The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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impassable because of the carelessly parked autos. It was after midnight, so Neri took 
his huge flashlight from the patrol car and went down the street smashing windshields to 
smithereens. It was not easy, even for high-ranking diplomats, to get the windshields 
repaired in less than a few days. Protests poured into the police precinct station house 
demanding protection against this vandalism. After a week of windshield smashing the 
truth gradually hit somebody about what was actually happening and Albert Neri was 
transferred to Harlem. 
One Sunday shortly afterward, Neri took his wife to visit his widowed sister in Brooklyn. 
Albert Neri had the fierce protective affection for his sister common to all Sicilians and 
he always visited her at least once every couple of months to make sure she was all 
right. She was much older than he was and had a son who was twenty. This son, 
Thomas, without a father’s hand, was giving trouble. He had gotten into a few minor 
scrapes, was running a little wild. Neri had once used his contacts on the police force to 
keep the youth from being charged with larceny. On that occasion he had kept his anger 
in check but had given his nephew a warning. “Tommy, you make my sister cry over you 
and I’ll straighten you out myself.” It was intended as a friendly pally-uncle warning, not 
really as a threat. But even though Tommy was the toughest kid in that tough Brooklyn 
neighborhood, he was afraid of his Uncle Al. 
On this particular visit Tommy had come in very late Saturday night and was still 
sleeping in his room. His mother went to wake him, telling him to get dressed so that he 
could eat Sunday dinner with his uncle and aunt. The boy’s voice came harshly through 
the partly opened door, “I don’t give a shit, let me sleep,” and his mother came back out 
into the kitchen smiling apologetically. 
So they had to eat their dinner without him. Neri asked his sister if Tommy was giving 
her any real trouble and she shook her head. 
Neri and his wife were about to leave when Tommy finally got up. He barely grumbled a 
hello and went into the kitchen. Finally he yelled in to his mother, “Hey, Ma, how about 
cooking me something to eat?” But it was not a request. It was the spoiled complaint of 
an indulged child. 
His mother said shrilly, “Get up when it’s dinnertime and then you can eat. I’m not going 
to cook again for you.” 
It was the sort of little ugly scene that was fairly commonplace, but Tommy still a little 
irritable from his slumber made a mistake. “Ah, fuck you and your nagging, I’ll go out 

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