Luca had dropped into the nightclub the evening before Don Corleone's being shot. Almost immediately Bruno Tattaglia had come to his table and sat down.
"I have a friend who wants to talk to you," he said.
"Bring him over," Luca said. "I'll talk to any friend of yours."
"No," Bruno said. "He wants to see you in private."
"Who is he?" Luca asked.
"Just a friend of mine," Bruno Tattaglia said. "He wants to put a proposition to you. Can you meet him later on tonight?"
"Sure," Luca said. "What time and where?"
Tattaglia said softly, "The club closes at four in the morning. Why don't you meet in here while the waiters are cleaning up?"
They knew his habits, Luca thought, they must have been checking him out. He usually got up about three or four in the afternoon and had breakfast, then amused himself by gambling with cronies in the Family or had a girl. Sometimes he saw one of the midnight movies and then would drop in for a drink at one of the clubs. He never went to bed before dawn. So the suggestion of a four A.M. meeting was not as outlandish as it seemed.
"Sure, sure," he said. "I'll be back at four." He left the club and caught a cab to his furnished room on Tenth Avenue. He boarded with an Italian family to which he was distantly related. His two rooms were separated from the rest of their railroad flat by a special door. He liked the arrangement because it gave him some family life and also protection against surprise where he was most vulnerable.
The sly Turkish fox was going to show his bushy tail, Luca thought. If things went far enough, if Sollozzo committed himself tonight, maybe the whole thing could be wound up as a Christmas present for the Don. In his room, Luca unlocked the trunk beneath the bed and took out a bulletproof vest. It was heavy. He undressed and put it on over his woolen underwear, then put his shirt and jacket over it. He thought for a moment of calling the Don's house at Long Beach to tell him of this new development but he knew the Don never talked over the phone, to anyone, and the Don had given him this assignment in secret and so did not want anyone, not even Hagen or his eldest son, to know about it.
Luca always carried a gun. He had a license to carry a gun, probably the most expensive gun license ever issued anyplace, anytime. It had cost a total of ten thousand dollars but it would keep him out of jail if he was frisked by the cops. As a top executive operating official of the Family he rated the license. But tonight, just in case he could finish off the job, he wanted a "safe" gun. One that could not possibly be traced. But then thinking the matter over, he decided that he would just listen to the proposition tonight and report back to the Godfather, Don Corleone.
He made his way back to the club but he did not drink any more. Instead he wandered out to 48th Street, where he had a leisurely late supper at Patsy's, his favorite Italian restaurant. When it was time for his appointment he drifted uptown to the club entrance. The doorman was no longer there when he went in. The hatcheck girl was gone. Only Bruno Tattaglia waited to greet him and lead him to the deserted bar at the side of the room. Before him he could see the desert of small tables with the polished yellow wood dance floor gleaming like a small diamond in the middle of them. In the shadows was the empty bandstand, out of it grew the skeleton metal stalk of a microphone.
Luca sat at the bar and Bruno Tattaglia went behind it. Luca refused the drink offered to him and lit a cigarette. It was possible that this would turn out to be something else, not the Turk. But then he saw Sollozzo emerge out of the shadows at the far end of the room.
Sollozzo shook his hand and sat at the bar next to him. Tattaglia put a glass in front of the Turk, who nodded his thanks. "Do you know who I am?" asked Sollozzo.
Luca nodded. He smiled grimly. The rats were being flushed out of their holes. It would be his pleasure to take care of this renegade Sicilian.
"Do you know what I am going to ask of you?" Sollozzo asked.
Luca shook his head.
"There's big business to be made," Sollozzo said. "I mean millions for everybody at the top level. On the first shipment I can guarantee you fifty thousand dollars. I'm talking about drugs. It's the coming thing."
Luca said, "Why come to me? You want me to talk to my Don?"
Sollozzo grimaced. "I've already talked to the Don. He wants no part of it. All right, I can do without him. But I need somebody strong to protect the operation physically. I understand you're not happy with your Family, you might make a switch."
Luca shrugged. "If the offer is good enough."
Sollozzo had been watching him intently and seemed to have come to a decision. "Think about my offer for a few days and then we'll talk again," he said. He put out his hand but Luca pretended not to see it and busied himself putting a cigarette in his mouth. Behind the bar, Bruno Tattaglia made a lighter appear magically and held it to Luca's cigarette. And then he did a strange thing. He dropped the lighter on the bar and grabbed Luca's right hand, holding it tight.
Luca reacted instantly, his body slipping off the bar stool and trying to twist away. But Sollozzo had grabbed his other hand at the wrist. Still, Luca was too strong for both of them and would have broken free except that a man stepped out of the shadows behind him and threw a thin silken cord around his neck. The cord pulled tight, choking off Luca's breath. His face became purple, the strength in his arms drained away. Tattaglia and Sollozzo held his hands easily now, and they stood there curiously childlike as the man behind Luca pulled the cord around Luca's neck tighter and tighter. Suddenly the floor was wet and slippery. Luca's sphincter, no longer under control, opened, the waste of his body spilled out. There was no strength in him anymore and his legs folded, his body sagged. Sollozzo and Tattaglia let his hands go and only the strangler stayed with the victim, sinking to his knees to follow Luca's falling body, drawing the cord so tight that it cut into the flesh of the neck and disappeared. Luca's eyes were bulging out of his head as if in the utmost surprise and this surprise was the only humanity remaining to him. He was dead.
"I don't want him found," Sollozzo said. "It's important that he not be found right now" He turned on his heel and left, disappearing back into the shadows.
The day after the shooting of Don Corleone was a busy time for the Family. Michael stayed by the phone relaying messages to Sonny. Tom Hagen was busy trying to find a mediator (посредника) satisfactory to both parties (удовлетворительного, удовлетворяющего) so that a conference could be arranged with Sollozzo. The Turk had suddenly become cagey (уклончивый в ответах, скрытный ['keıdGı]), perhaps he knew that the Family button men of Clemenza and Tessio were ranging far and wide over the city (рыскали; to range) in an attempt to pick up his trail (пытаясь: «в попытке» найти его след; to attempt [∂‘tempt] – пытаться). But Sollozzo was sticking close to his hideout (держался своего укрытия, далеко не отходил), as were all top members of the Tattaglia Family. This was expected by Sonny, an elementary precaution (предосторожность) he knew the enemy was bound to take (непременно предпримет, вынужден предпринять).
Clemenza was tied up with Paulie Gatto. Tessio had been given the assignment of trying to track down the whereabouts of Luca Brasi (местонахождение). Luca had not been home since the night before the shooting, a bad sign. But Sonny could not believe that Brasi had either turned traitor or had been taken by surprise (врасплох).
Mama Corleone was staying in the city with friends of the Family so that she could be near the hospital. Carlo Rizzi, the son-in-law (зять), had offered his services but had been told to take care of his own business that Don Corleone had set him up in, a lucrative bookmaking territory in the Italian section of Manhattan. Connie was staying with her mother in town so that she too could visit her father in the hospital.
Freddie was still under sedation (успокоительные) in his own room of his parents' house. Sonny and Michael had paid him a visit and had been astonished at his paleness (удивлен, поражен его бледностью; pale – бледный) , his obvious illness. "Christ," Sonny said to Michael when they left Freddie's room, "he looks like he got plugged worse than the old man (словно ему больше досталось, чем старику; plugg – пробка, затычка; to plugg – затыкать, закупоривать; нанести сильный удар кулаком /сленг/)."
Michael shrugged. He had seen soldiers in the same condition (в том же состоянии) on the battlefield. But he had never expected it to happen to Freddie. He remembered the middle brother as being physically the toughest one in the family when all of them were kids. But he had also been the most obedient son to his father (послушный [∂'bi:dj∂nt]). And yet everyone knew that the Don had given up on this middle son ever being important to the business (отказался от этой мысли, оставил эту идею). He wasn't quite smart enough, and failing that (кроме того: «за неимением этого»), not quite ruthless enough (ruthless ['ru:θlıs] – безжалостный, беспощадный). He was too retiring a person (застенчивый, скромный, здесь – робкий: «отступающий, уступающий»), did not have enough force.
Late in the afternoon, Michael got a call from Johnny Fontane in Hollywood. Sonny took the phone. "Nah, Johnny, no use coming back here to see the Old Man. He's too sick and it would give you a lot of bad publicity (гласность), and I know the old man wouldn't like that. Wait until he's better and we can move him home, then come see him. OK, I'll give him your regards (передам твое почтение)." Sonny hung up the phone. He turned to Michael and said. "That'll make Pop happy, that Johnny wanted to fly from California to see how he was."
Late that afternoon, Michael was called to the listed phone in the kitchen by one of Clemenza's men. It was Kay.
"Is your father all right?" she asked. Her voice was a little strained (напряжен; to strain – натягивать, напрягать), a little unnatural. Michael knew that she couldn't quite believe what had happened, that his father really was what the newspapers called a gangster.
"He'll be OK," Michael said.
"Can I come with you when you visit him in the hospital?" Kay asked.
Michael laughed. She had remembered him telling her how important it was to do such things if you wanted to get along with the old Italians. "This is a special case," he said. "If the newspaper guys get a hold of your name and background you'll be on page three of the Daily News. Girl from old Yankee family mixed up with son of big Mafia chief. How would your parents like that?"
Kay said dryly, "My parents never read the Daily News." Again there was an awkward pause and then she said, "You're OK, aren't you, Mike, you're not in any danger?"
Mike laughed again. "I'm known as the sissy of the Corleone family (неженка, маменькин сынок, баба /о мужчине/). No threat. So they don't have to bother coming after me (им совершенно незачем за мной охотится, я им неинтересен). No, it's all over, Kay, there won't be any more trouble. It was all sort of an accident anyway (несчастный случай ['æksıd∂nt]). I'll explain when I see you."
"When will that be?" she asked.
Michael pondered. "How about late tonight? We'll have a drink and supper in your hotel and then I'll go to the hospital and see my old man. I'm getting tired of hanging around here answering phones. OK? But don't tell anybody. I don't want newspaper photographers snapping pictures of us together. No kidding, Kay, it's damned embarrassing (ужасно неловко, неприятно; to embarrass [ım’bær∂s] – затруднять, стеснять, ставить в неловкое положение), especially for your parents."
"All right," Kay said. "I'll be waiting. Can I do any Christmas shopping for you? Or anything else?"
"No," Michael said. "Just be ready."
She gave a little excited laugh (to excite [ık’saıt] – возбуждать). "I'll be ready," she said. "Aren't I always?"
"Yes, you are," he said. "That's why you're my best girl."
"I love you," she said. "Can you say it?"
Michael looked at the four hoods sitting in the kitchen (hood = hoodlum [‘hudl∂m] – хулиган /сленг/, здесь – гангстер). "No," he said. "Tonight, OK?"
"OK," she said. He hung up.
Clemenza had finally come back from his day's work and was bustling around the kitchen (суетился; to bustle) cooking up a huge pot of tomato sauce. Michael nodded to him and went to the corner office where he found Hagen and Sonny waiting for him impatiently. "Is Clemenza out there?" Sonny asked.
Michael grinned. "He's cooking up spaghetti for the troops (для войск), just like the army."
Sonny said impatiently, "Tell him to cut out that crap (прекратить эту чепуху) and come on in here. I have more important things for him to do. Get Tessio in here with him."
In a few minutes they were all gathered in the office. Sonny said curtly to Clemenza, "You take care of him?"
Clemenza nodded. "You won't see him anymore."
With a slight electric shock, Michael realized they were talking about Paulie Gatto and that little Paulie was dead, murdered by that jolly (веселым, жизнерадостным) wedding dancer, Clemenza.
Sonny asked Hagen, "You have any luck with Sollozzo?"
Hagen shook his head. "He seems to have cooled off on the negotiation idea (охладел). Anyway he doesn't seem to be too anxious. Or maybe he's just being very careful so that our button men won't nail him. Anyway I haven't been able to set up a top-notch go-between (действительно подходящего посредника; top-notch – отличный, первоклассный) he'll trust. But he must know he has to negotiate now. He missed his chance when he let the old man get away from him."
Sonny said, "He's a smart guy, the smartest our Family ever came up against. Maybe he figured we're just stalling (выжидаем; stall – стойло, конюшня; to stall – поставить в стойло; застрять; увиливать) until the old man gets better or we can get a line on him (to get a line – получить сведения /о ком-л./)."
