The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  I followed him reluctantly down the hall to my room and, once I was inside, he said, “I won’t lock you in. You aren’t my prisoner. But no more trips to the third floor.”

  Ice flooded my body as I stood rooted to the spot.

  There was a flicker of satisfaction in his face, but then he stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

  I wouldn’t leave, I decided as I moved over to the window to watch him get into the car. If I did, I would only be tempted to go back to Cassandra and I didn’t want him to know that I disobeyed him again.

  There was a dark humor in the idea that I wasn’t locked in my room. I was free to leave, but where would I go? Judd was driving Basso, which left me stranded. And I could certainly walk back to New York City, but how long would that take me?

  I wasn’t locked inside a cage, but I was still trapped.

  Crossing over to the bed, I sank down onto it and flopped back, eyes on the ceiling. The first tears sprang to my eyes and I let them fall. What did it matter now if I cried? There was too much pressure in my chest and there was no one around to see it, no one who cared in the least that it felt like I was dying inside.

  I should never have agreed to help Emerson, I told myself for the millionth time as tears fell into my hair. I had no idea what I was doing or what the outcome would be. I couldn’t breathe and no one cared.

  Lifting my hands, I covered my face and let the sobs wrack my body, making my ribs and throat ache, my eyes sore as I cried myself out.

  After what felt like hours, I surfaced from my weeping, eyes swollen and red, snot running down my face. My stomach ached and my head was pounding viciously. Where there had once been an agonizing pain pressing against my heart was now a gaping hole. It felt as though I had been hollowed out—and I didn’t care.

  I let my hands drop to my sides as I stared up at the ceiling, sleep evading me.

  The sun was still up, but exhaustion weighed at my bones while my eyes stayed open.

  I could handle being emotionless, could handle being careless about what I was doing. If it was what kept me alive, then I would be cold as a statue until Basso was in prison.

  “Hazel?”

  At the sound of my name, I turned and saw Frankie jogging to catch up to me.

  For someone who had claimed to want nothing to do with me, he was doing a poor job at keeping it up.

  “Hazel, c’mon!”

  I had picked up my pace, knowing full well that even having Frankie talking to me could tip the balance of how it all ended. I hadn’t heard a word from Emerson, but that only confirmed my suspicions that he was working hard to get everything in order to get a warrant for his arrest.

  Frankie caught up to me, catching my arm and pulling me up short.

  “What do you want, Frankie?” My tone was cold and flat. How many times was he going to tell me I was too dangerous to be around?

  Frankie looked taken aback at the coldness I was showing him, but he released me all the same and stepped back.

  “I-I only wanted to say hello,” he said, looking awkward now. He was scrutinizing my face and I realized that he was seeing me for the first time without an ounce of makeup on. I felt suddenly self-conscious and wished I thought to put some on. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.” I sniffed and tried to walk around him, but he blocked my path. “Are you trying to get killed, Frankie?” I asked angrily, which drew him up short.

  “What?” he asked, looking bemused. “What are you talking about?”

  A ghost of pain rippled up my back and I shifted slightly against it. “If Basso sees us together, he’ll most likely kill you.” I raised my eyebrows, as if questioning his intelligence. Perhaps I was. “And me,” I added a moment later, almost as if in an afterthought.

  I finally managed to step around him at last and started walking again, hoping Frankie would stay behind. I refused to add him to the ever-growing list of people I had watched Basso mutilate and kill.

  “Just tell that detective you want out,” Frankie suggested, coming up beside me.

  “Keep your voice down,” I hissed, looking around anxiously. If anyone overheard him, I would be done for. We both would. “Do you want all of New York to know what I’m doing? I don’t even know if it’s Judd today or not.”

  Frankie looked abashed and averted his eyes.

  “And in any case, I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me,” I said bitterly. “I thought I was too dangerous.”

  “I still think that,” Frankie said and there was a note of teasing in his voice, but I didn’t smile. “But I also miss you. A lot.”

  I kept my eyes straight ahead, attempting to ignore the ache of longing that started in my stomach as he spoke. I curled my hands into a fist to resist the temptation to touch him.

  I need to go home. “Frankie, this isn’t safe,” I said, chancing a glance around me. “I have to go.”

  “Meet me,” he said, desperation clear in his voice. “Anywhere, Hazel, please. I can’t stand not seeing you anymore.”

  “I’ll be at the Golden Sparrow tonight,” I said, closing my eyes briefly as I spoke. In my minds eye, I could envision Frankie and I dancing like we used to before I let myself get dragged into the mess I was in. I wanted to back to that, but I knew that was impossible. The past was the past for a reason. “If you’re performing, I’ll see you.”

  “And you think Basso’s gonna let you watch me?” Frankie said skeptically. I kept walking, not stopping to even give him one last look over my shoulder. I couldn’t because, if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from going with him. “I’ve seen you two together. He keeps his eye on you when I’m there. If he even thinks we’re still together, it won’t end well.”

  “I know that,” I said, slowing my steps so that Frankie could keep. “I know that better than anyone else.”

  He was silent for a while and I almost feared he had let me go, but I could hear his footsteps behind me and knew that he was still there.

  “Run away with me,” he said abruptly and my footsteps faltered as my heart skipped several beats.

  “What?” I gasped, whirling to face him, not caring who would see. “What?”

  “Run away with me, Hazel,” Frankie said again in a rush. He wasn’t that far away now and I saw his hands flex at his sides. He was fighting the urge to touch me, just like I was trying not to touch him. “We can leave New York, go anywhere in the world. Basso’s reach only goes so far. We can get out of here and live.”

  I was shaking my head, my mind on my mother, on my father’s and Mimi’s graves. I thought of all the memories I had in the city I loved, of how my first dreams had been born there. My whole life had been in New York City. I couldn’t just leave it all behind.

  “It isn’t that simple, Frankie.”

  “Sure it is,” he said swiftly, hope coloring his voice. His arms jerked at his side, as if he was going to reach for me but then remembered himself. Instead, his hands balled into fists at his sides and his arms went still. “I could take you back home, back to Ireland. I’ve still got family there. They would welcome us, Hazel, I know they would.”

  But I was still shaking my head and now I was back away slowly, a strange pain in my stomach.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

  “But I do,” he countered.

  “I can’t.” I met his gaze then tore mine away, unable to look at him. My heart was breaking—again—for the same boy. “I just... can’t.”

  With that, I turned on my heel and rushed off, gasping for breath as my heart seemed to shatter in my chest. This time I knew, without looking back, that Frankie hadn’t followed me.

  Part of me wished that he had, but what good could come of it if he did? We would end up in trouble and for what? He would most likely be the next person in that chair and tortured while I was forced to watch. Or I’d be the one torturing him. I could even be forced to kill him, and that was something I could never do.


  The idea had shivers racing up and down my spine and I had to sink onto a nearby bench until I regained my composure.

  As I got ready that evening, my mind filled with thoughts of Frankie and daydreams about escaping to Ireland with him, I heard Danielle knock cautiously on the door.

  “Come in,” I called out and the door swung open.

  I heard a sharp intake of breath and looked over my shoulder, confused, to see Danielle staring in shock and horror at my ruined back.

  The scars were visible over the thin straps of my teddy and I quickly spun around, facing her while simultaneously reaching for my dress.

  “What happened tae ye?” she demanded, rushing forward. “Who did this tae ye?”

  I stepped hastily out of her reach and quickly finished dressing.

  “Nothing to concern you,” I said coldly. I sat down at my vanity and slipped on my shoes.

  “Who did it, Miss Hazel?” Danielle pressed, still coming towards me.

  I shot to my feet and skirted around her to reach the door, but she caught me by the arm, pulling me up short and whirling me around to face her.

  “What is goin’ oan?” she wanted to know. There was desperation in her voice and plea for the truth.

  “It’s nothing I can discuss with you.” I realized how haughty I sounded and worked on softening my tone. “And it’s nothing to worry about, Danielle, honestly. I’m fine.”

  She didn’t look at all convinced but she released me all the same.

  I stepped out of her reach and back up to the door.

  “I expect I’ll be out late,” I told her, my hand fumbling over the door knob. “Don’t wait up.”

  “Won’t ye at least tell me where yer goin’?” she begged.

  This woman, this servant, who was like a second mother to me, couldn’t possibly know how much she was asking of me.

  I wanted to scream, to rage. I wanted to tell the whole world what I was doing, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk anyone else, not after Leo.

  “If you see Mama before I do,” I said, “tell her I love her, would you?”

  “Miss Hazel—”

  “I’m going out now.” I was out in the hallway now with Danielle looking at me with such sadness that I had never seen before. “I’ll see you later, Danielle.”

  Practically running out of the house, I raced down the stairs and out to the car where Judd stood waiting.

  “You’re early,” I remarked as I slid inside.

  Judd didn’t immediately respond and it wasn’t until he was back up front that he twisted slightly to look at me, his expression serious.

  “You’ve got a long night, Miss Hazel,” he said and I felt dread curl in my stomach.

  I wanted to groan and scream at the same time, but I did neither. Instead, I held it and braced myself for whatever Basso had in store.

  What I wouldn’t have given to have had just one night where I got to actually enjoy the music and drinks like I used to do before Mimi was killed.

  Judd was right, of course. No sooner had I stepped up to Basso’s table than he had me follow him and Robert to the back room where there was, not one, not two, but three men all sitting in a row, tied up and blindfolded, waiting for us.

  I lowered myself onto the sofa and watched Basso pace before the men, his expression pensive. Robert stood off to the side and I noticed just then how hard he worked to avoid looking at me.

  He hadn’t been quite the same towards me since he had revealed that he was Emerson’s informant. Where he had once been cool and reserved, he was now cold and distant. I didn’t mind so much, of course. His avoiding me meant that I wouldn’t be tempted to question him and possibly give us both away.

  Another man, one I had never seen before, stepped forward and, one by one, shoved a bit of fabric into each man’s mouth.

  The blindfolded men were each in varying states of distress, with the man on the far left sitting quiet, as if he had accepted whatever fate God had handed him.

  The man in the middle, however, was a different story entirely.

  Sweat was pouring off of him, his chest heaving with short, shuddering breaths. He was fighting viciously against his restraints, causing his wrists and arms to bleed where the rope chaffed. His fear was palpable and I felt sorry for him.

  The man on the right was obviously terrified as well, though he wasn’t struggling against his bindings. Instead, he was turning his head blindly back and forth, as if trying to work out who was talking and where they were. He would twitch a little against his ropes and then he’d give a sharp intake of breath, indicating that the ropes at his wrists had already rubbed the skin raw.

  Basso started on the man on the right. He tightened the ropes, beat him a few times, then ended it all with a white-hot poker to the man’s stomach, burning him through his shirt.

  The man’s stoicism broke and he screamed against his gag until Basso removed the poker. His head slumped, his chest heaving. He was trembling now, the fabric of his shirt seared into his skin.

  In the middle, the terrified man squirmed and struggled harder than ever to free himself. Part of me wanted to comfort him, tell him that it would all be over soon. The other part simply wanted to tell him to shut up and accept his fate.

  Basso passed right over him, the cooling poker resting casually over his shoulder, and went to the man on the left.

  I had no idea why Basso was torturing them. He wasn’t asking for any information and he wasn’t speaking at all. It made me think he knew these men well. I supposed they must have done something that could have compromised him or gotten him caught. He only tortured slowly when they did something terrible.

  After what felt like hours, the man on the left was knocked out with a sharp blow to the head carried out by Robert when all other methods of torture Basso could conjure up failed to render him unconscious.

  His head snapped back with the blow then rested there, his chest rising and falling slowly, the only indication at all that he was still alive.

  “Right,” Basso said, washing and drying his hands, “let’s go.”

  We all filed from the room, but as I stepped towards the door, I spared one last look at the unconscious man, certain I recognized his form from somewhere, before following the others back out to the thriving club.

  Unsurprisingly, Frankie and his brothers were on stage. The crowd, as usual, were loving their performance and were dancing madly to their songs.

  “Do you know, I really can’t stand them,” Basso said abruptly as we settled back down at the table. We weren’t joined by any of his men and I thought I saw Robert glance nervously back towards the back room.

  Basso was watching the brothers, but I noticed that he was watching Frankie especially.

  “I never have,” he went on. “But they draw the people in, so I don’t suppose I can’t complain.”

  I didn’t say a word, only sipped on the sidecar Judd had produced almost immediately after we sat down. I sensed his mood was off. I had seen a lot of interrogations at that point and knew that whatever I had just seen wasn’t normal, even for Basso.

  My eyes kept finding Frankie, watching him sway in time to the music. I wanted him to look over at me, to see how much I wished it was him sitting with me, not Basso. But he never once looked my way. He knew where not to look now, even if I wasn’t there.

  I dropped my eyes to my hands resting beside the cocktail glass and caught Basso staring at me out of the corner of my eye.

  Meeting his gaze full-on, I asked, “What is it? Have I got something on my face?”

  He simply smirked wider and lifted his glass of whiskey in a mocking toast.

  My heart thudded in my chest. I had been caught staring at Frankie and he wanted me to know it.

  “I know I’ve said this before, Hazel,” Basso said, his tone light and conversational as he leaned back into his chair, “but I have never met a girl like you. Not ever.” He paused, seemed to consider something, then added, “Well, almost never.
There was one, once. She was young, a little older than you that I found fun to toy with. You see, her brother was an officer and an old friend of mine. We ended that friendship when I opened the Golden Sparrow.”

  Emerson.

  His smirk widened and I swallowed hard, my heart pounding while my mind raced, struggling to work out where was he was going. It took everything in me to keep my expression politely curious.

  “He wasn’t happy about his sister being with me.” Basso’s grin widened and he took a quick sip of his whiskey. “But she was funny and I liked being around her, but she wasn’t like you. She was close, but not quite.”

  Basso went quiet for a moment and I dropped my gaze to the table. Stay calm.

  “No one has ever actively helped me with my interrogations,” he explained after a while and I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the table. I wouldn’t be able to keep my face from revealing what I was thinking if I looked at him. “They’ve always been scared of what I do, of who I am. They dealt with it because not doing so was far worse. They knew they’d end up in that chair instead—or worse.”

  “And?” My throat was sticking and I took a quick sip of my sidecar. “What of it?”

  Did he know? Did Robert tell him? Or did he begin to suspect when he heard me going to the station house too often?

  He leaned forward and I felt his foot under the table brush mine. I kept still, knowing that to retract my own foot could possibly mean something worse than a quiet rejection to him.

  “I think you’re up to something,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous.

  I met his gaze full on without blinking. “And if I’m not?”

  His eyes glittered maliciously under the lights. “Then you’re just as cruel as I am.”

  Stay calm. “I am, frankly, insulted that you would think I was up to something,” I said smoothly and Basso laughed so suddenly, it made me jump.

  “Then that business you always have with Emerson?” he said, making my heart skip several beats.

  “Is just business,” I replied quickly. “Remember, I am the key witness to a murder.”

  Basso nodded once. “Right. Mimi.”