mp.godfather-第36节

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　of　the　veal。　Then　the　air　seemed　to　fill　with　a　fine　mist　of　sprayed　blood　as　he　coughed　it　out　of　his　shattered　lungs。　Very　coolly；　very　deliberately；　Michael　fired　the　next　shot　through　the　top　of　his　white…haired　skull。
　
　The　air　seemed　to　be　full　of　pink　mist。　Michael　swung　toward　the　man　sitting　against　the　wall。　This　man　had　not　made　a　move。　He　seemed　paralyzed。　Now　he　carefully　showed　his　hands　on　top　of　the　table　and　looked　away。　The　waiter　was　staggering　back　toward　the　kitchen；　an　expression　of　horror　on　his　face；　staring　at　Michael　in　disbelief。　Sollozzo　was　still　in　his　chair；　the　side　of　his　body　propped　up　by　the　table。　McCluskey；　his　heavy　body　pulling　downward；　had　fallen　off　his　chair　onto　the　floor。　Michael　let　the　gun　slip　out　of　his　hand　so　that　it　bound　off　his　body　and　made　no　noise。　He　saw　that　neither　the　man　against　the　wall　nor　the　waiter　had　noticed　him　dropping　the　gun。　He　strode　the　few　steps　toward　the　door　and　opened　it。　Sollozzo's　car　was　parked　at　the　curb　still；　but　there　was　no　sign　of　the　driver。　Michael　turned　left　and　around　the　corner。　Headlights　flashed　on　and　a　battered　sedan　pulled　up　to　him；　the　door　swinging　open。　He　jumped　in　and　the　car　roared　away。　He　saw　that　it　was　Tessio　at　the　wheel；　his　trim　features　hard　as　marble。
　
　〃Did　you　do　the　job　on　Sollozzo？〃　Tessio　asked。
　
　For　that　moment　Michael　was　struck　by　the　idiom　Tessio　had　used。　It　was　always　used　in　a　sexual　sense；　to　do　the　job　on　a　woman　meant　seducing　her。　It　was　curious　that　Tessio　used　it　now。　〃Both　of　them；〃　Michael　said。
　
　〃Sure？〃　Tessio　asked。
　
　〃I　saw　their　brains；〃　Michael　said。
　
　There　was　a　change　of　clothes　for　Michael　in　the　car。　Twenty　minutes　later　he　was　on　an　Italian　freighter　slated　for　Sicily。　Two　hours　later　the　freighter　put　out　to　sea　and　from　his　cabin　Michael　could　see　the　lights　of　New　York　City　burning　like　the　fires　of　hell。　He　felt　an　enormous　sense　of　relief。　He　was　out　of　it　now。　The　feeling　was　familiar　and　he　remembered　being　taken　off　the　beach　of　an　island　his　Marine　division　had　invaded。　The　battle　had　been　still　going　on　but　he　had　received　a　slight　wound　and　was　being　ferried　back　to　a　hospital　ship。　He　had　felt　the　same　overpowering　relief　then　that　he　felt　now。　All　hell　would　break　loose　but　he　wouldn't　be　there。
　
　**********
　
　On　the　day　after　the　murder　of　Sollozzo　and　Captain　McCluskey；　the　police　captains　and　lieutenants　in　every　station　house　in　New　York　City　sent　out　the　word：　there　would　be　no　more　gambling；　no　more　prostitution；　no　more　deals　of　any　kind　until　the　murderer　of　Captain　McCluskey　was　caught。　Massive　raids　began　all　over　the　city。　All　unlawful　business　activities　came　to　a　standstill。
　
　Later　that　day　an　emissary　from　the　Families　asked　the　Corleone　Family　if　they　were　prepared　to　give　up　the　murderer。　They　were　told　that　the　affair　did　not　concern　them。　That　night　a　bomb　exploded　in　the　Corleone　Family　mall　in　Long　Beach；　thrown　from　a　car　that　pulled　up　to　the　chain；　then　roared　away。　That　night　also　two　button　men　of　the　Corleone　Family　were　killed　as　they　peaceably　ate　their　dinner　in　a　small　Italian　restaurant　in　Greenwich　Village。　The　Five　Families　War　of　1946　had　begun。
　
　Book　Two
　
　Chapter　12
　
　Johnny　Fontane　waved　a　casual　dismissal　to　the　manservant　and　said；　〃See　you　in　the　morning；　Billy。〃　The　colored　butler　bowed　his　way　out　of　the　huge　dining　room…living　room　with　its　view　of　the　Pacific　Ocean。　It　was　a　friendly…goodbye　sort　of　bow；　not　a　servant's　bow；　and　given　only　because　Johnny　Fontane　had　pany　for　dinner。
　
　Johnny's　pany　was　a　girl　named　Sharon　Moore；　a　New　York　City　Greenwich　Village　girl　in　Hollywood　to　try　for　a　small　part　in　a　movie　being　produced　by　an　old　flame　who　had　made　the　big　time。　She　had　visited　the　set　while　Johnny　was　acting　in　the　Woltz　movie。　Johnny　had　found　her　young　and　fresh　and　charming　and　witty；　and　had　asked　her　to　e　to　his　place　for　dinner　that　evening。　His　invitations　to　dinner　were　always　famous　and　had　the　force　of　royalty　and　of　course　she　said　yes。
　
　Sharon　Moore　obviously；　expected　him　to　e　on　very　strong　because　of　his　reputation；　but　Johnny　hated　the　Hollywood　〃piece　of　meat〃　approach。　He　never　slept　with　any　girl　unless　there　was　something　about　her　he　really　liked。　Except；　of　course；　sometimes　when　he　was　very　drunk　and　found　himself　in　bed　with　a　girl　he　didn't　even　remember　meeting　or　seeing　before。　And　now　that　he　was　thirty…five　years　old；　divorced　once；　estranged　from　his　second　wife；　with　maybe　a　thousand　pubic　scalps　dangling　from　his　belt；　he　simply　wasn't　that　eager。　But　there　was　something　about　Sharon　Moore　that　aroused　affection　in　him　and　so　he　had　invited　her　to　dinner。
　
　He　never　ate　much　but　he　knew　young　pretty　girls　ambitiously　starved　themselves　for　pretty　clothes　and　were　usually　big　eaters　on　a　date　so　there　was　plenty　of　food　on　the　table。　There　was　also　plenty　of　liquor；　champagne　in　a　bucket；　scotch；　rye；　brandy　and　liqueurs　on　the　sideboard。　Johnny　served　the　drinks　and　the　plates　of　food　already　prepared。　When　they　had　finished　eating　he　led　her　into　the　huge　living　room　with　its　glass　wall　that　looked　out　onto　the　Pacific。　He　put　a　stack　of　Ella　Fitzgerald　records　on　the　hifi　and　settled　on　the　couch　with　Sharon。　He　made　a　little　small　talk　with　her；　found　out　about　what　she　had　been　like　as　a　kid；　whether　she　had　been　a　tomboy　or　boy　crazy；　whether　she　had　been　homely　or　pretty；　lonely　or　gay。　He　always　found　these　details　touching；　it　always　evoked　the　tenderness　he　needed　to　make　love。
　
　They　nestled　together　on　the　sofa；　very　friendly；　very　fortable。　He　kissed　her　on　the　lips；　a　cool　friendly　kiss；　and　when　she　kept　it　that　way　he　left　it　that　way。　Outside　the　huge　picture　window　he　could　see　the　dark　blue　sheet　of　the　Pacific　lying　flat　beneath　the　moonlight。
　
　〃How　e　you're　not　playing　any　of　your　records？〃　Sharon　asked　him。　Her　voice　was　teasing。　Johnny　smiled　at　her。　He　was　amused　by　her　teasing　him。　〃I'm　not　that　Hollywood；〃　he　said。
　
　〃Play　some　for　me；〃　she　said。　〃Or　sing　for　me。　You　know；　like　the　movies。　I'll　bubble　up　and　melt　all　over　you　just　like　those　girls　do　on　the　screen。〃
　
　Johnny　laughed　outright。　When　he　had　been　younger；　he　had　done　just　such　things　and　the　result　had　always　been　stagy；　the　girls　trying　to　look　sexy　and　melting；　making　their　eyes　swim　with　desire　for　an　imagined　fantasy　camera。　He　would　never　dream　of　singing　to　a　girl　now；　for　one　thing；　he　hadn't　sung　for　months；　he　didn't　trust　his　voice。　For　another　thing；　amateurs　didn't　realize　how　much　professionals　depended　on　technical　help　to　sound　as　good　as　they　did。　He　could　have　played　his　records　but　he　felt　the　same　shyness　about　hearing　his　youthful　passionate　voice　as　an　aging；　balding　man　running　to　fat　feels　about　showing　pictures　of　himself　as　a　youth　in　the　full　bloom　of　manhood。
　
　〃My　voice　is　out　of　shape；〃　he　said。　〃And　honestly；　I'm　sick　of　hearing　myself　sing。〃
　
　They　both　sipped　their　drinks。　〃I　hear　you're　great　in　this　picture；〃　she　said。　〃Is　it　true　you　did　it　for　nothing？〃
　
　〃Just　a　token　payment；〃　Johnny　said。
　
　He　got　up　to　give　her　a　refill　on　her　brandy　glass；　gave　her　a　gold…monogrammed　cigarette　and　flashed　his　lighter　out　to　hold　the　light　for　her。　She　puffed　on　the　cigarette　and　sipped　her　drink　and　he　sat　down　beside　her　again。　His　glass　had　considerably　more　brandy　in　it　than　hers；　he　needed　it　to　warm　himself；　to　cheer　himself；　to　charge　himself　up。　His　situation　was　the　reverse　of　the　lover's　usual　one。　He　had　to　get　himself　drunk　instead　of　the　girl。　The　girl　was　usually　too　willing　where　he　was　not。　The　last　two　years　had　been　hell　on　his　ego；　and　he　used　this　simple　way　to　restore　it；　sleeping　with　a　young　fresh　girl　for　one　night；　taking　her　to　dinner　a　few　times；　giving　her　an　expensive　present　and　then　brushing　her　off　in　the　nicest　way　possible　so　that　her　feelings　wouldn't　be　hurt。　And　then　they　could　always　say　they　had　had　a　thing　with　the　great　Johnny　Fontane。　It　wasn't　true　love；　but　you　couldn't　knock　it　if　the　girl　was　beautiful　and　genuinely　nice。　He　hated　the　hard；　bitchy　ones；　the　ones　who　screwed　for　him　and　then　rushed　off　to　tell　their　friends　that　they'd　screwed　the　great　Johnny　Fontane；　always　adding　that　they'd　had　better。　What　amazed　him　more　than　anything　else　in　his　career　were　the　plaisant　husbands　who　almost　told　him　to　his　face　that　they　forgave　their　wives　since　it　was　allowed　for　even　the　most　virtuous　matron　to　be　unfaithful　with　a　great　singing　and　movie　star　like　Johnny　Fontane。　That　really　floored　him。
　
　He　loved　Ella　Fitzgerald　on　records。　He　loved　that　kind　of　clean　singing；　that　kind　of　clean　phrasing。　It　was　the　only　thing　in　life　he　really　understood　and　he　knew　he　understood　it　better　than　anyone　else　on　earth。　Now　lying　back　on　the　couch；　the　brandy　warming　his　throat；　he　felt　a　desire　to　sing；　not　music；　but　to　phrase　with　the　records；　yet　it　was　something　impossible　to　do　in　front　of　a　stranger。　He　put　his　free　hand　in　Sharon's　lap；　sipping　his　drink　from　his　other　hand。　Without　any　slyness　but　with　the　sensualness　of　a　child　seeking　warmth；　his　hand　in　her　lap　pulled　up　the　silk　of　her　dress　to　show　milky　white