The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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proposals. I assume you have the authority to agree, to make a deal.” 
Michael said in Sicilian, “Tell me more about how you propose to start your business, 
exactly what part my Family has to play in it and what profit we can take from this 
business.” 
“You want the whole proposition in detail then?” Sollozzo asked. 
Michael said gravely, “Most important of all I must have sure guarantees that no more 
attempts will be made on my father’s life.” 
Sollozzo raised his hand expressively. “What guarantees can I give you? I’m the hunted 
one. I’ve missed my chance. You think too highly of me, my friend. I am not that clever.” 
Michael was sure now that the conference was only to gain a few days’ time. That 
Sollozzo would make another attempt to kill the Don. What was beautiful was that the 
Turk was underrating him as a punk kid. Michael felt that strange delicious chill filling his 
body. He made his face look distressed. Sollozzo asked sharply, “What is it?” 
Michael said with an embarrassed air, “The wine went right to my bladder. I’ve been 
holding it in. Is it all right if I go to the bathroom?” 
Sollozzo was searching his face intently with his dark eyes. He reached over and 
roughly thrust his hand in Michael’s crotch, under it and around, searching for a weapon. 
Michael looked offended. McCluskey said curtly, “I frisked him. I’ve frisked thousands of 
young punks. He’s clean.” 
Sollozzo didn’t like it. For no reason at all he didn’t like it. He glanced at the man sitting 
at a table opposite them and raised his eyebrows toward the door of the bathroom. The 
man gave a slight nod that he had checked it, that there was nobody inside. Sollozzo 
said reluctantly, “Don’t take too long.” He had marvelous antenna, he was nervous. 
Michael got up and went into the bathroom. The urinal had a pink bar of soap in it 
secured by a wire net. He went into the booth. He really had to go, his bowels were 
loose. He did it very quickly, then reached behind the enamel water cabinet until his 
hand touched the small, blunt-nosed gun fastened with tape. He ripped the gun loose, 
remembering that Clemenza had said not to worry about leaving prints on the tape. He 
shoved the gun into his waistband and buttoned his jacket over it. He washed his hands 
and wet his hair. He wiped his prints off the faucet with his handkerchief. Then he left 
the toilet. 
Sollozzo was sitting directly facing the door of the toilet, his dark eyes blazing with 

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