The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
129
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 

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