mp.godfather-第32节

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After　it's　all　over　and　you're　out　of　the　country　I'll　send　her　word　that　you're　OK。　Those　are　orders。〃　Sonny　smiled　at　his　brother。　〃Now　stick　with　Clemenza　and　get　used　to　handling　the　gun　he　picks　out　for　you。　Maybe　even　practice　a　little。　We'll　take　care　of　everything　else。　Everything。　OK；　kid？〃
　
　Again　Michael　Corleone　felt　that　delicious　refreshing　chilliness　all　over　his　body。　He　said　to　his　brother；　〃You　didn't　have　to　give　me　that　crap　about　not　talking　to　my　girl　friend　about　something　like　this。　What　the　hell　did　you　think　I　was　going　to　do；　call　her　up　to　say　good…bye？〃
　
　Sonny　said　hastily；　〃OK；　but　you're　still　a　rookie　so　I　spell　things　out。　Forget　it。〃
　
　Michael　said　with　a　grin；　〃What　the　hell　do　you　mean；　a　rookie？　I　listened　to　the　old　man　just　as　hard　as　you　did。　How　do　you　think　I　got　so　smart？〃　They　both　laughed。
　
　Hagen　poured　drinks　for　everyone。　He　looked　a　little　glum。　The　statesman　forced　to　go　to　war；　the　lawyer　forced　to　go　to　law。　〃Well；　anyway；　now　we　know　what　we're　going　to　do；〃　he　said。
　
　Chapter　11
　
　Captain　Mark　McCluskey　sat　in　his　office　fingering　three　envelopes　bulging　with　betting　slips。　He　was　frowning　and　wishing　he　could　decode　the　notations　on　the　slips。　It　was　very　important　that　he　do　so。　The　envelopes　were　the　betting　slips　that　his　raiding　parties　had　picked　up　when　they　had　hit　one　of　the　Corleone　Family　bookmakers　the　night　before。　Now　the　bookmaker　would　have　to　buy　back　the　slips　so　that　players　couldn't　claim　winners　and　wipe　him　out。
　
　It　was　very　important　for　Captain　McCluskey　to　decode　the　slips　because　he　didn't　want　to　get　cheated　when　he　sold　the　slips　back　to　the　bookmaker。　If　there　was　fifty　grand　worth　of　action；　then　maybe　he　could　sell　it　back　for　five　grand。　But　if　there　were　a　lot　of　heavy　bets　and　the　slips　represented　a　hundred　grand　or　maybe　even　two　hundred　grand；　then　the　price　should　be　considerably　higher。　McCluskey　fiddled　with　the　envelopes　and　then　decided　to　let　the　bookie　sweat　a　little　bit　and　make　the　first　offer。　That　might　tip　off　what　the　real　price　should　be。
　
　McCluskey　looked　at　the　station　house　clock　on　the　wall　of　his　office。　It　was　time　for　him　to　pick　up　that　greasy　Turk；　Sollozzo；and　take　him　to　wherever　he　was　going　to　meet　the　Corleone　Family。　McCluskey　went　over　to　his　wall　locker　and　started　to　change　into　his　civilian　clothes。　When　he　was　finished　he　called　his　wife　and　told　her　he　would　not　be　home　for　supper　that　night；　that　he　would　be　out　on　the　job。　He　never　confided　in　his　wife　on　anything。　She　thought　they　lived　the　way　they　did　on　his　policeman's　salary。　McCluskey　grunted　with　amusement。　His　mother　had　thought　the　same　thing　but　he　had　learned　early。　His　father　had　shown　him　the　ropes。
　
　His　father　had　been　a　police　sergeant；　and　every　week　father　and　son　had　walked　through　the　precinct　and　McCluskey　Senior　had　introduced　his　six…year…old　son　to　the　storekeepers；　saying；　〃And　this　is　my　little　boy。〃
　
　The　storekeepers　would　shake　his　hand　and　pliment　him　extravagantly　and　ring　open　their　cash　registers　to　give　the　little　boy　a　gift　of　five　or　ten　dollars。　At　the　end　of　the　day；　little　Mark　McCluskey　would　have　all　the　pockets　of　his　suit　stuffed　with　paper　money；　would　feel　so　proud　that　his　father's　friends　liked　him　well　enough　to　give　him　a　present　every　month　they　saw　him。　Of　course　his　father　put　the　money　in　the　bank　for　him；　for　his　college　education；　and　little　Mark　got　at　most　a　fifty…cent　piece　for　himself。
　
　Then　when　Mark　got　home　and　his　policemen　uncles　asked　him　what　he　wanted　to　be　when　he　grew　up　and　he　would　lisp　childishly；　〃A　policeman；〃　they　would　all　laugh　uproariously。　And　of　course　later　on；　though　his　father　wanted　him　to　go　to　college　first；　he　went　right　from　high　school　to　studying　for　the　police　force。
　
　He　had　been　a　good　cop；　a　brave　cop。　The　tough　young　punks　terrorizing　street　corners　fled　when　he　approached　and　finally　vanished　from　his　beat　altogether。　He　was　a　very　tough　cop　and　a　very　fair　one。　He　never　took　his　son　around　to　the　storekeepers　to　collect　his　money　presents　for　ignoring　garbage　violations　and　parking　violations；　he　took　the　money　directly　into　his　own　hand；　direct　because　he　felt　he　earned　it。　He　never　ducked　into　a　movie　house　or　goofed　off　into　restaurants　when　he　was　on　foot　patrol　as　some　of　the　other　cops　did；　especially　on　winter　nights。　He　always　made　his　rounds。　He　gave　his　stores　a　lot　of　protection；　a　lot　of　service。　When　winos　and　drunks　filtered　up　from　the　Bowery　to　panhandle　on　his　beat　he　got　rid　of　them　so　roughly　that　they　never　came　back。　The　tradespeople　in　his　precinct　appreciated　it。　And　they　showed　their　appreciation。
　
　He　also　obeyed　the　system。　The　bookies　in　his　precinct　knew　he　would　never　make　trouble　to　get　an　extra　payoff　for　himself；　that　he　was　content　with　his　share　of　the　station　house　bag。　His　name　was　on　the　list　with　the　others　and　he　never　tried　to　make　extras。　He　was　a　fair　cop　who　took　only　clean　graft　and　his　rise　in　the　police　department　was　steady　if　not　spectacular。
　
　During　the　time　he　was　raising　a　large　family　of　four　sons；　none　of　whom　became　policemen。　They　all　went　to　Fordham　University　and　since　by　that　time　Mark　McCluskey　was　rising　from　sergeant　to　lieutenant　and　finally　to　captain；　they　lacked　for　nothing。　It　was　at　this　time　that　McCluskey　got　the　reputation　for　being　a　hard　bargainer。　The　bookmakers　in　his　district　paid　more　protection　money　than　the　bookmakers　in　any　other　part　of　the　city；　but　maybe　that　was　because　of　the　expense　of　putting　four　boys　through　college。
　
　McCluskey　himself　felt　there　was　nothing　wrong　with　clean　graft。　Why　the　hell　should　his　kids　go　to　CCNY　or　a　cheap　Southern　college　just　because　the　Police　Department　didn't　pay　its　people　enough　money　to　live　on　and　take　care　of　their　families　properly？　He　protected　all　these　people　with　his　life　and　his　record　showed　his　citations　for　gun　duels　with　stickup　men　on　his　beat；　strong…arm　protection　guys；　would…be　pimps。　He　had　hammered　them　into　the　ground。　He　had　kept　his　little　corner　of　the　city　safe　for　ordinary　people　and　he　sure　as　hell　was　entitled　to　more　than　his　lousy　one　C　note　a　week。　But　he　wasn't　indignant　about　his　low　pay；　he　understood　that　everybody　had　to　take　care　of　themselves。
　
　Bruno　Tattaglia　was　an　old　friend　of　his。　Bruno　had　gone　to　Fordham　with　one　of　his　sons　and　then　Bruno　had　opened　his　nightclub　and　whenever　the　McCluskey　family　spent　an　infrequent　night　on　the　town；　they　could　enjoy　the　cabaret　with　liquor　and　dinner…　on　the　house。　On　New　Year's　Eve　they　received　engraved　invitations　to　be　guests　of　the　management　and　always　received　one　of　the　best　tables。　Bruno　always　made　sure　they　were　introduced　to　the　celebrities　who　performed　in　his　club；　some　of　them　famous　singers　and　Hollywood　stars。　Of　course　sometimes　he　asked　a　little　favor；　like　getting　an　employee　with　a　record　cleared　for　a　cabaret　work　license；　usually　a　pretty　girl　with　a　police　dossier　as　a　hustler　or　roller。　McCluskey　would　be　glad　to　oblige。
　
　McCluskey　made　it　a　policy　never　to　show　that　he　understood　what　other　people　were　up　to。　When　Sollozzo　had　approached　him　with　the　proposition　to　leave　old　man　Corleone　uncovered　in　the　hospital；　McCluskey　didn't　ask　why。　He　asked　price。　When　Sollozzo　said　ten　grand；　McCluskey　knew　why。　He　did　not　hesitate。　Corleone　was　one　of　the　biggest　Mafia　men　in　the　country　with　more　political　connections　than　Capone　had　ever　had。　Whoever　knocked　him　off　would　be　doing　the　country　a　big　favor。　McCluskey　took　the　money　in　advance　and　did　the　job。　When　he　received　a　call　from　Sollozzo　that　there　were　still　two　of　Corleone's　men　in　front　of　the　hospital　he　had　flown　into　a　rage。　He　had　locked　up　all　of　Tessio's　men；　he　had　pulled　the　detective　guards　off　the　door　of　Corleone's　hospital　room。　And　now；　being　a　man　of　principle；　he　would　have　to　give　back　the　ten　grand；　money　he　had　already　earmarked　to　insure　the　education　of　his　grandchildren。　It　was　in　that　rage　that　he　had　gone　to　the　hospital　and　struck　Michael　Corleone。
　
　But　it　had　all　worked　out　for　the　best。　He　had　met　with　Sollozzo　in　the　Tattaglia　nightclub　and　they　had　made　an　even　better　deal。　Again　McCluskey　didn't　ask　questions；　since　he　knew　all　the　answers。　He　just　made　sure　of　his　price。　It　never　occurred　to　him　that　he　himself　could　be　in　any　danger。　That　anyone　would　consider　even　for　a　moment　killing　a　New　York　City　police　captain　was　too　fantastic。　The　toughest　hood　in　the　Mafia　had　to　stand　still　if　the　lowliest　patrolman　decided　to　slap　him　around。　There　was　absolutely　no　percentage　in　killing　cops。　Because　then　all　of　a　sudden　a　lot　of　hoods　were　killed　resisting　arrest　or　escaping　the　scene　of　a　crime；　and　who　the　hell　was　going　to　do　anything　about　that？
　
　McCluskey　sighed　and　got　ready　to　leave　the　station　house。　Problems；　always　problems。　His　wife's　sister　in　Ireland　had　just　died　after　many　years　of　fighting　cancer　and　that　cancer　had　cost　him　a　pretty　penny。　Now　the　funeral　would　cost　him　more。　His　own　uncles　and　aunts　in　the　old　country　needed　a　little　help　now　and　then　to　keep　their　potato　farms　and　he　sent　the　money　to　do　the　trick。　He　didn't　begrudge　it。　An