mp.godfather-第39章

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g　amiss；　something　not　quite　right。　He　was　a　little　worried。　He　said　to　Vito　Corleone；　〃Watch　yourself　with　that　bastard　of　a　Black　Hand；　he's　tricky　as　a　priest。　Do　you　want　me　to　be　here　when　you　hand　him　the　money；　as　a　witness？〃
　
　Vito　Corleone　shook　his　head。　He　didn't　even　bother　to　answer。　He　merely　said　to　Tessio；　〃Tell　Fanucci　I'll　pay　him　the　money　here；　in　my　house　at　nine　o'clock　tonight。　I'll　have　to　give　him　a　glass　of　wine　and　talk；　reason　with　him　to　take　the　lesser　sum。〃
　
　Tessio　shook　his　head。　〃You　won't　have　much　luck。　Fanucci　never　retreats。〃
　
　〃I'll　reason　with　him；〃　Vito　Corleone　said。　It　was　to　bee　a　famous　phrase　in　the　years　to　e。　It　was　to　bee　the　warning　rattle　before　a　deadly　strike。　When　he　became　a　Don　and　asked　opponents　to　sit　down　and　reason　with　him；　they　understood　it　was　the　last　chance　to　resolve　an　affair　without　bloodshed　and　murder。
　
　Vito　Corleone　told　his　wife　to　take　the　two　children；　Sonny　and　Fredo；　down　into　the　street　after　supper　and　on　no　account　to　let　them　e　up　to　the　house　until　he　gave　her　permission。　She　was　to　sit　on　guard　at　the　tenement　door。　He　had　some　private　business　with　Fanucci　that　could　not　be　interrupted。　He　saw　the　look　of　fear　on　her　face　and　was　angry。　He　said　to　her　quietly；　〃Do　you　think　you've　married　a　fool？〃　She　didn't　answer。　She　did　not　answer　because　she　was　frightened；　not　of　Fanucci　now；　but　of　her　husband。　He　was　changing　visibly　before　her　eyes；　hour　by　hour；　into　a　man　who　radiated　some　dangerous　force。　He　had　always　been　quiet；　speaking　little；　but　always　gentle；　always　reasonable；　which　was　extraordinary　in　a　young　Sicilian　male。　What　she　was　seeing　was　the　shedding　of　his　protective　coloration　of　a　harmless　nobody　now　that　he　was　ready　to　start　on　his　destiny。　He　had　started　late；　he　was　twenty…five　years　old；　but　he　was　to　start　with　a　flourish。
　
　Vito　Corleone　had　decided　to　murder　Fanucci。　By　doing　so　he　would　have　an　extra　seven　hundred　dollars　in　his　bankroll。　The　three　hundred　dollars　he　himself　would　have　to　pay　the　Black　Hand　terrorist　and　the　two　hundred　dollars　from　Tessio　and　the　two　hundred　dollars　from　Clemenza。　If　he　did　not　kill　Fanucci；　he　would　have　to　pay　the　man　seven　hundred　dollars　cold　cash。　Fanucci　alive　was　not　worth　seven　hundred　dollars　to　him。　He　would　not　pay　seven　hundred　dollars　to　keep　Fanucci　alive。　If　Fanucci　needed　seven　hundred　dollars　for　an　operation　to　save　his　life；　he　would　not　give　Fanucci　seven　hundred　dollars　for　the　surgeon。　He　owed　Fanucci　no　personal　debt　of　gratitude；　they　were　not　blood　relatives；　he　did　not　love　Fanucci。　Why；　then；　should　he　give　Fanucci　seven　hundred　dollars？
　
　And　it　followed　inevitably；　that　since　Fanucci　wished　to　take　seven　hundred　dollars　from　him　by　force；　why　should　he　not　kill　Fanucci？　Surely　the　world　could　do　without　such　a　person。
　
　There　were　of　course　some　practical　reasons。　Fanucci　might　indeed　have　powerful　friends　who　would　seek　vengeance。　Fanucci　himself　was　a　dangerous　man；　not　so　easily　killed。　There　were　the　police　and　the　electric　chair。　But　Vito　Corleone　had　lived　under　a　sentence　of　death　since　the　murder　of　his　father。　As　a　boy　of　twelve　he　had　fled　his　executioners　and　crossed　the　ocean　into　a　strange　land；　taking　a　strange　name。　And　years　of　quiet　observation　had　convinced　him　that　he　had　more　intelligence　and　more　courage　than　other　men；　though　he　had　never　had　the　opportunity　to　use　that　intelligence　and　courage。
　
　And　yet　he　hesitated　before　taking　the　first　step　toward　his　destiny。　He　even　packed　the　seven　hundred　dollars　in　a　single　fold　of　bills　and　put　the　money　in　a　convenient　sick　pocket　of　his　trousers。　But　he　put　the　money　in　the　left　side　of　his　trousers。　In　the　right…hand　pocket　he　put　the　gun　Clemenza　had　given　him　to　use　in　the　hijacking　of　the　silk　truck。
　
　Fanucci　came　promptly　at　nine　in　the　evening。　Vito　Corleone　set　out　a　jug　of　homemade　wine　that　Clemenza　had　given　him。
　
　Fanucci　put　his　white　fedora　on　the　table　beside　the　jug　of　wine。　He　loosened　his　broad　multiflowered　tie；　its　tomato　stains　camouflaged　by　the　bright　patterns。　The　summer　night　was　hot；　the　gaslight　feeble。　It　was　very　quiet　in　the　apartment。　But　Vito　Corleone　was　icy。　To　show　his　good　faith　he　handed　over　the　roll　of　bills　and　watched　carefully　as　Fanucci；　after　counting　it；　took　out　a　wide　leather　wallet　and　stuffed　the　money　inside。　Fanucci　sipped　his　glass　of　wine　and　said；　〃You　still　owe　me　two　hundred　dollars。〃　His　heavy…browed　face　was　expressionless。
　
　Vito　Corleone　said　in　his　cool　reasonable　voice；　〃I'm　a　little　short；　I've　been　out　of　work。　Let　me　owe　you　the　money　for　a　few　weeks。〃
　
　This　was　a　permissible　gambit。　Fanucci　had　the　bulk　of　the　money　and　would　wait。　He　might　even　be　persuaded　to　take　nothing　more　or　to　wait　a　little　longer。　He　chuckled　over　his　wine　and　said；　〃Ah；　you're　a　sharp　young　fellow。　How　is　it　I've　never　noticed　you　before？　You're　too　quiet　a　chap　for　your　own　interest。　I　could　find　some　work　for　you　to　do　that　would　be　very　profitable。〃
　
　Vito　Corleone　showed　his　interest　with　a　polite　nod　and　filled　up　the　man's　glass　from　the　purple　jug。　But　Fanucci　thought　better　of　what　he　was　going　to　say　and　rose　from　his　chair　and　shook　Vito's　hand。　〃Good　night；　young　fellow；〃　he　said。　〃No　hard　feelings；　eh？　If　I　can　ever　do　you　a　service　let　me　know。　You've　done　a　good　job　for　yourself　tonight。〃
　
　Vito　let　Fanucci　go　down　the　stairs　and　out　the　building。　The　street　was　thronged　with　witnesses　to　show　that　he　had　left　the　Corleone　home　safely。　Vito　watched　from　the　window。　He　saw　Fanucci　turn　the　corner　toward　11th　Avenue　and　knew　he　was　headed　toward　his　apartment；　probably　to　put　away　his　loot　before　ing　out　on　the　streets　again。　Perhaps　to　put　away　his　gun。　Vito　Corleone　left　his　apartment　and　ran　up　the　stairs　to　the　roof。　He　traveled　over　the　square　block　of　roofs　and　descended　down　the　steps　of　an　empty　loft　building　fire　escape　that　left　him　in　the　back　yard。　He　kicked　the　back　door　open　and　went　through　the　front　door。　Across　the　street　was　Fanucci's　tenement　apartment　house。
　
　The　village　of　tenements　extended　only　as　far　west　as　Tenth　Avenue。　Eleventh　Avenue　was　mostly　warehouses　and　lofts　rented　by　firms　who　shipped　by　New　York　Central　Railroad　and　wanted　access　to　the　freight　yards　that　honeybed　the　area　from　Eleventh　Avenue　to　the　Hudson　River。　Fanucci's　apartment　house　was　one　of　the　few　left　standing　in　this　wilderness　and　was　occupied　mostly　by　bachelor　trainmen；　yard　workers；　and　the　cheapest　prostitutes。　These　people　did　not　sit　in　the　street　and　gossip　like　honest　Italians；　they　sat　in　beer　taverns　guzzling　their　pay。　So　Vito　Corleone　found　it　an　easy　matter　to　slip　across　the　deserted　Eleventh　Avenue　and　into　the　vestibule　of　Fanucci's　apartment　house。　There　he　drew　the　gun　he　had　never　fired　and　waited　for　Fanucci。
　
　He　watched　through　the　glass　door　of　the　vestibule；　knowing　Fanucci　would　e　down　from　Tenth　Avenue。　Clemenza　had　showed　him　the　safety　on　the　gun　and　he　had　triggered　it　empty。　But　as　a　young　boy　in　Sicily　at　the　early　age　of　nine；　he　had　often　gone　hunting　with'his　father；　had　often　fired　the　heavy　shotgun　called　the　lupara。　It　was　his　skill　with　the　lupara　even　as　a　small　boy　that　had　brought　the　sentence　of　death　upon　him　by　his　father's　murderers。
　
　Now　waiting　in　the　darkened　hallway；　he　saw　the　white　blob　of　Fanucci　crossing　the　street　toward　the　doorway。　Vito　stepped　back；　shoulders　pressed　against　the　inner　door　that　led　to　the　stairs。　He　held　his　gun　out　to　fire。　His　extended　hand　was　only　two　paces　from　the　outside　door。　The　door　swung　in。　Fanucci；　white；　broad；　smelly；　filled　the　square　of　light。　Vito　Corleone　fired。
　The　opened　door　let　some　of　the　sound　escape　into　the　street；　the　rest　of　the　gun's　explosion　shook　the　building。　Fanucci　was　holding　on　to　the　sides　of　the　door；　trying　to　stand　erect；　trying　to　reach　for　his　gun。　The　force　of　his　struggle　had　torn　the　buttons　off　his　jacket　and　made　it　swing　loose。　His　gun　was　exposed　but　so　was　a　spidery　vein　of　red　on　the　white　shirtfront　of　his　stomach。　Very　carefully；　as　if　he　were　plunging　a　needle　into　a　vein；　Vito　Corleone　fired　his　second　bullet　into　that　red　web。
　
　Fanucci　fell　to　his　knees；　propping　the　door　open。　He　let　out　a　terrible　groan；　the　groan　of　a　man　in　great　physical　distress　that　was　almost　ical。　He　kept　giving　these　groans；　Vito　remembered　hearing　at　least　three　of　them　before　he　put　the　gun　against　Fanucci's　sweaty；　suety　cheek　and　fired　into　his　brain。　No　more　than　five　seconds　had　passed　when　Fanucci　slumped　into　death；　jamming　the　door　open　with　his　body。
　
　Very　carefully　Vito　took　the　wide　wallet　out　of　the　dead　man's　jacket　pocket　and　put　it　inside　his　shirt。　Then　he　walked　across　the　street　into　the　loft　building；　through　that　into　the　yard　and　climbed　the　fire　escape　to　the　roof。　From　there　he　surveyed　the　street。　Fanucci's　body　was　still　lying　in　the　doorway　but　there　was　no　sign　of　any　other　person。　Two　windows　had　gone　up　in　the　tenement　and　he　could　see　dark　heads　poked　out　but　since　he　could　not　see　their　features　they　had　certainly　not　seen　his。　And　such　men　would　not　give　information　to　the　police。　Fanucci　might　lie　there　until　dawn　or　until　a　patrolman　making　the　rounds　stumbled　on　his　body。　No　person　in　that　house　would　deliberately　expose　himself　to　police　suspicion　or　questioning。　They　would　lock　their　doors　and　pretend　they　had　heard　nothing。
　
　He　could　take　his　time。　He　traveled　over　the　rooftops　to　his　own　roof　door　and　down　to　his　own　flat。　He　unlocked　the　door；　went　inside　and　then　locked　the　door　behind　him。　He　rifled　the　dead　man's　wallet。　Besides　the　seven　hundred　dollars　he　had　given　Fanucci　there　were　only　some　singles　and　a　five…dollar　note。
　
　Tucked　inside　the　flap　was　an　old　five…dollar　gold　piece；　probably　a　luck　token。　If　Fanucci　was　a　rich　gangster；　he　certainly　did　not　carry　his　wealth　with　him。　This　confirmed　some　of　Vito's　suspicions。
　
　He　knew　he　had　to　get　rid　of　the　wallet　and　the　gun　（knowing　enough　even　then　that　he　must　leave　the　gold　piece　in　the　wallet）。　He　went　up　on　the　roof　again　and　traveled　over　a　few　ledges。　He　threw　the　wallet　down　one　air　shaft　and　then　he　emptied　the　gun　of　bullets　and　smashed　its　barrel　against　the　roof　ledge。　The　barrel　wouldn't　break。　He　reversed　it　in　his　hand　and　smashed　the　butt　against　the　side　of　a　chimney。　The　butt　split　into　two　halves。　He　smashed　it　again　and　the　pistol　broke　into　barrel　and　handle；　two　separate　pieces。　He　used　a　separate　air　shaft　for　each。　They　made　no　sound　when　they　struck　the　earth　five　stories　below；　but　sank　into　the　soft　hill　of　garbage　that　had　accumulated　there。　In　the　morning　more　garbage　would　be　thrown　out　of　the　windows　and；　with　luck；　would　cover　everything。　Vito　returned　to　his　apartment。
　
　He　was　trembling　a　little　but　was　absolutely　under　control。　He　changed　his　clothes　and　fearful　that　some　blood　might　have　splattered　on　them；　he　threw　them　into　a　metal　tub　his　wife　used　for　washing。　He　took　lye　and　heavy　brown　laundry　soap　to　soak　the　clothes　and　scrubbed　them　with　the　metal　wash　board　beneath　the　sink。　Then　he　scoured　tub　and　sink　with　lye　and　soap。　He　found　a　bundle　of　newly　washed　clothes　in　the　corner　o