you’re with me. Maybe he’s moving on.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from noticing how childish Basso was being. For someone who was normally so intimidating, he seemed to be extremely jealous.

  By the time we sat back down again, a different band was playing and Frankie and his brothers had vanished entirely.

  My sidecar was lukewarm by now, but I didn’t care. I drained it all the same and waited for Basso to pull me back out onto the dance floor. But he didn’t. Instead, he came up beside me and lifted me from the chair onto my feet. His hand trailed down my cheek then neck, over my shoulder then down my arm to my hand.

  Gooseflesh erupted all over and I involuntarily closed my eyes at the touch as his touch seemed to awaken something deep within me. But fear of where this was going kept my eyes closed though I knew that keeping my eyes closed only ever hid the monsters from my sight, not stop them as they continued to creep towards me.

  Basso gave me a small push and I started towards the dark hallway. Part of me was hoping it was just another interrogation, but by the way I could feel his eyes hungrily devouring me, I knew I was in for something else altogether.

  I balked in the shadows of the hallway and Basso, clearly impatient, whirled me around and grabbed my chin painfully.

  “I’ve waited long enough.” His breath fanned over my face, reeking of alcohol, and I felt myself trembling beneath him.

  Curiosity warred with fear as I let him lead me into the back room.

  My mother would tell me it was a sin to be with a man before marriage, but despite how afraid I was of Basso, I couldn’t deny that a large part of me was curious to know what all the fuss was about. I was even more curious to know what was beneath Basso’s finely tailored suits.

  His mouth closed over mine as we crossed the threshold into the back room. I heard the door slam behind us, but I was suddenly extremely desperate to have him a close as possible and my arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

  The backs of my legs hit the sofa and, in one swift motion, I was lying down with Basso on top of me, pinning me beneath him. His lips were racing over my neck and collarbone and my hands curled into the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders.

  Fear slowly dissipated, replaced by a ravenous beast as one of Basso’s hands slid up my leg.

  Encouraged by my eagerness, Basso slid one of the straps of my dress off and devoured the exposed flesh there.

  A different kind of gooseflesh covered my body now and that beast deep within me was insatiable with hunger. I was beginning to wriggle almost impatiently beneath him as he began pulling the dress down further.

  Impatience had me tugging me tugging at his starched shirt and then, finally, my fingers flew to his buttons, undoing them in lightning speed that surprised even me. And then his shirt was off and I was able to revel in the taught skin over his bare chest before Basso tugged my dress down so far that my cotton teddy was exposed.

  Pushing my reservations aside, I let myself enjoy the feel of his lips over my bare flesh, of how it seemed to be feeding that beast that was raging within me.

  We wound up on the floor and I was suddenly extremely grateful for the dim lighting as Basso finally removed the last remaining bits of clothing from my body.

  I felt powerful when I made us roll so that I was on top, looking down at him. Basso took it in stride, hands firm on my hips as I moved against him.

  I had expected there to be some kind of pain, since that was what I had been told when my mother had finally broached the topic of the first night of marriage with me two years before. But there hadn’t been any pain, not unless I counted the floor beneath me, which I didn’t.

  I lay across his chest hours later, listening to the steady, strong beat of his hea
rt beneath my ear. He had one arm thrown lazily around my waist while his other hand ran idly up and down my spine.

  If he had been a stranger and we had met that night, I would have thought he was a kind, gentle sort of man. Tender, almost. And a phenomenal lover, I added with a sly grin. But I knew otherwise and it made me drunk on the notion that I had slept with someone as dangerous as him.

  “I misjudged you,” he said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence.

  I lifted my head, resting my chin on my hand that was splayed over his chest. “Oh?” My eyebrows rose, teasing him. “How so?”

  He took the hand that had been stroking my back and used it to prop up his head. His other arm tightened around me.

  “I thought you were a virgin,” Basso admitted, looking annoyed at the idea of not having been the first one to have me. “Did that Irish boy beat me to it?”

  “He didn’t and I was,” I assured him. “Believe me, I’m as surprised as you are.”

  Basso smirked at that then made to sit up and I pushed myself off of him, suddenly very embarrassed at my nakedness.

  He got to his feet and tossed his clothes to me before getting dressed himself.

  I pulled my clothes on with fumbling fingers, aware of how mussed my hair was. I attempted to flatten it down with no success. I didn’t even know where my diadem was.

  As I slipped my shoes back on, I watched Basso button up his shirt, though he left his tie, which he had ripped off at some point when we were near the door, off. Or had I done that? I found myself wondering as he smoothed back his hair.

  Shoes on, I got to my feet and stepped up to him.

  His eyes found mine and, letting impulse propel me forward, I straightened out his collar, pushed any stray hairs back from his face, then planted a firm but swift kiss on his lips.

  “Don’t tell me you still doubt me?” I said as I moved towards the door.

  “No,” he said with another smirk. He opened the door and let me exit first. “I don’t suppose I do.”

  I sat in Emerson’s office the next morning, a cup of coffee in hand while the detective sifted through some papers on his desk.

  “One of my informants told me you and Basso disappeared for a few hours last night.” He looked inquisitively up at me. “Where did you go?”

  I fidgeted in my seat, feeling more embarrassed than ever as a hot flush crept up my neck and into my cheeks. I wasn’t keen on the idea of divulging the fact that I had slept with Walter Basso to the detective, but I wasn’t sure I had much of a choice.

  “Hazel,” Emerson said with a heavy sigh. He rubbed wearily at his face. “We can’t protect you if you disappear with him.”

  I nearly snorted.

  “You aren’t really protecting me, are you?” I retorted, catching Emerson off guard. “Both your informant and I told you about Basso torturing someone, but you’ve decided that’s just not enough. And since you apparently don’t care about keeping me safe, I guess I’ll have to do it myself.”

  “What are you talking about?” Emerson demanded to know. “I do want to keep you safe and we want there to be multiple charges against him so that he can escape the noose. Surely you understand that?”

  “Surely you understand that I’m bait?”

  We both glared at each other over the desk.

  “Bait?” he asked after a moment. “What do you mean?”

  I lifted an eyebrow, genuinely amused at how obtuse he was being.

  “I’m a woman, Detective Emerson,” I said pointedly. “Basso happens to like women.”

  “Yes, I know he does...” He trailed off as my words sank in and, to my great amusement, turned a delicate shade of pink.

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat unnecessarily. “Oh. Right. Well, uh.... Right.” He was fumbling for words now, clearly more embarrassed than I was. “I see,” he said.

  “I mean, that is why you wanted me, isn’t it?” I asked, my tone light and innocent. “Surely you can’t be too surprised, detective? And after all, what do I matter so long as you catch your murdering bootlegger?”

  “Miss MacClare,” Emerson said in a hard voice. “You know that isn’t the case.”

  My eyes widened innocently. “Isn’t it, though?”

  Emerson’s expression hardened. “Did he force you?”

  I almost laughed. “Of course not.”

  “You’re certain?” he pressed.

  I rolled my eyes. “Funnily enough, detective, I do know my own mind.”

  “Yes,” he said begrudgingly, “you do.”

  Getting to my feet, Emerson’s eyes on me, I said, “Was there anything else you needed to discuss today?”

  He looked surprised at my sudden business-like tone, but shook his head all the same.

  “No,” he said, getting to his feet as well. “No, Miss MacClare, we’ll be contact if we have anything else for you to see.”

  “Good afternoon, then, sir.”

  I left quickly then and when I stepped outside, I wasn’t at all surprised to see Judd standing by Basso’s car. It did surprise me, however, to see Basso sitting inside.

  “Hello,” I greeted happily as I approached the car and Judd.

  Without a word, Judd opened the car door and Basso beckoned me inside.

  I wasn’t as scared as I used to be, though I wasn’t sure if that was me getting bolder or me getting stupider. Basso hadn’t changed, but I did feel as though I had finally gained his full trust.

  “Why are you here?” I asked Basso as I scooted closer to him a light kiss on the cheek.

  “Why are you?” Basso turned a burning glare to me. I could see the quiet rage in his eyes and made myself smile at him.

  “They thought they had someone I could identify as the man who killed Mimi,” I said, “but they didn’t. I am the key witness, after all, you know.”

  Basso looked only slightly more at ease at my words and angled himself towards me as Judd started off down the street.

  “I believe the detective is some man named Emerson,” Basso said after a moment and I worked hard to keep my expression neutral.

  “Yes,” I said. “He’s the one working the case.”

  He nodded slowly. “I take it he didn’t have the right person, then?” he asked, lifting his hand to run it along my shoulder.

  I shook my head. “No, they didn’t.”

  “I didn’t expect they did.” His voice was husky and low. He was close enough now that I could feel his breath warm on my neck. “There’s something I need to ask of you tonight. Can you be there?”

  “Of course,” I replied, thinking only of my mother’s ire the day before.

  She hadn’t spoken to me at breakfast and I was certain her silent treatment would continue until I became present at home again. She would continue to treat me like a volatile creature until I became the girl who hadn’t witnessed a murder again.

  And when I left that evening, she didn’t even look up at from her chair where sitting working on embroidery, the gramophone crackling softly in the background.

  I left the same note from the night before under my pillow again, knowing that, now more than ever, I was far too entrenched in Basso’s world to leave anything to chance. He would kill me now before he let me go. If I never came home again, Mama and Danielle would need to know where to look.

  Judd was waiting outside and I was secretly thrilled that Basso’s car was waiting for me. I had been right, then, to assume that I had gained his full trust. I was his now.

  “He’s in a much better mood tonight, Miss Hazel,” Judd informed me as we made our way to Harlem. “He seems to really like you, too, more than most.”

  I hid a smile as I watched the city pass by outside the car windows.

  “He’s also hired that Irish band to play three nights a week,” Judd went on and I turned to stare blankly at the back of his head. “His customers seem to really like them, so they’ll be there again tonight and then again on Saturday.”

  Oh God. “Frankie
,” I breathed and Judd had the sense not to hear me.

  I was prepared now to see Frankie again so that when I stepped into the Golden Sparrow, all I had to do was spare him a glance before turning my full attention to Basso.

  He was sitting at his table, surrounded by a group of well-dressed men. His lackey’s were standing in a loose circle around the table and Al, I noticed, was watching me closely. His limp, greasy hair was pulled back out of his face for once, revealing every single sharp angle of his long, thin face.

  When I approached the table, Basso looked up at me then stood, the other men following suit.

  “Ah, Hazel,” Basso greeted, pulling me down into the empty seat beside him. “These are some of my friends. We were just talking about that fellow in Germany with that following he has.”

  “Mmm, yes,” one of the men said, taking a quick sip of his drink. “I don’t think there’s been anything like it in recent history.”

  I frowned slightly.

  “Who is this man?” I wondered.

  Basso put his arm around my waist and said, “Hitler, I believe. He’s created this party that has some questionable ideology. A couple of years ago, he staged a coup, but ended up getting arrested. He was released late last year and the party is, as far as we know, going strong.”

  “He’s causing quiet a ruckus over in Germany,” another man said with a chortle.

  “Nothing for us to worry about, though,” a third man said dismissively.

  Basso laughed, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Well, gentlemen,” Basso said half an hour later, cutting across the lively political chatter of the men at the table. “Hazel and I have some business to take care of.” He pulled me to my feet and said, “Shall we?”

  His men followed him as we led the way to the back room. I trailed slightly behind him, letting gaze fall on Frankie for the second time since entering the club. He had noticed the sudden flurry of motion from our table and his eyes landed on mine. Our gazes locked before I turned away, slipping my arm through Basso’s as we passed through the crowd.