The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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right-hand pocket he put the gun Clemenza had given him to use in the hijacking of the 
silk truck. 
Fanucci came promptly at nine in the evening. Vito Corleone set out a jug of homemade 
wine that Clemenza had given him. 
Fanucci put his white fedora on the table beside the jug of wine. He loosened his broad 
multiflowered tie, its tomato stains camouflaged by the bright patterns. The summer 
night was hot, the gaslight feeble. It was very quiet in the apartment. But Vito Corleone 
was icy. To show his good faith he handed over the roll of bills and watched carefully as 
Fanucci, after counting it, took out a wide leather wallet and stuffed the money inside. 
Fanucci sipped his glass of wine and said, “You still owe me two hundred dollars.” His 
heavy-browed face was expressionless. 
Vito Corleone said in his cool reasonable voice, “I’m a little short, I’ve been out of work. 
Let me owe you the money for a few weeks.” 
This was a permissible gambit. Fanucci had the bulk of the money and would wait. He 
might even be persuaded to take nothing more or to wait a little longer. He chuckled 
over his wine and said, “Ah, you’re a sharp young fellow. How is it I’ve never noticed you 
before? You’re too quiet a chap for your own interest. I could find some work for you to 
do that would be very profitable.” 
Vito Corleone showed his interest with a polite nod and filled up the man’s glass from 
the purple jug. But Fanucci thought better of what he was going to say and rose from his 
chair and shook Vito’s hand. “Good night, young fellow,” he said. “No hard feelings, eh? 
If I can ever do you a service let me know. You’ve done a good job for yourself tonight.” 
Vito let Fanucci go down the stairs and out the building. The street was thronged with 
witnesses to show that he had left the Corleone home safely. Vito watched from the 
window. He saw Fanucci turn the corner toward 11th Avenue and knew he was headed 
toward his apartment, probably to put away his loot before coming out on the streets 
again. Perhaps to put away his gun. Vito Corleone left his apartment and ran up the 
stairs to the roof. He traveled over the square block of roofs and descended down the 
steps of an empty loft building fire escape that left him in the back yard. He kicked the 
back door open and went through the front door. Across the street was Fanucci’s 
tenement apartment house. 
The village of tenements extended only as far west as Tenth Avenue. Eleventh Avenue 
was mostly warehouses and lofts rented by firms who shipped by New York Central 

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