The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
106
not leaving this hospital until you put guards around my father’s room.” 
The captain didn’t bother answering. He said to the detective standing beside him, “Phil, 
lock this punk up.” 
The detective said hesitantly, “The kid is clean, Captain. He’s a war hero and he’s never 
been mixed up in the rackets. The papers could make a stink.” 
The captain started to turn on the detective, his face red with fury. He roared out, 
“Goddamn it, I said lock him up.” 
Michael, still thinking clearly, not angry, said with deliberate malice, “How much is the 
Turk paying you to set my father up, Captain?” 
The police captain turned to him. He said to the two burly patrolmen, “Hold him.” 
Michael felt his arms pinned to his sides. He saw the captain’s massive fist arching 
toward his face. He tried to weave away but the fist caught him high on the cheekbone. 
A grenade exploded in his skull. His mouth filled with blood and small hard bones that 
he realized were his teeth. He could feel the side of his head puff up as if it were filling 
with air. His legs were weightless and he would have fallen if the two policemen had not 
held him up. But he was still conscious. The plainclothes detective had stepped in front 
of him to keep the captain from hitting him again and was saying, “Jesus Christ, 
Captain, you really hurt him.” 
The captain said loudly, “I didn’t touch him. He attacked me and he fell. Do you 
understand that? He resisted arrest.” 
Through a red haze Michael could see more cars pulling up to the curb. Men were 
getting out. One of them he recognized as Clemenza’s lawyer, who was now speaking 
to the police captain, suavely and surely. “The Corleone Family has hired a firm of 
private detectives to guard Mr. Corleone. These men with me are licensed to carry 
firearms, Captain. If you arrest them, you’ll have to appear before a judge in the morning 
and tell him why.” 
The lawyer glanced at Michael. “Do you want to prefer charges against whoever did this 
to you?” he asked. 
Michael had trouble talking. His jaws wouldn’t come together but he managed to 
mumble. “I slipped,” he said. “I slipped and fell.” He saw the captain give him a 
triumphant glance and he tried to answer that glance with a smile. At all costs he wanted 
to hide the delicious icy chilliness that controlled his brain, the surge of wintry cold 

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