The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

I took a gulp of my sidecar and set it back down before sinking a little in my seat, low enough so that I could let my feet stretch out to Basso. His eyes widened slightly when the toe of my shoe brushed his ankle. When I was satisfied with his reaction, I straightened and turned my head away, resting my chin in my hand as I watched the patrons dance.

  “What are you going to do to that man?” I asked casually several minutes later. Frankie and his brothers were finishing up their final song and I found myself fantasizing about grabbing Frankie and making a run for it. I should have accepted his mad proposal when he had first suggested it and we could have been gone, Emerson and Basso be damned. Basso would never know until it was too late and I would have shown Emerson that I was serious about wanting to get out alive. How stupid of me to let my fear of Basso overpower my senses and rational thinking.

  “Oh, I’m not going to do anything with him.” Basso’s smirk widened into a full smile and I felt chills race down my spine. He leaned back in his seat again, eyes still on mine. “You are.”

  Chapter 24

  I was standing before the last blindfolded man, my heart racing madly in my chest as Basso stuck the poker into the flames again, readying it for me. Images of the last time I had it flooded my memory and I fought them back. The ghosts of the people I had watched be tortured and killed were beginning to overwhelm me, no matter how good I was at keeping them in the back of my mind. Now was now the time for them to haunt me.

  “What...” I trailed off, finding it difficult to speak. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Am I looking for anything?”

  He strode up behind me, not touching me but close enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek.

  “Ask him who they work for.”

  I choked back my fear and stepped forward as someone I didn’t know handed me the white-hot poker.

  It took me a second to prepare myself. My palm was slick against the warm metal and I twisted it in my hand a few times as I inched closer to him. Then, taking a deep breath, I pressed the poker against his leg and worked to keep my expression blank as the man screamed against his gag.

  When his screams died out and the poker was taken from my hand, I stepped forward and pulled the gag out of his mouth.

  “Who do you work for?” I asked, voice hoarse.

  The man didn’t answer, only panted and wept.

  “Again,” Basso said harshly.

  The poker was back in my hand and, desperate for it all to end, I jabbed it into his chest, right above his heart.

  He screamed again, louder this time, making my ears hurt. Then I realized the gag had never been replaced and I jerked the poker free.

  “Who do you work for?” I asked again.

  “Please,” the man sobbed. “I can’t.”

  “Again,” Basso ordered, but before the poker could be placed back into the embers, the man stuttered out a plea.

  “Wait,” he gasped, “wait. I-I’ll tell you.”

  Basso’s arm brushed mine and I felt myself recoil. Something in him seemed darker, as if he was genuinely enjoying the pain he was having me inflict on the man.

  “Tell us,” Basso said and I didn’t miss the way he seemed to lean in to hear the man’s answer. He was expectant and gleeful, I realized, and he seemed to keep glancing back at me, as if impatient to see my reaction.

  Fear curdled in my stomach and, without thinking, I looked to Robert.

  He was stoic, but I saw the tense set of his shoulders and noticed that his jaw was clenched tightly. For the first time, Robert looked scared.

  “Detective Emerson,” the man gasped out and I felt my knees knock together.

  It felt as though someone had knocked all the air from my lungs. Ice flooded my veins and froze my heart, causing it stop beating for a few seconds. Everything seemed sharper, too, as a few of the men in the room grumbled their disapproval and disgust.

  The poker was shoved back into my hand and Basso gave me a tiny shove forward.

  When I jammed the poker into his other leg, Basso, above the agonized screams, asked, “Who else is with you?”

  But the man’s screams suddenly died out and he slumped against his restraints, out cold.

  “Damn,” Basso swore and I felt him step away.

  I handed the poker off to the nearest man then turned numbly to follow Basso back to the sofa where, together, we watched the three men be removed. I assumed they would be dead before they were loaded into the back of the car.

  Basso’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, keeping me close. I could feel his heartbeat against my shoulder and found that I was still surprised to discover that he even had a heart. Some part of me must have still thought he was a monster in disguise and, if he were a monster, that he didn’t have a heart at all.

  He lifted my face so that I could see was him before lowering his mouth mine just as the door behind us opened.

  There was an audible struggle, but I ignored it. It was only someone else for me to torture, I thought miserably. One day, I’ll be free of these chains Basso has me in and when I am, Frankie and I will be able to get away and live.

  I just hoped Emerson would catch him soon. I didn’t know much more I could take without losing my grip on my sanity or my reality.

  Basso broke the kiss abruptly then surprised me by pressing his lips lightly to my forehead. Then he extricated himself from me and got to his feet, stepping with deliberate slowness towards his new victim.

  I turned my attention to Judd, who looked tense and guilty, his eyes fixed on the man freshly bound, gagged, and blindfolded.

  There was something else in his stance, something more than tension.

  Fear, I thought. He was scared. But of what? Judd had never been afraid before, not that I had ever seen. Nervous, tense, anxious, sure. But afraid? He had seen too much to be afraid anymore.

  Looking back to the new victim, I studied his profile closely, which was, admittedly, more than a little familiar.

  Who is it? Was he someone I had seen often at the club? It was entirely possible, of course. Most of the customers were men and women who came in on an almost nightly basis. Perhaps this was one of the customers who came in every night, I thought. Maybe he had been a client of some kind to Basso and had broken a deal.

  Basso stepped up to the man then leaned over his form slightly.

  “I think it’s time we get better acquainted with one another, don’t you?” Then he reached up and ripped off the blindfold, tossing it aside.

  My heart stopped, gave one painful thud against my ribcage, then stuttered back to life before beating like a hammer in my chest, trying hard to break itself free from its confines.

  Oh God. “Frankie,” I breathed and everyone’s eyes moved to me.

  Basso looked triumphant and pleased with himself as he stood before Frankie, who was staring at me with a mixture of confusion, fear, and shock. His hair was mussed, sticking up on one side as a large bruise began forming next to his left eye. There was a tiny cut on his nose and a slight discoloring around his jaw that hinted at another bruise.

  “Tell us, Hazel,” Basso said, turning to me, “who this boy is to you.”

  He moved to stand behind Frankie, eyes fixed unerringly on me. Frankie tensed up, his eyes never leaving me.

  I got shakily to my feet, feeling the intensity of everyone’s eyes on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Robert shift slightly and I wondered if he had been able to warn Emerson, because I knew that this was it. I had resisted killing Leo, but I absolutely refused to harm Frankie. I would die before I did so.

  It ends tonight.

  “Why is he here?” My voice trembled slightly as I stopped several feet away from Frankie and Basso. My fingers were numb with cold and fear and I was shaking with terror and rage.

  Basso put his hands on the back of the chair as he watched me through narrowed eyes.

  “I want you to tell me why you were seen with this boy a few hours ago,” he said coolly.

  He knows.
Fear rippled through me, paralyzing me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He knew what Frankie had asked me to do. He knew that I still cared a great deal about him. But what was I supposed to do? Frankie was completely at Basso’s mercy and I couldn’t possibly fix anything without Emerson’s help, even if I didn’t entirely trust him. I couldn’t save Frankie by myself.

  I cleared my throat and said, “Yes, I was with him. What of it?”

  Basso’s expression hardened in anger. “Why, Hazel?”

  It was like I was cold all over, I was trembling so violently. Even my teeth seemed to be chattering, so I clamped them shut as my mind raced to work out an answer.

  “I can still be friends with him,” I said after a tense moment. “I did know him before you, after all.” Before you killed Mimi.

  Basso was nodding slowly, clearly not believing me.

  His eyes narrowed and, deadly smirk in place, clapped his hands down on Frankie’s shoulders, causing Frankie to jump in fear at the sudden contact.

  Basso laughed loudly, his head thrown back in genuine delight.

  “God, he’s a coward,” Basso cackled, his hands tightening on Frankie’s shoulders. Frankie winced and I took a compulsive step forward, my hand rising slightly as if to pull Basso’s hands off.

  Basso tilted his head to the side, as if daring me to step closer. I didn’t.

  “If you recall,” I said tensely, stepping back and forcing myself to relax, “I chose you. I left this... coward”—the word tasted sour in my mouth—“for you. He just won’t leave me alone and accept that I’ve left him.”

  “Even though I had your best friend murdered?” Basso asked softly and I froze.

  I wanted desperately to look at Robert, to see how he would react to Basso admitting his hand in Mimi’s death, but I didn’t. I made myself stay still, my expression neutral.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little odd?” he went on.

  I felt my lower lip tremble and I bit down on it to still it before I gave a nonchalant shrug, saying, “I really didn’t think so. What happened before was between you and Mimi.”

  Frankie began to squirm uncomfortably under Basso’s hands, who was pushing down hard on his shoulders.

  “But then, I didn’t know that you were the one who had her killed,” I reminded him and Basso seemed to accept my excuse. “And still, I chose to stay with you even after I found that out. Surely that ought to mean something, Walt.”

  I didn’t hear him move, but suddenly, Robert was at my side and was pressing a gun into my hand.

  I tried catching his eye, but he retreated quickly before I could even hope to ask without words if he had warned Emerson. But Robert was already back in the shadows of his dark corner and I was left to wonder if we were left alone to deal with this ourselves.

  My eyes dropped to the gun held loosely in my hand and I resisted the urge to throw it away.

  I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.

  The gun felt heavy in my hand. My palms were sweaty and I couldn’t seem to keep my grip on the pistol without it slipping.

  I couldn’t kill Frankie.

  “Tell me, Hazel.”

  Lifting my eyes to Basso, I found him watching me closely, almost expectantly.

  “How long did you plan on playing your little charade with me?”

  Was there something worse than fear? How could one man terrify me so much that with each second, he said or did something that overtook the fear I already felt? I was shivering now, my body feeling as though I had been doused in icy water. My throat was dry, my breath was coming in short gasps, and my hand gripping the gun was trembling violently.

  “What are you talking about?” I managed to ask.

  Basso patted Frankie’s shoulders companionably, making Frankie squeeze his eyes shut with barely suppress terror.

  “The man you tortured,” he said, looking as though we were having a normal conversation, “told me last night all about you. He couldn’t seem to wait to tell me everything.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My lips were numb now and I couldn’t seem to move. I wasn’t even sure my heart was beating anymore.

  “If you kill this little boy, I’ll forget about you scheming with Emerson,” Basso said, looking sincere. “I told you before, Hazel: I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  When I didn’t move, Basso suddenly released Frankie’s shoulders, eyes burning with sudden fire and rage, and grabbed a fistful of Frankie’s hair, jerking his head back and exposing his throat.

  Another man materialized at Basso’s side and I caught the glint of a blade before it was pressed against Frankie’s throat and, judging by the way Frankie winced and grunted, the blade was sharp and cutting into his skin.

  “Do it,” Basso hissed.

  Beneath him, I could see Frankie trembling against the knife. Tiny specks of blood began bubbling up from under the blade the longer Basso held it at Frankie’s throat. If he made even the tiniest of movements, Frankie could be dead before I could even blink.

  I wouldn’t kill him.

  Not even to save myself. Slowly, I lifted the gun, but still, I hesitated.

  I could kill Basso. I could switch my aim at the last second and shoot him instead. But then, how long would it take for his men to be on me like a pack of wolves on a wounded deer? I would die and so would Frankie, and for what? That would just be two more people that had died because of Walter Basso and I had said from the beginning that there would be no more after me.

  Either way I looked at it, I would lose.

  “I think I’ve been looking for someone like you for a long time now, Hazel,” Basso said coaxingly. “We could rule New York City together. Just think of it. Kill him and the world will be yours.”

  Basso’s lips were at Frankie’s ears, his eyes locked on mine. With his other hand, he pulled the gag of Frankie’s mouth.

  “Shall I let you say your goodbye?” he asked, taunting me now. “It’s the only chance you’ll get.”

  Tears flooded my eyes, blinding me, and I blinked them away quickly. I didn’t want to lose sight of Frankie.

  “Just do it.” Frankie’s voice was broken and laden with defeat. His face had crumpled and tears shined brightly in his eyes as he looked at me. “Just do it and be done with it. It’s over.”

  My chin was quivering with suppressed tears. If I killed Frankie, how on earth could I live with myself?

  I had already lost Mimi. I couldn’t lose Frankie, too.

  “I can’t,” I said, almost inaudibly. “I won’t.”

  Basso’s expression twisted with fury. “What?” he spat and jerked Frankie’s head back as he straightened.

  “I won’t,” I repeated, louder this time. I lowered the gun, my full attention now on Frankie. I had just signed his death sentence and we both knew it. His death would be far worse now that I hadn’t done it myself. Basso would make sure he suffered before taking his life, but at least it wouldn’t be me stealing the life from the boy I loved. “I won’t kill him.”

  In response, Basso yanked Frankie’s head back even further, eliciting a cry of pain and surprise from Frankie, and dug the blade of the knife even deeper into the soft underside of Frankie’s neck.

  “Do it, Hazel, or I promise you that you will end up just like your friend,” he vowed.

  I shifted slightly on my feet, fury flaring to life inside me, thawing away my fear as I saw Mimi’s body on the pavement and Leo’s hand snapping back with the force of the gunshot.

  “Which friend?” I asked angrily and Basso pulled his teeth back in a snarl.

  “Take your pick,” he said through his teeth.

  The whole room was still. No one moved an inch, anticipation thick in the air. I wasn’t even entirely sure anyone was breathing at all. It was as if the only people in the room were Basso, Frankie, and myself. Even Robert had ceased to exist in that moment as Basso and I stared one another down, Frankie wedged between us.

  Frankie was the only
one making noises. He was grunting quietly against the pain of the knife at his throat and Basso’s hand in his hair. His chest was heaving and tears were staining his pale cheeks. There was a shallow cut on his neck from the knife, which had shifted upwards when Basso had pulled Frankie’s head back further.

  I lifted the gun again, sniffling and blinking away the tears, and made sure Basso saw me aim at Frankie.

  I could do it, I told myself, anger giving me courage. I could kill Basso. I just needed him to think I was going to shoot Frankie. To hell with me, I thought. Even if his men did kill me, at least Basso would be dead, too. I had said that I would be the last one and I had meant it. No more girls would die at his hands.

  “Alright,” I said and Basso’s expression brightened.

  My finger was tightening around the trigger, my breath shuddering in and out of my numb lips. But just as I was about to switch aim and shoot Basso, the door burst open and shouts erupted throughout the room as someone yelled, “The police are here!”

  The tension snapped like a dry branch in the dead of winter and everyone was suddenly in a flurry of motion as the realization that Emerson had shown up after all hit me.

  But Basso hadn’t released Frankie yet and he looked as though he was seconds away from dragging the knife across Frankie’s throat.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  Before I could do anything, however, I heard Emerson yell, “It’s over!”

  I lowered the gun a fraction, but Basso still didn’t release Frankie. His eyes were fixed on a point behind me, assumingly on Emerson.

  There was rage such as I had never seen before on his face. Veins were popping in hands, neck, and face, his eyes bulging from their sockets as he stared menacingly at Emerson.

  “You,” he snarled and I chanced a look back at Emerson. “Well, you’re too late to save them.”

  I turned back just in time to see the knife pressing into the tender skin of Frankie’s neck and, with a loud cry of outrage, I aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

  Basso dropped to the ground without a sound, the knife slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor beside him.

  I threw the gun onto the sofa behind me before rushing over to Frankie, my fingers fumbling over the knots as I hurried to free him from the chair.