The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
117
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 

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