The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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agreement was reached but two months later the strong-arm was shot to death in his 
favorite barbershop. 
So Hagen started again, speaking in the most ordinary voice. “Look at my card,” he 
said. “I’m a lawyer. Would I stick my neck out? Have I uttered one threatening word? Let 
me just say that I am prepared to meet any condition you name to get Johnny Fontane 
that movie. I think I’ve already offered a great deal for such a small favor. A favor that I 
understand it would be in your interest to grant. Johnny tells me that you admit he would 
be perfect for that part. And let me say that this favor would never be asked if that were 
not so. In fact, if you’re worried about your investment, my client would finance the 
picture. But please let me make myself absolutely clear. We understand your no is no. 
Nobody can force you or is trying to. We know about your friendship with Mr. Hoover, I 
may add, and my boss respects you for it. He respects that relationship very much.” 
Woltz had been doodling with a huge, red-feathered pen. At the mention of money his 
interest was aroused and he stopped doodling. He said patronizingly, “This picture is 
budgeted at five million.” 
Hagen whistled softly to show that he was impressed. Then he said very casually, “My 
boss has a lot of friends who back his judgment.” 
For the first time Woltz seemed to take the whole thing seriously. He studied Hagen’s 
card. “I never heard of you,” he said. “I know most of the big lawyers in New York, but 
just who the hell are you?” 
“I have one of those dignified corporate practices,” Hagen said dryly. “I just handle this 
one account.” He rose. “I won’t take up any more of your time.” He held out his hand, 
Woltz shook it. Hagen took a few steps toward the door and turned to face Woltz again. 
“I understand you have to deal with a lot of people who try to seem more important than 
they are. In my case the reverse is true. Why don’t you check me out with our mutual 
friend? If you reconsider, call me at my hotel.” He paused. “This may be sacrilege to 
you, but my client can do things for you that even Mr. Hoover might find out of his 
range.” He saw the movie producer’s eyes narrowing. Woltz was finally getting the 
message. “By the way, I admire your pictures very much,” Hagen said in the most 
fawning voice he could manage. “I hope you can keep up the good work. Our country 
needs it.” 
Late that afternoon Hagen received a call from the producer’s secretary that a car would 
pick him up within the hour to take him out to Mr. Woltz’s country home for dinner. She 

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