Илья Франк - Английский язык с Крестным Отцом
driver to go around the block but there was no hope for that now. Out of the corner of
his eye, Neri saw three short, heavyset men coming down the steps of the Plaza
building, coming down toward the street. It was Barzini himself and his two bodyguards,
on their way to meet Michael Corleone. Even as he saw this, one of the bodyguards
peeled off to come ahead and see what was wrong with Barzini's car.
This man asked the driver, "What's up?"
The driver said curtly, "I'm getting a ticket, no sweat. This guy must be new in the
precinct."
At that moment Barzini came up with his other bodyguard. He growled, "What the hell
is wrong now?"
Neri finished writing in his summons book and gave the driver back his registration
and license. Then he put his summons book back in his hip pocket and with the forward
motion of his hand drew the .38 Special.
He put three bullets in Barzini's barrel chest before the other three men unfroze
enough to dive for cover. By that time Neri had darted into the crowd and around the
corner where the car was waiting for him. The car sped up to Ninth Avenue and turned
downtown. Near Chelsea Park, Neri, who had discarded the cap and put on the
overcoat and changed clothing, transferred to another car that was waiting for him. He
had left the gun and the police uniform in the other car. It would be gotten rid of. An hour
later he was safely in the mall on Long Beach and talking to Michael Corleone.
Tessio was waiting in the kitchen of the old Don's house and was sipping at a cup of
coffee when Tom Hagen came for him. "Mike is ready for you now," Hagen said. "You
better make your call to Barzini and tell him to start on his way."
Tessio rose and went to the wall phone. He dialed Barzini's office in New York and
said curtly, "We're on our way to Brooklyn." He hung up and smiled at Hagen. "I hope
Mike can get us a good deal tonight."
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Hagen said gravely, "I'm sure he will." He escorted Tessio out of the kitchen and onto
the mall. They walked toward Michael's house. At the door they were stopped by one of
the bodyguards. "The boss says he'll come in a separate car. He says for you two to go
on ahead."
Tessio frowned and turned to Hagen. "Hell, he can't do that; that screws up all my
arrangements."
At that moment three more bodyguards materialized around them. Hagen said gently,
"I can't go with you either, Tessio."
The ferret-faced caporegime understood everything in a flash of a second. And
accepted it. There was a moment of physical weakness, and then he recovered. He
said to Hagen, "Tell Mike it was business, I always liked him."
Hagen nodded. "He understands that."
Tessio paused for a moment and then said softly, "Tom, can you get me off the hook?
For old times' sake?"
Hagen shook his head. "I can't," he said.
He watched Tessio being surrounded by bodyguards and led into a waiting car. He
felt a little sick. Tessio had been the best soldier in the Corleone Family; the old Don
had relied on him more than any other man with the exception of Luca Brasi. It was too
bad that so intelligent a man had made such a fatal error in judgment so late in life.
Carlo Rizzi, still waiting for his interview with Michael, became jittery with all the
arrivals and departures. Obviously something big was going on and it looked as if he
were going to be left out. Impatiently he called Michael on the phone. One of the house
bodyguards answered, went to get Michael, and came back with the message that
Michael wanted him to sit tight, that he would get to him soon.
Carlo called up his mistress again and told her he was sure he would be able to take
her to a late supper and spend the night. Michael had said he would call him soon,
whatever he had planned couldn't take more than an hour or two. Then it would take
him about forty minutes to drive to Westbury. It could be done. He promised her he
would do it and sweet-talked her into not being sore. When he hung up he decided to
get properly dressed so as to save time afterward. He had just slipped into a fresh shirt
when there was a knock on the door. He reasoned quickly that Mike had tried to get him
on the phone and had kept getting a busy signal so had simply sent a messenger to call
him. Carlo went to the door and opened it. He felt his whole body go weak with terrible
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sickening fear. Standing in the doorway was Michael Corleone, his face the face of that
death Carlo Rizzi saw often in his dreams.
Behind Michael Corleone were Hagen and Rocco Lampone. They looked grave, like
people who had come with the utmost reluctance to give a friend bad news. The three
of them entered the house and Carlo Rizzi led them into the living room. Recovered
from his first shock, he thought that he had suffered an attack of nerves. Michael's
words made him really sick, physically nauseous.
"You have to answer for Santino," Michael said.
Carlo didn't answer, pretended not to understand. Hagen and Lampone had split
away to opposite walls of the room. He and Michael faced each other.
"You fingered Sonny for the Barzini people," Michael said, his voice flat. "That little
farce you played out with my sister, did Barzini kid you that would fool a Corleone?"
Carlo Rizzi spoke out of his terrible fear, without dignity, without any kind of pride. "I
swear I'm innocent. I swear on the head of my children I'm innocent. Mike, don't do this
to me, please, Mike, don't do this to me."
Michael said quietly, "Barzini is dead. So is Phillip Tattaglia. I want to square all the
Family accounts tonight. So don't tell me you're innocent. It would be better for you to
admit what you did."
Hagen and Lampone stared at Michael with astonishment. They were thinking that
Michael was not yet the man his father was. Why try to get this traitor to admit guilt?
That guilt was already proven as much as such a thing could be proven. The answer
was obvious. Michael still was not that confident of his right, still feared being unjust, still
worried about that fraction of an uncertainty that only a confession by Carlo Rizzi could
erase.
There was still no answer. Michael said almost kindly, "Don't be so frightened. Do you
think I'd make my sister a widow? Do you think I'd make my nephews fatherless? After
all I'm Godfather to one of your kids. No, your punishment will be that you won't be
allowed any work with the Family. I'm putting you on a plane to Vegas to join your wife
and kids and then I want you to stay there. I'll send Connie an allowance. That's all. But
don't keep saying you're innocent, don't insult my intelligence and make me angry. Who
approached you, Tattaglia or Barzini?"
Carlo Rizzi in his anguished hope for life, in the sweet flooding relief that he was not
going to be killed, murmured, "Barzini."
"Good, good," Michael said softly. He beckoned with his right hand. "I want you to
leave now. There's a car waiting to take you to the airport."
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Carlo went out the door first, the other three men very close to him. It was night now,
but the mall as usual was bright with floodlights. A car pulled up. Carlo saw it was his
own car. He didn't recognize the driver. There was someone sitting in the back but on
the far side. Lampone opened the front door and motioned to Carlo to get in. Michael
said, "I'll call your wife and tell her you're on your way down." Carlo got into the car. His
silk shirt was soaked with sweat.
The car pulled away, moving swiftly toward the gate. Carlo started to turn his head to
see if he knew the man sitting behind him. At that moment, Clemenza, as cunningly and
daintily as a little girl slipping a ribbon over the head of a kitten, threw his garrot around
Carlo Rizzi's neck. The smooth rope cut into the skin with Clemenza's powerful yanking
throttle, Carlo Rizzi's body went leaping into the air like a fish on a line, but Clemenza
held him fast, tightening the garrot until the body went slack. Suddenly there was a foul
odor in the air of the car. Carlo's body, sphincter released by approaching death, had
voided itself. Clemenza kept the garrot tight for another few minutes to make sure, then
released the rope and put it back in his pocket. He relaxed himself against the seat
cushions as Carlo's body slumped against the door. After a few moments Clemenza
rolled the window down to let out the stink.
The victory of the Corleone Family was complete. During that same twenty-four-hour
period Clemenza and Lampone turned loose their regimes and punished the infiltrators
of the Corleone domains. Neri was sent to take command of the Tessio regime. Barzini
bookmakers were put out of business; two of the highest-ranking Barzini enforcers were
shot to death as they were peaceably picking their teeth over dinner in an Italian
restaurant on Mulberry Street. A notorious fixer of trotting races was also killed as he
returned home from a winning night at the track. Two of the biggest shylocks on the
waterfront disappeared, to be found months later in the New Jersey swamps.
With this one savage attack, Michael Corleone made his reputation and restored the
Corleone Family to its primary place in the New York Families. He was respected not
only for his tactical brillance but because some of the most important caporegimes in
both the Barzini and Tattaglia Families immediately went over to his side.
It would have been a perfect triumph for Michael Corleone except for an exhibition of
hysteria by his sister Connie.
Connie had flown home with her mother, the children left in Vegas. She had
restrained her widow's grief until the limousine pulled into the mall. Then, before she
could be restrained by her mother, she ran across the cobbled street to Michael
Corleone's house. She burst through the door and found Michael and Kay in the living
room. Kay started to go to her, to comfort her and take her in her arms in a sisterly
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embrace but stopped short when Connie started screaming at her brother, screaming
curses and reproaches. "You lousy bastard," she shrieked. "You killed my husband. You
waited until our father died and nobody could stop you and you killed him. You killed
him. You blamed him about Sonny, you always did, everybody did. But you never
thought about me. You never gave a damn about me. What am I going to do now, what
am I going to do?" She was wailing. Two of Michael's bodyguards had come up behind
her and were waiting for orders from him. But he just stood there impassively and
waited for his sister to finish.
Kay said in a shocked voice, "Connie, you're upset, don't say such things."
Connie had recovered from her hysteria. Her voice held a deadly venom. "Why do you
think he was always so cold to me? Why do you think he kept Carlo here on the mall?
All the time he knew he was going to kill my husband. But he didn't dare while my father
was alive. My father would have stopped him. He knew that. He was just waiting. And
then he stood Godfather to our child just to throw us off the track. The coldhearted
bastard. You think you know your husband? Do you know how many men he had killed
with my Carlo? Just read the papers. Barzini and Tattaglia and the others. My brother
had them killed."
She had worked herself into hysteria again. She tried to spit in Michael's face but she
had no saliva.
"Get her home and get her a doctor," Michael said. The two guards immediately
grabbed Connie's arms and pulled her out of the house.
Kay was still shocked, still horrified. She said to her husband, "What made her say all
those things, Michael, what makes her believe that?"
Michael shrugged. "She's hysterical."
Kay looked into his eyes. "Michael, it's not true, please say it's not true."
Michael shook his head wearily. "Of course it's not. Just believe me, this one time I'm
letting you ask about my affairs, and I'm giving you an answer. It is not true." He had
never been more convincing. He looked directly into her eyes. He was using all the
mutual trust they had built up in their married life to make her believe him. And she
could not doubt any longer. She smiled at him ruefully and came into his arms for a kiss.
"We both need a drink," she said. She went into the kitchen for ice and while there
heard the front door open. She went out of the kitchen and saw Clemenza, Neri and
Rocco Lampone come in with the bodyguards. Michael had his back to her, but she
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moved so that she could see him in profile. At that moment Clemenza addressed her
husband, greeting him formally.
"Don Michael," Clemenza said.
Kay could see how Michael stood to receive their homage. He reminded her of
statues in Rome, statues of those Roman emperors of antiquity, who, by divine right,
held the power of life and death over their fel ow men. One hand was on his hip, the
profile of his face showed a cold proud power, his body was carelessly, arrogantly at
ease, weight resting on one foot slightly behind the other. The caporegimes stood
before him. In that moment Kay knew that everything Connie had accused Michael of
was true. She went back into the kitchen and wept.
Book 9
Chapter 32
The bloody victory of the Corleone Family was not complete until a year of delicate
political maneuvering established Michael Corleone as the most powerful Family chief in
the United States. For twelve months, Michael divided his time equally between his
headquarters at the Long Beach mall and his new home in Las Vegas. But at the end of
that year he decided to close out the New York operation and sell the houses and the
mall property. For that purpose he brought his whole family East on a last visit. They
would stay a month, wind up business, Kay would do the personal family's packing and
shipping of household goods. There were a million other minor details.
Now the Corleone Family was unchallengeable, and Clemenza had his own Family.
Rocco Lampone was the Corleone caporegime. In Nevada, Albert Neri was head of all
security for the Family-controlled hotels. Hagen too, was part of Michael's Western
Family.
Time helped heal the old wounds. Connie Corleone was reconciled to her brother
Michael. Indeed not more than a week after her terrible accusations she apologized to
Michael for what she had said and assured Kay that there had been no truth in her