The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
49
voice and guinea charm and she runs off. She threw it all away just to make me 
ridiculous. A man in my position, Mr. Hagen, can’t afford to look ridiculous. I have to pay 
Johnny off.” 
For the first time, Woltz succeeded in astounding Hagen. He found it inconceivable that 
a grown man of substance would let such trivialities affect his judgment in an affair of 
business, and one of such importance. In Hagen’s world, the Corleones’ world, the 
physical beauty, the sexual power of women, carried not the slightest weight in worldly 
matters. It was a private affair, except, of course, in matters of marriage and family 
disgrace. Hagen decided to make one last try. 
“You are absolutely right, Mr. Woltz,” Hagen said. “But are your grievances that major? I 
don’t think you’ve understood how important this very small favor is to my client. Mr. 
Corleone held the infant Johnny in his arms when he was baptized. When Johnny’s 
father died, Mr. Corleone assumed the duties of parenthood, indeed he is called 
‘Godfather’ by many, many people who wish to show their respect and gratitude for the 
help he has given them. Mr. Corleone never lets his friends down.” 
Woltz stood up abruptly. “I’ve listened to about enough. Thugs don’t give me orders, I 
give them orders. If I pick up this phone, you’ll spend the night in jail. And if that Mafia 
goombah tries any rough stuff, he’ll find out I’m not a band leader. Yeah, I heard that 
story too. Listen, your Mr. Corleone will never know what hit him. Even if I have to use 
my influence at the White House.” 
The stupid, stupid son of a bitch. How the hell did he get to be a pezzonovante, Hagen 
wondered. Advisor to the President, head of the biggest movie studio in the world. 
Definitely the Don should get into the movie business. And the guy was taking his words 
at their sentimental face value. He was not getting the message. 
“Thank you for the dinner and a pleasant evening,” Hagen said. “Could you give me 
transportation to the airport? I don’t think I’ll spend the night.” He smiled coldly at Woltz. 
“Mr. Corleone is a man who insists on hearing bad news at once.” 
While waiting in the floodlit colonnade of the mansion for his car, Hagen saw two women 
about to enter a long limousine already parked in the driveway. They were the beautiful 
twelve-year-old blond girl and her mother he had seen in Woltz’s office that morning. But 
now the girl’s exquisitely cut mouth seemed to have smeared into a thick, pink mass. 
Her sea-blue eyes were filmed over and when she walked down the steps toward the 
open car her long legs tottered like a crippled foal’s. Her mother supported the child, 

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