The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  “Someone who had personal ties and could get as close as possible to Basso without him realizing what was happening,” Robert explained, shooting me a glance. He seemed to finally see my fear and briefly put a comforting hand on my arm. “It’ll be alright. Basso likes you. He’ll most likely spare you, but you’ll be punished severely for what you did. And I strongly advise you to never do it again.”

  “I hated him,” I whispered, chills running over my skin.

  “Most of us did,” Robert admitted a little wryly. “Even Basso couldn’t stand him most days. But in the end, he was still one of his men and that means more to him than petty annoyances.”

  “At least I wasn’t the one who killed James,” I said with an attempt at humor and Robert surprised me by laughing.

  “You wouldn’t have a prayer if you’d been the one to kill James,” Robert said and I felt my lips curve slightly in something akin to humor.

  Then I sighed and resigned myself to my fate.

  I still killed Al. That would be something that Basso would never forgive. He might kill me himself, too.

  Remembering something, I said, “He killed the man who killed James.”

  Robert looked at me. “What?”

  “Basso,” I said, frowning a little. “He killed that man. And when I asked Detective Emerson why that wasn’t enough, he said he needed more.” I glanced up at him. “Is that true?”

  Robert appeared momentarily confused, but then, so softly I was certain he was talking more to himself than to me, said, “He did kill Thompson.”

  Silence fell again as we entered the city and I returned to my fretting.

  “It’ll still be bad, won’t it?” I said after a long time.

  Robert nodded slowly. “It will.” He met my gaze as we pulled up to the Golden Sparrow. “Be brave, Hazel.”

  Chapter 22

  My chest burned from my screaming and crying and my bound wrists and ankles felt like they were on fire. I had stopped crying some time ago, but my eyes were still puffy. I was shivering, not just from the cold, but from the pain and terror I had endured. He had stripped me of everything I wore except my bra and tap pants.

  Basso stood before me, his own chest heaving. His hair was falling into his eyes and sweat glistened on his drawn face.

  The back room was, for the first time I had ever seen it, empty. It was only the two of us inside and a huge part of me was extremely relieved about that. I didn’t want his men to get satisfaction of seeing me punished.

  He had strung me up, reminding me fiercely of Emily Murdock, had whipped me until my legs had given out and I clung to consciousness. Then he had taken me down and tied me to a chair, pressing my back into the back of the chair, causing the fresh lashes to bleed even more.

  When he had finally broke in punishing me, he had pulled out his handkerchief and mopped up his sweaty face.

  My hair was damp with sweat and sticking to my face. I was afraid of what he would do next, though a part of me knew that I had gotten off easy for killing one of his men. I should have felt grateful, but I only felt my hatred for him grow.

  “You will never do anything like that ever again,” Basso said firmly, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket. I nodded my head mutely, feeling the dry tear tracks on my face pull slightly with the motion. “If you do, I will kill you.”

  He waited until I said, voice hoarse from screaming, “I promise to never do it again,” before he untied me and tossed me my dress and shoes.

  I got shakily to my feet, feeling every single lash stretch and reopen as I carefully stepped into my dress.

  “You’ll come home with me,” he went on, crossing to a table near the door and pouring himself a drink. I noticed that he didn’t pour me a glass and, though I didn’t want any, I felt the sting of the shun keenly and dropped my eyes to floor as I, with fumbling fingers, put on my shoes. “And you will still there until I say you can go home.”

  I was going to be his prisoner now.

  He turned to face me then crossed to stand in front of me, staring down at me with unreadable eyes.

  I was sitting in the chair again, unable to stand for too long, and with him standing over me as he was, it reminded me again just what kind of man I was dealing with and how truly powerless I was to defend myself against him.

  “Never forget, Hazel,” he said, his voice soft but dangerous as he crouched down in front of me, a hand resting on my bare knee, “that while I may grant you certain liberties, I can replace you as easily as I chose you. I own you.”

  Pure hatred such as I had never felt before roared to life inside me and my shook, not with fear, but with rage. I am no one’s property. I would kill him.

  I will kill him.

  When my shoes were on and I had subdued my hair back into place, I made to stand.

  Basso held out his hand for me to take and I knew better than to refuse, so I allowed him to guide me from the room.

  “I never liked him, you know,” Basso said conversationally as we made our way to the door. The club was still packed and Frankie and his brothers were playing as we made our way through the drunk masses. It was a small mercy that the club was as crowded as it was or else I was sure my screams would have been heard. Basso hadn’t even bothered to gag me.

  I chanced a look at Frankie and the moment I looked at him, his eyes locked on mine.

  His words didn’t falter, but I watched his eyes widen as he took in my disheveled appearance. He must have noticed my pained expression and the careful I moved myself, because even after he tore his eyes from mine, I could still see the fury etched into every single line on his face.

  Now, more than ever, I wished I had never gotten myself in Emerson’s quest to end Basso. If I hadn’t agreed, then I would have been able to be with Frankie as much as I wanted without the fear of being seen. I wouldn’t know the truth about Mimi’s killer, but did justice outweigh my right to a life?

  But then I tore my gaze away and let myself be led out to Basso’s car.

  Judd opened the door for us and I carefully slid into my seat with Basso following close behind.

  The car that Robert had picked me up in earlier was nowhere to be seen and I had a strong sense that it was sitting at the bottom of the Hudson with Al still inside, joining the rest of Basso’s skeleton’s.

  On the ride to Basso’s house, I sat as far away from him as I possibly could. My knees were pressed painfully against the car door and I knew I would have a sharp indent there, but I didn’t care. I prayed to God that Basso would leave me alone.

  I got my wish, much to my surprise. But then, I supposed he was far too angry with me to want my company.

  Maybe he would visit Cassandra, I thought as we made our way upstairs.

  He went into his room and, before I could even think of following, slammed the door behind him.

  Once I was in my room, the first thing I noticed, besides the nightgown lying at the foot of the bed, was that the light to the adjoining bathroom was on.

  Curious, I stepped into the brightly lit room and saw that the bathtub had been filled with steaming hot water, the scent of lavender thick in the air.

  I almost cried again as I peeled off my clothes and sank into the tub.

  The sting of the hot water hitting my wounds brought fresh tears to my eyes. I held on tightly to the sides of the tub and slowly sank into it.

  When the water had cooled and the sting had ebbed away to a dull ache, I stepped out and toweled off carefully before padding into the bedroom. I contemplated briefly on pulling on the nightgown, but even the thought of fabric brushing against my back made me twinge, so instead, I crawled onto the bed wearing nothing at all and promptly fell asleep.

  It was a little over a week before Basso finally let me go home and during the time I had been at his house, I had been locked in my room at all times with no one besides a maid coming in, and that was just to bring me food and tidy up.

  My back was slowly healing, though it was st
ill painful to lie back on and whenever I bathed, the hot water had me screwing up my face, air hissing through my teeth against the pain.

  I had hoped to see Cassandra again, to maybe ask her how I could possibly survive Basso. But I never had the chance and nor did she come to me, as I briefly, foolishly hoped she would.

  On my ninth day of being at Basso’s, the maid unlocked my door and told me I was to go home, much to my delight.

  I rushed from the room and dashed through the front door down to where Judd stood waiting with the car.

  “Mr. Basso’s at the club,” he told me as I clambered eagerly into the car. “You won’t be seeing him for a while.”

  “I suppose he doesn’t want to see me?” I said, sounding careless.

  “You got off easy, Miss Hazel,” Judd said as we started down the road.

  “I’m sure I did,” I said, letting the skepticism coat my voice as I shifted my gaze to the passing houses.

  “You don’t get it,” Judd said and I looked at the back of his head. “He’d normally have killed you.” He shook his head, sounding disbelieving. “But he didn’t.”

  “I’m so lucky.” I rolled my eyes.

  “But you are.”

  Snorting, I turned my attention back to the world outside.

  A world without Basso, I thought miserably, a world without the pain such as I had felt these last months.

  I heaved a great sigh and rested my chin in my hand.

  “I am just so incredibly lucky that Basso didn’t decide to kill me,” I went on bitterly, anger coloring my words. I felt myself tensing up and forced myself to relax. “I must be his favorite if I’m still alive after killing the man who murdered my best friend.”

  “I know that Miss Mimi was your friend,” Judd began but I cut him off.

  “She was my best friend, Judd,” I snapped, glaring at the back of his head. “We were friends for six years. Six years. And then she met your damned boss and now she’s dead. And I’m supposed to just be grateful that I didn’t end up with my throat slit in a dark alley just like her?” I scoffed and jerked my head so that I was looking out of the window again. “Frankly, Judd, your boss can go fu—”

  “I’m not saying you aren’t right,” Judd said hesitantly, cutting across me, “but try not to show him how much you hate him. He can tell, you know. He could see it in the others in the end. When he sees it in you... you’ll die sooner.”

  I laughed mirthlessly at that, shaking my head in disbelief and anger.

  “Die sooner,” I echoed and felt the sting of bitter tears in my eyes. I blinked them away quickly. “I’ll still die regardless of what I do.” I swore darkly. “I should never have agreed to any of this. I should have just walked away.”

  Judd went silent and part of me resented that he was able to drop the subject so easily.

  Of course it was easy for him to not think about it, I thought. He wasn’t the one whose life was hanging in the balance.

  “Why are you even here?” I demanded, inching forward on the seat so that I was closer to him. “He’s a monster, Judd. Why do you work for him?”

  “He’s not as bad as he seems.” Judd was quiet for a moment and when he spoke again, it was almost too soft for me to hear. “He saved my life and gave me a job so that I could provide for my mother and sisters.”

  “He saved your life?” I repeated skeptically. “How?”

  Judd shifted and I could hear the discomfort in his voice when he spoke again.

  “I used to live in a smaller town on the border of Pennsylvania,” Judd told me. “I got on the bad side of the mayor’s son and Basso happened to be passing by on a business trip a few years ago just in time.”

  “So what did he do?” I asked, still skeptical but curious at the same time.

  “He stopped them just before they strung me up in a tree.”

  Chills raced down my spine and over my skin, making me shiver.

  “Oh.” I dropped my eyes and scooted back. “I... I’m sorry.”

  “It’s in the past,” Judd said offhandedly. “He offered me a job and even gave me and my family a small apartment in Harlem. I owe him a lot.”

  “But you don’t stop him from doing what he does,” I pointed out. “How can you let him do that? Doesn’t it bother you that he tortures and kills people?”

  “He says he runs a dirty business,” Judd said and I looked up to see him shrug his shoulders, as if those who had been at the mercy of Basso didn’t matter. “I don’t like what he does, but I owe him everything. I can’t turn my back on him, no matter what.”

  Because he’ll kill you, too.

  I was shaking my head, furious now. It didn’t matter what Judd said, how he tried to redeem Basso. He was still a killer and I still hated every single thing about him. I wanted him to die and I wanted his death to be as painful as his victims: slow and torturous.

  He would pay, I silently vowed as we entered the city, the lights bright under the evening sky. And I would be the one holding the whip this time, not him.

  “Miss Hazel?”

  Danielle popped her head into the sitting room where I was sitting at the piano. I wasn’t playing, only staring blankly at the gleaming keys. I had wanted to play, but the second that I had sat down on the bench, the urge to play vanished as quickly as it came.

  I looked up at her entrance and slowly got to my feet as he held out a letter to me.

  “This just came fer ye,” she said, her expression puzzled as she looked between me and the piano.

  “Thank you.”

  When she was gone, I flipped it over and studied the script, but didn’t recognize it.

  Thinking it was from Basso, I tossed it aside. I wasn’t keen on getting another beating and I most definitely was not up for a night at the Golden Sparrow, so I sat down, drank almost a whole pot of tea, and a read a few more chapters of The Great Gatsby before, finally, opening the letter.

  To my surprise, however, it was Emerson—and I should have met him at the station house ten minutes ago.

  I hastened from the house and caught the first taxi I saw, panic and anxiety twisting knots in my stomach. What did he want? Was he finally ready to end it and arrest Basso?

  Bursting into the station house nearly ten minutes later, I made straight for Emerson’s office and went inside without bothering to knock.

  Robert was standing by the window while Emerson sat behind his desk, studying several pieces of paper.

  He looked up at my entrance, looking only mildly annoyed.

  “Ah, Miss MacClare,” Emerson said, his attention back on the papers, “how nice of you to finally join us.”

  “I am so sorry, detective,” I said earnestly, planting myself in the chair across from him. “I-I thought the letter was from Basso.”

  Behind the detective, Robert snorted and glanced over his shoulder, shooting me a scathing look.

  Emerson sighed heavily and closed his eyes briefly, looking as though he was struggling for calm, before slowly opening them a few moments later and fixing me with a stern look.

  “Miss MacClare,” he said, sitting back in his chair while Robert shifted slightly to better was us, “need I remind you that Basso is not someone you trifle with? I expect you to take this seriously.”

  Irritation flamed in my gut as my back let out a twinge of pain, an echo of the punishment I had sustained for my insubordination.

  “Believe me, detective,” I said, my voice frosty as my fire burned in my veins,” I am well aware of just how dangerous Basso is.”

  “Sir, I don’t believe the girl needs to be lectured on Basso anymore,” Robert cut in, but Emerson waved him off.

  “Regardless of what she has dealt with,” he retorted and Robert fell silent and stepped back, “she ought to know that you don’t ignore a letter, even if it were from him.”

  “And she is perfectly capable of knowing the limits she can push when it comes to Basso,” I said with a sweet smile.

  Emerson narrowed hi
s eyes at me while, behind him, Robert smirked.

  “Miss MacClare,” the detective began but I laughed, cutting him off.

  “Whatever you’re going to say, I guarantee that I probably already know it.”

  He raised his eyebrows, clearly asking if I was done interrupting him, so I motioned for him to continue.

  “This is not the time to shirk your responsibilities,” Emerson said, his tone serious. “We’re close to getting him. You only need to hold on just a little while longer.”

  “Need I remind you, detective, that I wanted out of these ‘responsibilities’ months ago?” I said heatedly. “And you chose to ignore that? Every time I said I wanted to get out of this, you told me to just ‘hold on a little while longer’. I have watched him torture and kill people. I’m sure Robert’s sat in on a few business transactions that were more than a little dirty. What else could you possibly need? What are you waiting for?”

  Emerson had a dark glint in his eyes that I suddenly did not trust and I felt myself leaning away from him.

  “As I said,” he said tersely, “you only need to hang a little while longer and it’ll be over.”

  “And what happens then?” I asked and both Robert and Emerson exchanged a look.

  “What do you mean?” Emerson asked.

  “What happens when Basso’s caught?” I wanted to know, looking between the two men. “What happens to me? What happens to his men?” My mind shifted slightly and I looked right into Emerson’s eyes, throwing caution to the winds. “What will happen to Cassandra?”

  Robert cut in suddenly, stepping forward slightly. I didn’t miss the way his hand clamped down on Emerson’s shoulder.

  “Cassandra?” he asked and I nodded. I didn’t miss how pale Emerson got or how his eyes widened with what I thought was genuine fear.

  But what could he be afraid of? Cassandra was just a missing person thought to be dead. The only one who should be afraid is her husband.

  “Yes,” I said, “Cassandra Brown. She said she’s been locked away in Basso’s house for years.”

  Emerson and Robert shared a look then Robert turned back to me, asking, “Are you talking about the woman he was first involved with? The woman who was with him when he started bootlegging?”