The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
369
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.” 
Carlo went out the door first, the other three men very close to him. It was night now, but 
the mail 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 Rizzis 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 
voided itself. Clemenza kept the garrot tight for another few minutes to make sure, then 
released the rope and put it back in his pocket. He relaxed himself against the seat 
cushions as Carlo’s body slumped against the door. After a few moments Clemenza 

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