The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  I stared unblinkingly at the window opposite me. “Yes,” I said, “they certainly will.”

  At the Golden Sparrow that night, I stood beside Basso, thankful that Emerson had warned me beforehand about what I was going to be doing tonight.

  The man who had attempted to assassinate Basso was strapped down to a table, bound and gagged with a blindfold over his eyes. He was stripped down to nothing but his undergarments and I couldn’t keep the heat of embarrassment from burning my cheeks.

  A fire was crackling in the grate, making the room uncomfortably warm. July was in full swing, yet for some reason, Basso had a fire going. But there was a single fire poker resting right in the heart of the embers and understanding dawned on me.

  Basso stepped forward and I felt myself automatically relax at the absence of him at my side.

  “You know why you’re here,” Basso growled, fire and rage pulsating off of him as he stepped towards the bound man. “I don’t care why you did it or who you did it for. Just know that I got you and that you will pay for what you did.”

  Sweat coated the bound man and he was breathing hard into his gag. His breaths almost sounded like sobs.

  Basso ripped the gag from his mouth and the man sputtered.

  “Did you really think you could kill me?” he breathed, but the man stayed silent.

  With an absentminded click of his tongue, Basso shoved the gag forcefully back into the man’s mouth before turning to me. Then he jerked his head and I moved to stand beside him.

  “Al,” Basso said, “the poker.”

  Al snatched the white-hot poker from the embers and shoved it into my hand unceremoniously. I struggled to keep the scorching end away from me as I worked out how best to hold it.

  “Hazel, if you will?”

  Basso stepped back as I moved closer.

  The stench of fear was ripe. He was shivering beneath the rod.

  Did I ask for God’s forgiveness this time? He had killed people, but yet, so had Basso. Which man deserved forgiveness more?

  I lowered the end of the poker until it was barely an inch from his stomach, the glow of the burning end illuminating his vast, hairy stomach.

  The man quivered as he braced himself. But then I pressed the poker down hard into his flesh and watched the man writhe and scream against the gag.

  His skin sizzled under the poker and, for a moment, I found myself fascinated by it. But then I remembered myself and removed the poker. Al promptly took it back and replaced it into the embers.

  No one spoke as we waited, though the mans whimpers were enough to fill the silence.

  “Again,” Basso ordered roughly and Al put the poker back in my hand.

  Trembling slightly, I chose a spot just right of his heart.

  I could hear the poker cooking the flesh and kept it there until I was told to remove it.

  My stomach was churning now and the smell of burning flesh was searing my nostrils, making the nausea worse.

  But before I could strike again, the man began screaming frantically, pulling against his bounds until Basso removed the gag.

  “What is it?” Basso shouted.

  “I-I have information for you!” the man panted. “You’ll want to know!”

  “And why should I believe anything you say?” Basso asked.

  “Be... because,” the man said. “There’s a detective trying to find out where you’re getting your supply from.”

  My heart dropped and I felt the poker drop slightly.

  “Who?” Basso wanted to know.

  “Some man name Connor,” the man answered. “Steve Connor, in Lower Manhattan. I was supposed to start up a rivalry with you, but you... you killed my niece.”

  Basso’s eyebrows rose, but I didn’t miss the sharp look he threw my way.

  I stepped back, head down, and listened.

  “And that’s why you tried to kill me?”

  “Yes.”

  Basso clicked his tongue and ripped the poker from my hand.

  “Al,” he said and I lifted my head in time to see Al push the poker deep into the embers.

  “Detective Connor has men on the inside,” the man said frantically and I looked curiously around. I saw a few men shift uncomfortably, but most were looking at one another, as if asking Who?

  “And these men are?” Basso said.

  “O-one was Jed Stevens,” the man stammered. “But I accidentally killed him that day.”

  Basso was slowly turning to look all his men in the eye. “And the others?”

  “Clyde Welsh and Ralph Talbot.”

  I watched both Clyde Welsh and Ralph Talbot make a dash for the door, but they were blocked in. I almost felt sorry for them and sorrier still that they were given up so easily.

  I felt a hand on my arm and I looked over to see Judd standing beside me. He pulled me off to the side and pushed me so that I was looking away.

  “It ain’t going to be pretty,” he told me in a low voice.

  “What’s new?” I said dully and turned to watch.

  Clyde and Ralph were now facing down an enraged Basso, who looked more dangerous than I had ever seen him. This, I thought, was the monster I hunted.

  “Does this pathetic man tell the truth?” Basso asked, jabbing a finger back at the bound man. “Do you work for a detective?”

  Clyde and Ralph both looked at one another then back to Basso, their mouths clamped shut.

  “Then that’s all the answer I need.” He snapped his fingers and stepped back while the remaining men in the room, Al and Robert included, lifted their guns and took aim.

  I silently prayed that the music filling the club was loud enough to cover the gunfire as the men dropped like marionettes with their strings cut. Blood was pooling beneath their bodies and I wondered idly how I was going to get out of the room without getting blood on my shoes.

  On the table, the man who had betrayed the spies was trembling violently. Sweat was glistening all over him and there was a strong stench of urine in the air.

  “I hope you didn’t think that would save you,” Basso said casually, moving to stand beside me.

  In response, the man whimpered pitifully. He had hoped.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, my darling friend Hazel is going to finish you off.”

  I swallowed hard but unwillingly obliged.

  Here it was at last, I found myself thinking bitterly as the poker was pressed into my hand once more. Now I get to add murderer to my list.

  “Through the throat, I think,” Basso suggested quietly in my ear. And I obeyed.

  Chapter 20

  “The fact that you do whatever I say is very encouraging,” Basso remarked to me as we made our way to his house, which I had learned several days before was about an hour and a half outside New York City. It was close to a town called Hartsdale, which was just north of Stony Point. I had never heard of the town before, but given its rural background, that wasn’t too surprising.

  “I want you to know that I’m yours,” I said, smiling at wickedly at him.

  He returned the grin and pulled me close before turning his head to look out of the car window.

  “I may have to show you the warehouses,” he said after a long time, his voice contemplative. He looked back to me then and brushed his lips against the top of my head. “You’ve certainly proven yourself as useful, Hazel. I think it’s time to reward you.”

  It surprised me, then, that he didn’t take me to his room when we got back to his house, but instead to a room just down the hall from his.

  The walls inside the vast room were covered in pale silk wallpaper with a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling. Electric lights mounted on the walls lit up the room and shone dimly on the brightly polished wood floor. Thick, rich carpet covered a large portion of the room, running straight up to the hearth of a medium-sized white marble fireplace. My bedroom at home, though a moderate size, was not nearly as big and nowhere near as luxurious.

 
I turned to Basso, who was leaning casually against the doorjamb, arms folded, ankles crossed, and a wide, pleased smile on his face as he watched me take in the room.

  “This is for me?” I let the wonder color my voice as I gazed, wide-eyed and amazed, around the room.

  “It is.” Basso stepped into the room and walked up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his lips to my neck.

  Do not spoil this room for me, I silently begged.

  To my immense relief, he only held on a moment long then released me, making his way back to the door.

  “I have some things to see to,” he told me and I nodded slowly, not really listening. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

  He began to close the door then stopped suddenly and opened it slightly again, pausing long enough to say, “Check the vanity.” And then he was gone, shutting the door softly behind him.

  If I hadn’t been working to unseat him from his gangster throne, then I would have been more inclined to never want to leave him. As it was, it was fairly difficult knowing that I would have to give up this room.

  Exquisite landscapes hung on the walls and what I was sure was a solid gold, gilded mirror hanging over the mantle was reflecting my image back to me where I stood by the enormous bed.

  I looked the same as always, but the glitter in my eyes betrayed the excitement I felt at my current situation.

  Letting out a deep sigh of contentment, I allowed my curiosity to pull me towards the vanity, where I began opening drawers.

  It took a few tries, but in the top drawer on the right sat a velvet pouch and excitement had me undoing the ties and pulling back the flaps with wanton eagerness.

  Nestled in the rich blue silk fabric was a diamond and sapphire choker. Matching earrings crowned it and I found myself running my fingers along the necklace as I let myself imagine, for just one moment, that I was exactly who Basso thought I was: a silly girl with expensive taste.

  Sighing again, I tucked the necklace and earrings back into the drawer then crossed to the wardrobe, which I found already filled to bursting. I pulled out a cream and black lace silk teddy, but as I dressed for bed, I found my mind slipping back to the Golden Sparrow and what I had done.

  Forcing the memory from my mind, I slid into bed and fell promptly asleep.

  The next morning, I awoke feeling more refreshed than I had in months. It had been the first time I hadn’t dreamed about any of the horrific acts I had been forced to witness and commit since Mimi’s death and I silently relished in it. Donning a silk robe and slippers, I stepped out into the brightly lit hallway and made my way downstairs.

  I expected to find Basso either in the study or in the dining room, but I found both rooms empty. I looked into the sitting room, but found no one. I didn’t even see any servants bustling about to ask and didn’t know if he had any besides the butler.

  Wandering about the house, looking into every room I could, I found myself, nearly two hours later, to be completely and utterly alone.

  Which left me the freedom to investigate whatever was hidden in the locked room on the top floor, I thought slowly, a grin spreading across my face.

  Dashing back up to my room, I dressed quickly then stole up to the third floor, my heart thudding with excitement as I neared the door.

  Standing on my toes, my fingers fumbling along the edge of the door frame, my fingers bumbled over a cold, metal key and I quickly brought it down.

  Upon examining it, the brass key looked as though it belonged in a museum, not a house as grand and modern as Basso’s. It was old-fashioned with a large handle and long neck, which I cautiously inserted into the keyhole of the locked door.

  With anticipation propelling me forward, I twisted the key then pushed the door open slowly.

  Sunlight was streaming in through a window directly across from me and I spotted the high back chair I had seen before. It was empty now, just as it had been last time, though there was a deflated embroidered pillow pushed down into the cushion of the chair. Dust motes were swirling around in the sunlight and I glanced around quickly, curious.

  The first thing I saw was the back of a head in another chair that faced a second window, this one to the right of me. A silent gramophone sat the woman’s right next to a short, stocky bookshelf that looked ready to burst.

  What sort of Jane Eyre nonsense is this? I found myself wondering just before the woman turned in her seat at the sound of my entrance.

  “Who’s there?” she asked, her voice betraying her British roots. “Is it you, Walt?”

  Pressing my lips tightly together, I began to creep back out of the room. This most certainly would sign my death warrant he ever found out I had been in there. But the woman shot to her feet before I could take more a few steps backwards, her long, blonde hair swirling around her hips as she met my gaze.

  “Who are you?” she demanded then, as she took in my face, a look understanding dawned in her eyes and she relaxed. “Ah. You’re the new one. Hazel, I think he said your name was.”

  I was frozen, paralyzed with fear as she looked at me. Would she tell him I had seen her?

  “Do come in,” the woman invited, a wide smile on her face as she motioned to me to step inside. “I won’t bite or scream, though Walt must not be here if you are. You wouldn’t dare come in here if he were.”

  She turned her chair around so that it faced the other and I, knowing that I was low on options—and my interest in the woman was piqued—I took the empty chair and waited.

  “What are you doing here?” I wanted to know. “Why does he have you locked up in this room?”

  “Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed, laughing earnestly. “What has he told you?”

  “Walt?”

  The woman nodded, still grinning widely.

  “Nothing,” I said truthfully. “I didn’t even know you existed.”

  The woman laughed again. “Well, that’s hardly a surprise. It’d be rather difficult for him to maintain his ruthless streak if it’s discovered I am alive.” She stretched luxuriously and then fixed me with a pleasant smile. “But then, he wasn’t the one who was supposed to have killed me.”

  I frowned deeply. “Killed you?”

  “Mmm, oh yes.” The woman leaned forward, hand extended, which I took without hesitation. “Cassandra Brown, apparent first victim of Walter Basso’s. How do you do?”

  I gaped at her, having suddenly remembered hearing my mother and her friends discussing the murder of a police officer’s wife at the start of Prohibition. Who had the police officer been? I asked myself.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of me,” Cassandra Brown went on, smoothing out of the front of her dress before looking up at me. “I went missing for months. They couldn’t find me at all! So they gave up and placed the blame on Walt, citing jealousy that I had married his friend rather than him. It’s a load of tosh, but Walt was such an easy and obvious target. He was an up and coming bootlegger back in those days, didn’t have much of a foothold on the force as he does now, you see?”

  She was watching me closely and I longed to ask her why she was telling me this. Why did she not tell me to leave? Why not threaten to tell Basso that I had sneaked in if I didn’t leave? It made no sense to me.

  “So when the police tried to convict him of kidnap and murder,” she went on, “they realized they had virtually no evidence to tie him to the crime. He was released and, because of his sudden fame, became quite popular. Police officers and politicians alike decided he had the best alcohol and, eventually, the best clubs. He became practically untouchable.” She laughed then sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. “I can imagine that it angered my husband a great deal. You see, it was he who pushed me down those stairs and forced Walt to cover it all up! He was afraid he would lose his promotion if it came out that he had murdered his wife in a fit of rage. He thought he’d killed me, so he begged Walt to hide my body. Poor Dickie. He hasn’t a clue I’m still alive.”

  “Your husband?” I realized
I had leaned forward as she told her tale and quickly sat back, though I still clung to every word. I began to have a sense that she had been holding this story in for a long time and, at her first opportunity, told it to whoever would listen.

  “Mmm, yes,” she said. “I’m still married to the man, unfortunately. Though I can’t say it’s much of a marriage these days, what with him believing he killed me and all.”

  “But how does the officer know Walt?” I couldn’t help but wonder.

  Cassandra kept her smile in place, but I saw the coldness creep into her eyes.

  “They were partners at the start,” she explained. “Dickie was at the bottom in the force and when he met me and Walt, decided he would make some extra money on the side. Things went awry, of course, as they always do. He started getting recognition at work and pulled out of the business. Walt understood, of course, and as Dickie and I had just gotten married, wasn’t going to say much against it. But then Dickie thought he’d killed me and Walt was ready to go after him. I convinced him otherwise, of course. I told him to wait until the right moment. Strike him down when he’s at the top.” She sighed again, looking regretful. “It’s been nearly six years and I feel sorry for asking Walt to wait. Dickie’s near the top now, so that puts Walt in even more danger than ever.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’ll want to silence Walt,” Cassandra said with another smile. “If he can, of course. He’d been after that promotion for years and now that he’s got it, he won’t ever let it go. He’ll kill anyone who gets in his way before he gives it up.”

  “But how do you know that your husband’s been promoted?” I was dying to know his name, but I had a sense she wouldn’t say.

  “Walt keeps his eye on him,” she explained to me. “I’m sure Dickie believes he’s safe now. But Walt won’t risk his business, so he’ll just wait until he gets a little too comfortable.”

  “But that could take some time,” I pointed out and Cassandra nodded slowly.

  “Indeed.” She eyed me closely then, as if suddenly realizing I was a stranger. “What are you doing in here, anyways? How did you know to come?”