“I will,” I told him. “But you have to promise me that, if it gets too dangerous for me, you’ll make sure I get out alive. Alright?”
Detective Emerson blinked but then nodded. “That was always the plan.”
I returned to the Golden Sparrow the next night, my heart pounding a hard beat in my chest as every fiber in my body screamed at me to stay away. I should have walked away as fast as I could. But instead of listening to reason, I walked resolutely inside and made straight for Basso’s crowded table.
It was clear that I had surprised him. He had expected me to stay away.
I wanted to, I silently told him as he raised his thick eyebrows in query at me. I had wanted to stay home and never come back. But I had made a promise to the detective and to myself for Mimi’s sake. I would do it, no matter what.
“Gentlemen,” I heard Basso say as I approached. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”
All of the men sitting at the table with him got obligingly to their feet and left so that it was only Basso and me.
“So,” Basso said as he lounged back in his chair, looking pleased as I settled down into a chair opposite him. His eyes were looking over me with a somewhat hungry expression and I suddenly felt very exposed even though I was wearing a modest dress. “You came back after all. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“I wasn’t sure myself,” I admitted then shrugged to blunt the sharpness of my words.
He stretched out a little, the toes of his shoes just brushing my ankles under the table. resisted the urge to move my feet out of reach of his.
“What changed your mind?” he wanted to know.
I felt as though I was sitting on ice. Every inch of me was chilled to the bone and my fingers felt numb. I couldn’t move, either, as if I had been nailed to the chair. Or tied. My mind revolted against the image conjured up at the thought.
“You,” I said and it wasn’t entirely a lie. “You are incredibly fascinating, sir. I’m curious about you. If it’s not too bold of me to say, I’d like to know you better.”
Basso laughed heartily at my words and I felt a thaw begin to melt my fingers.
“And what of that Irish boy I’ve seen you around with?” he asked me. “Are you sure you won’t mind?”
“Who?” I asked, playing coy. “Frankie? Goodness, no. He’s nothing to me. Not now.”
Basso raised his eyebrows, his hazel eyes dancing with humor.
“So if I were to have him and his brothers perform here, you wouldn’t be bothered by him?” he asked and I shook my head fervently.
“It’s like I said, he’s nothing to me.” The lie scorched my throat, but I forced myself to look carelessly back at Basso. “Once I met you, well... who could possibly choose him over you?”
Basso seemed pleased with my answer and sat forward, appearing to be debating on something. Then he got wordlessly to his feet and extended a hand to me.
“Come with me,” he said and, though I briefly hesitated, I took his hand, allowing him to lead me through the club and down the narrow hall towards the back room.
My steps were sluggish, my body repulsed by the idea of me stepping foot back in that room. I knew that when I did, I would be overwhelmed with images of the other night. But I couldn’t stop. Even though I wanted to, I couldn’t. I had to follow him.
He pushed the door open and we stepped inside.
It was as if nothing had happened. The walls and floors were pristine and a fire was crackling cheerfully, the candles along the walls illuminating the room in a warm, dim light.
And just like before, in the center of the room, sat a chair. A different man was bound to it tonight, the fire behind him silhouetting his slumped form.
“This man was caught snooping around my warehouse early this morning,” Basso explained as he led me to the red sofa. “I thought we could try your idea and see if we can find out why he was there.” He turned to me and though I could only stare helplessly at the unconscious man before me, I could still feel Basso’s gaze on me. “Do you think you can help?”
No. “I can try,” I said, sounding dubious. I finally tore my gaze from the man and looked up at Basso. “But not if he’s unconscious.”
Basso shrugged and dropped down onto the sofa. “Then we wait until he wakes up.” He put an arm around the back of the sofa, an invitation for me to sit.
Reluctantly, I settled down beside him and when he pulled me close, I forced myself not to resist and to relax into him.
“I have to say,” Basso said, his voice in my ear. Gooseflesh erupted all over as his warm breath tickled my ear, fanning across my neck and cheek. “You surprise me. None of the others ever offered to help.”
“I can’t just sit around and watch you do it all yourself,” I replied, my voice a little unsteady. I cleared my throat. “I have to make myself useful, otherwise, what’s the fun in it?”
I felt him shake with laughter and I wanted to pull away, to put as much space between us as I could, but I stayed where I was. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, waiting for his laughter to die out.
His fingers touched my neck lightly, tracing faint lines from my jaw down to my shoulder, and the unexpected contact made me jumped. He only laughed more.
“Did I scare you?” His voice was low, like a caress. If thorns could caress, I found myself thinking darkly.
“No,” I lied and made myself relax again, sinking into his side, which seemed to take him aback. “Should I be scared of you, Mr. Basso?”
His hand ran down my shoulder to my arm as I felt his face press gently into my hair. He was too close, but I could do nothing about it other than stay perfectly still. He was a lion and I was in his den.
“Most are,” he breathed and I felt myself involuntarily stiffen.
Before I could reply, however, there was a low moan from the unconscious man across the room and Basso promptly stood.
He silently motioned for his men to leave then turned back to me.
Crouching before me, his voice low, he said, “Prove yourself to me tonight. Do what you have to. Find out what he was up to and if he’s working for anyone. Good luck.”
When he was gone, his lingering touch still scorched onto my skin, I finally allowed myself to shudder violently.
Finally, when the last of the fear had shaken itself loose from my bones, I turned my attention to the man before me.
I felt sorry for him. He must not have known who he was going up against. And if he did, then he was either brave for boldly snooping around or stupid.
“Who are you?” I asked when the man’s eyes lifted to meet mine.
“What’s happening?” the man asked instead, jerking hard against his restraints. “Why am I here? Who are you?”
“You were caught trespassing,” I explained, my tone a little hard. I worked to soften it but my fear made it almost impossible. “Mr. Basso only wants to know why you were there.”
The man snorted, still tugging uselessly to free himself. “And why the hell would I tell you?”
I glanced anxiously behind me, wondering if they were listening. I hoped it added an extra element of fear and urgency for the man’s benefit. If I could convey how precarious his situation was, then perhaps he would talk.
“Because Basso doesn’t know I’m here.” My heart was in my throat, choking me. I moved over to the man and watched his eyes follow my jerky movements. “He plans on torturing you. I’d like to spare you the pain.”
The man’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to the side as he examined me.
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “Why would he leave me here alone and unguarded?”
“You were unconscious,” I reminded him. “And you’re also tied to a chair. What threat could you possibly pose in that state?”
The man considered my words. “Right,” he said in a low voice.
“What were you doing at his warehouse?” I asked again.
“If I told you I just wanted a bottle of whiskey,
would you believe me?” he asked, smirking up at me.
“No.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” the man said, and I watched him lean back slightly.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, echoing him and his smirk widened into a genuine grin.
“I won’t tell you why I was there,” the man said. “I’ve been around here enough to know that you’re his new piece. And I guarantee that you’ve been set the task of getting whatever you can out of me before he kills me. Honestly, I’d rather just die than tell you—or him—why I was snooping around that little warehouse of his.”
“You’d die for that?” My eyebrows rose in surprise. “For what, exactly? He’s a bootlegger. What’s so important that you’d sacrifice your life?”
“Sorry,” the man said. “But I’m not saying any more.” And then he spat at me.
I reeled back in disgust, falling hard. I ignored the pain crackling up my wrist as anger at myself for getting scared so easily propelled me back to my feet.
“He’ll kill you slowly if you don’t tell me now,” I hissed, clutching my sore wrist tightly in my other hand. “He’ll torture it out of you and you’ll have died for nothing.”
The man simply smiled blandly up at me.
I felt my lip curl with rage, but I stepped back, my eyes still on him.
I had failed. Who knew what would happen now.
Turning away, shaking my head in defeat, I made for the door, but the man suddenly spoke.
“I’ve seen what happens to his girls.”
I stopped but didn’t turn to face him.
“I can get you out,” the man said quickly. “Let me go and I’ll help you.”
Saying nothing, I reached for the doorknob.
“My name is David Neale and I was to get in with your bootlegger,” the man said quickly, his tone urgent. “There’s a man in New Jersey who wants to know if he’s got a chance branching out here. And I was supposed to shut him down from the inside. Now let me go and I’ll get you out, too.”
Poor, stupid man, I thought, my hand closing around the doorknob. He had no idea that I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Turning my head slightly in his direction, I said, “Thank you.”
“You-you’ll let me go now, won’t you?” the man asked me desperately. “Look, I swear I can get you out of this. Let me go now and we can both be free!”
I wish.
Twisting so that I was facing him now, I forced my lips to curve into a wicked grin and I said, “Why on earth would I want that?”
Chapter 14
Standing before the locked door, I stared down the hall to the crowded club. The music was loud, but I could still hear the shouts then the unmistakable bang of a gunshot. But though I searched the crowd anxiously for any signs that anyone had heard, I found no one looking in my direction.
With a sigh of relief, I stepped away from the door, my palms slick with sweat as fear, disgust, and self-loathing mingled with the relief.
I had let another man die. I had done nothing to stop it. I had even helped.
My legs felt weak and I leaned heavily against the wall beside the door that separated horror from reality.
Why did I think I could spy on Walter Basso, a man who had New York City’s elite eating out of the palm of his hand? He was dangerous, a murderer. And I just sat silently by while he carried out his dealings as if they were nothing more than boring business meetings. What could that say about me, then, if I was able to watch it happen?
The door opened, startling me, and Judd strode out, his brow damp with sweat.
His dark eyes found me and he said, “Mr. Basso wants you back in there, Miss Hazel. He says he’s got one more person to talk to and he wants you there.”
Swallowing my fear, I stood a little straighter, brushed my damp hands uselessly against my dress, pushed my shoulders back and lifted my chin a fraction, then followed Judd back into the room.
The air was thick with the heavy metallic scent of blood and the stale odor of sweat. The combination made my stomach roil, but I clamped my mouth shut to keep the bile from rising.
“Ah,” Basso said, turning around as Judd closed the door behind us. “I’m glad to see you didn’t run off. I heard that little Irish boy of yours is here tonight. He’s apparently been asking around for you.”
My heart stuttered at the mention of Frankie but I forced my expression to remain blank.
“So?” My eyebrows rose slightly at the question.
Basso smirked as I reached his side. It struck me then as Basso turned his attention to the new man in the middle of the room what a formidable form he had, with his broad shoulders, thick arms, and ramrod straight stature. His lips were curved in what I was beginning to think was a permanent smirk and his thick, black eyebrows were constantly quirked, as if he was humored by life itself.
His eyes back on me, Basso raised a hand slowly to my face, brushing the back of it against my cheek in a surprisingly gentle caress. I stood very still, my eyes fixed on his mouth, not even drawing a breath as his thumb stroked my chin before dropping from my face.
“I underestimated you earlier,” he said softly. His breath smelled of stale tobacco and alcohol and it took a great deal of effort not to show my disgust as the odor fanned across my face.
My lips curved widely and I exhaled quietly. “Don’t make it a habit.” Then I stepped out of his reach and moved to stand before the new victim.
Just like David Neale, he was bound to this chair, but this time, he was gagged as well. Sweat was rolling down his face, soaking his heavily stained collar.
“Who is this?” I inquired, pointing at him as Basso came up behind me. He placed an arm possessively around my waist and I forced myself to stand perfectly still. His touch felt as though it was scorching me through the fabric of my dress and I wondered stupidly if his hand would burn an imprint on my flesh.
In response, Basso released me, closed the distance between himself and the man, and tore the gag from his mouth.
“This,” Basso said, tossing the gag aside, “is Lorenzo De Luca. And I have been tasked with disposing of him by a friend. The reason’s are justifiable, of course.”
“What are you going to do with him?” I asked through numb lips. Chills were running up and down my spine, causing gooseflesh to erupt all over. My eyes were fixed on Lorenzo’s dark ones that were set deep into sockets discolored with fresh bruises. Cuts littered his face and his nose was broken and bleeding profusely. I felt sorry him, but knowing that there was no hope for him, I quashed my feelings down and forced myself to feel nothing at all.
Basso leaned closer and I could sense the danger rolling off him in thick waves. It almost made me take several steps back, but I made myself stay perfectly still.
“Let’s have some fun.” His voice was a deep rumble that carried the weight of his intent in every word.
He snapped his fingers and stepped back towards me as James came forward, producing a knife as he moved to stand before Lorenzo.
I wrapped my arms tightly around my torso, praying that it would keep me together while I watched as James leaned forward and dug the tip of the knife just hard enough into the man’s face to draw blood.
The man did not scream, but he grunted loudly in pain, his mouth twisted against the knife.
“Go to hell,” Lorenzo spat and James, in response, slashed the knife across his face.
My feet were moving before I was fully aware of what I was doing. Then, I stooped down and retrieved the gag from where Basso had discarded it earlier.
A scream had just ripped from Lorenzo’s throat when I stuffed the gag mercilessly back into his mouth, muffling him.
Moving back to Basso’s side, I saw Basso glance briefly at me, apparently pleased and somewhat surprised. Then his attention returned to Lorenzo as James cut a slow line down the man’s arm.
Stumbling back towards the sofa, I collapsed down on to it and watched, horrified, as James mutilated Lorenzo’s
body, torturing him to the brink of unconsciousness.
I wanted to run, to scream, to beg Basso to call James off. I wanted to rip the knife from James’s hands and throw it away. I wanted to telephone Detective Emerson and tell him to come quickly or else have his men end Basso right there. But I did none of those things. Instead, I sat still as a statue, silent and ever-watchful, as James carved lines into every bit of exposed flesh he could find.
By the time James had finished, Lorenzo De Luca was a bloody, shredded mess slumped against his bounds. I wasn’t entirely sure he was alive, but by the shallow rise and fall of his chest, I knew he was still clinging to life.
No one in the room moved as Basso, with an absentminded click of his tongue, stepped forward to examine the man. Then he nodded once to James, who promptly shoved the knife into Lorenzo De Luca’s chest.
There was a soft grunt then Lorenzo went still. Basso reached forward and wrenched the knife free, wiping the blade clean on the dead man’s pants. He then pushed the knife into James’ hand and turned away.
Getting unsteadily to my feet, I stepped towards Basso, reaching half-heartedly for him, but he steered clear of me.
“Let me wash up,” he said roughly before lifting his voice, adding, “Get rid of him and clean up this mess.”
Blood stained his hands from when he had removed the knife and I couldn’t help but stare at the macabre sight.
It wasn’t enough to arrest him. He had only watched. He hadn’t done anything more than assent to it.
Basso moved towards a small table in the corner of the room that I had never noticed before. A porcelain washbasin and pitcher sat atop and I watched as Basso filled the basin and cleaned his hands.
“I think it’s time to take you home,” Basso said as blood came off his hands to stain the water pink. He took the towel Judd produced and dried his hands. “Judd, get the car ready.”
“Yes, sir.” Judd shot me a nervous glance then moved away from us.
I chanced a look over my shoulder at James, who had been rejoined by Al, and watched the two stand over the body for a long moment before Al took the knife from James and slit Lorenzo De Luca’s throat for good measure.
The Golden Sparrow Page 19