The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  “I’ll get you out of this,” I promised as I managed to loosen the knot around his wrists.

  Behind the chair, lying on his side, Basso was moaning pitifully, his hands pressed over his stomach. The blood was blooming quickly beneath them, staining his shirt a dark red as his complexion went deathly pale.

  Good, I thought viciously as Frankie worked with me to remove the rest of the ropes. Die in pain.

  When the last rope fell away, Frankie, surged to his feet and pulled me into a tight embrace, swaying me back and forth, all while saying, “You did it. You did it.”

  My eyes dropped to Basso, who was lying prone on the floor. His own eyes were closed and he looked paler than death itself. Maybe he was dead already. I had no idea how badly I had wounded him, but I hoped it was enough to send him straight to hell.

  I buried myself in Frankie’s neck and his arms tightened around me as I tried not to feel absurdly guilty about killing Basso.

  When he finally released me, he gave me a brief, hard kiss the moved over to Emerson, who greeted him with a congratulatory clap on the back while Robert and the other officers wrangled up the last of Basso’s men.

  Feeling dizzy with triumph and relief, I took a step towards them only to have an arm wrap suddenly and tightly around my neck.

  I let out a startled cry as Basso held me close, a shield meant to save him.

  “Dickie!” Basso shouted and I felt the tip of a knife press into my side. I froze, panicked and terrified.

  No. No, this could not be happening. No.

  Emerson spun round at the sound of his name and I felt a mixture of disappointment and satisfaction that my suspicions had been right all along. He had been Cassandra’s husband.

  I saw Frankie lurch forward and even Emerson seemed at a loss for what to do. Beside them, Robert inched closer, gun in hand as he kept his eyes on Basso.

  “Cassandra sends her greetings.”

  It felt as if time had slowed down. I watched Emerson draw his gun, saw Robert raise his own. Basso’s grip on me tightened briefly before he released me, giving me a tiny shove away from him just as Emerson’s gun fired off several rounds.

  Behind me, Basso grunted almost at the same time a burning sensation erupted in my stomach and chest.

  Basso still had a hand on me and, as he went down, he dragged me with him.

  As we fell, I felt the inexplicable, agonizing sharp edge of a blade slide just beneath my ribcage.

  I heard Frankie’s terrible scream as the world began to fade.

  So this is dying, I found myself thinking as Frankie collapsed beside me and pulled me into his arms, his tears falling thick on my face. The pain had disappeared, but I felt cold. An inescapable cold that permeated everything, right down to my heart, and it felt as though someone had placed bricks on my chest, making drawing a full breath impossible. The taste of copper was thick on my lips as I heard Frankie begging me to stay.

  I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t.

  Mama had told me, right after Papa had died, that when we died, someone we loved would escort us to heaven. I hadn’t believed it then, but as Frankie’s voice grew fainter and muffled, as if I were underwater, I heard rather than saw, not my father, as I had always thought I would, but Mimi, telling me that everything would be alright now, that I was safe.

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t hear Frankie anymore, but I could still feel his hands pressed to my stomach.

  My last thought before I gave into the darkness was that I prayed God would forgive me for the things I had done for the sake of justice.

  Epilogue

  Several Months Later

  He stood outside as the sun began to set, leaving falling around him in a riot of color, creating mosaics under foot as he walked through Central Park. The chill of the autumn air was cutting through the fabric of his shirt and nipping at his face, but he hardly cared.

  “Mam told me you were here,” Connor said from behind him and Frankie turned to watch his brother approach. “She also told me that you were planning on going back to Ireland. It’s a mad idea, Frankie. We left for a reason. There’s nothing for us there.”

  Frankie shrugged listlessly, stuffing his hands deep in the pockets of his coat as he watched the mist from his breath float above his head.

  Life without Hazel had become dull and almost senseless. He couldn’t live in New York without her, not when he kept expecting her to pop up outside his home and ask to see him. Not when he would pass by her house and hope to see her come out to greet him.

  But the house was empty now and the decision to leave hadn’t been easy. But once he had decided to go back, there had been on changing his mind, no matter how hard or often his mother tried. He just couldn’t bear to be in a place where she was no longer there.

  “And I’m going back for a reason.” Frankie sighed and gripped his brother’s shoulder bracingly. “I can’t stay here, Connor.”

  Connor rolled his eyes and Frankie released him.

  “She was only one girl,” he said gently. “You only knew her for a few months. And anyways, they’re will be plenty more just like her. You’ll see.”

  “No,” Frankie said with a shake of his head. “She wasn’t just any other girl. I loved her.”

  Connor looked sympathetically at his brother, but all the same, said, “She would never have married you. She was too high-class for that.”

  “You didn’t know her.” Frankie stepped away, angry and hurt at Connor’s words, and turned his back on him. Fury had mixed with sorrow, as it so often did those days, and he had to walk away before he said anything that would injure them both.

  Victory had been right there, but at the last moment, Hazel had been ripped from him. How was he supposed to live now knowing that if he hadn’t left her next to Basso, she would still be alive?

  Basso had died only moments before Hazel, but there had still been an awful injustice to it all. Basso had gotten what he deserved, but he had made damn well sure that he had taken one last person down with him.

  But had Basso been the one to kill Hazel?

  He had seen with his own eyes Basso push Hazel away at the last second. He had watched Hazel get shot first, even though Basso had been in clear view of Emerson. But he had seen the knife go in. Emerson shooting Hazel had been an accident, but he still didn’t trust the detective. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that Emerson hadn’t wanted Hazel out of the way, regardless of what had happened to Basso.

  It had never made sense to him why they would use Hazel as bait. She had been so inexperienced with the world and had only been going to speakeasies for a couple of months before Mimi had been murdered. What knowledge could Hazel possibly have given Emerson that his men couldn’t have gotten for him instead?

  “Well, don’t do anything too hasty,” Connor advised, pulling Frankie from his thoughts.

  “I won’t.”

  Frankie heard Connor’s footsteps fade and he shivered against the chill. Autumn had been fast in coming and with night quickly approaching, the air was growing more bitter by the second.

  He was contemplating on following Connor back home when a familiar figure approached him.

  He had been one of Emerson’s informants. Robert, he thought his name was. He had even been kind enough to attend Hazel’s funeral three months before.

  “Hello,” Robert said gruffly.

  “Hello,” Frankie greeted, feeling awkward.

  “I, uh, just thought I’d see how you’re holding up,” Robert said, looking as embarrassed as Frankie felt.

  “Alright, I reckon,” he lied.

  The man scrutinized his face but said nothing as he came to a stop a few feet away, both watching the other warily.

  Frankie hadn’t seen Robert in months and had scarcely spoken to him before then. He couldn’t even imagine the true reason for why he had come.

  “I just thought you should know that all of the men working for Basso have been sent to prison,” Robert told him,
his tone casual, as if they were discussing nothing more than the weather. “And the detective’s wife, Cassandra, has been sent to an asylum. The detective thinks it’s the best place for her.”

  “Only because she knows the truth,” Frankie grumbled.

  Robert made no reply and the two fell silent for a long moment.

  Frankie thought of Judd Roth, the one who had blindsided him when he left the club a few minutes after his brothers and brought him back to that room.

  He felt a mixture of guilt and relief to know that that meant Judd would be among them, getting punished for his participation in the crimes of Walter Basso. Though he knew that Hazel had had a soft spot for him, Frankie couldn’t help but feel resentful towards him. If it hadn’t been for Judd’s compliance, none of it would have happened and Hazel would still have been alive.

  “What’ll happen now?” Frankie wondered, breaking the silence.

  “Detective Emerson has been sent on leave,” Robert said. “The inspector wants to investigate for corruption, but since Basso’s dead and Cassandra’s now legally insane, it’ll be hard to verify the truth. Nothing will happen to Emerson. He’ll get off.”

  “Bastard,” Frankie swore.

  They fell silent again, watching the sun set behind the trees, staining the sky orange and red.

  “What will you do now?” Robert wanted to know and Frankie looked at him in surprise.

  “Go to back to Ireland,” he answered after a moment. “I can’t stand being here when she isn’t.”

  “You’ll never know how sorry I am for that,” Robert said earnestly, his tone soft, revealing his own grief. “I liked Hazel. She was a nice girl. We were supposed to get her out before anything happened, but we didn’t.”

  “I doubt she was going to survive,” Frankie said flatly and Robert looked down at him.

  “Why do you say that?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

  Frankie shrugged, not taking his eyes off the dying light of the sunset. “Cassandra told her the truth, didn’t she? She knew what Emerson had done, what he had covered up, and how he had tried to frame Basso. That meant that she was a risk to him. If Basso hadn’t killed her, Emerson would have.”

  Robert didn’t say anything for a while. Then, once the sun had finally set, he turned to Frankie and said, “Well, I wish you luck in your life, Frankie. Have a good one.”

  “You too, sir.” Frankie shook his hand then watched the man walk away, back ramrod straight as he disappeared around a turn.

  Absentmindedly, he ran a finger over the scar on his neck, the only visible reminder of what happened that night.

  It still haunted his dreams, had him waking in cold sweats with Hazel’s name on his lips. Nightmares that ran circles of him failing to reach her before she died in his arms. No matter how fast he tried to run, he could never catch her, could never save her.

  Frankie ran a weary hand over his face, the sounds of the city slowly coming back to him.

  He would heal eventually. One day, thinking of Hazel wouldn’t hurt so much. He would move on, go home to Ireland, and hope no one questioned why he had returned.

  Yes, Frankie thought as the first stars twinkled merrily overheard. One day, he would be alright. But for now, he would hurt. And then tomorrow would come and he would start again.

  The End.