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."

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

240

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

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

241

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."

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

242

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