The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
68
coming.” 
Sonny cradled the phone. He forced himself to sit still. He knew that his greatest 
weakness was his anger and this was one time when anger could be fatal. The first 
thing to do was get Tom Hagen. But before he could pick up the phone, it rang. The call 
was from the bookmaker licensed by the Family to operate in the district of the Don’s 
office. The bookmaker had called to tell him that the Don had been killed, shot dead in 
the street. After a few questions to make sure that the bookmaker’s informant had not 
been close to the body, Sonny dismissed the information as incorrect. Phillips’ dope 
would be more accurate. The phone rang almost immediately a third time. It was a 
reporter from the Daily News. As soon as he identified himself, Sonny Corleone hung 
up. 
He dialed Hagen’s house and asked Hagen’s wife, “Did Tom come home yet?” She 
said, “No,” that he was not due for another twenty minutes but she expected him home 
for supper. “Have him call me,” Sonny said. 
He tried to think things out. He tried to imagine how his father would react in a like 
situation. He had known immediately that this was an attack by Sollozzo, but Sollozzo 
would never have dared to eliminate so high-ranking a leader as the Don unless he was 
backed by other powerful people. The phone, ringing for the fourth time, interrupted his 
thoughts. The voice on the other end was very soft, very gentle. “Santino Corleone?” it 
asked. 
“Yeah,” Sonny said. 
“We have Tom Hagen,” the voice said. “In about three hours he’ll be released with our 
proposition. Don’t do anything rash until you’ve heard what he has to say. You can only 
cause a lot of trouble. What’s done is done. Everybody has to be sensible now. Don’t 
lose that famous temper of yours.” The voice was slightly mocking. Sonny couldn’t be 
sure, but it sounded like Sollozzo. He made his voice sound muted, depressed. “I’ll 
wait,” he said. He heard the receiver on the other end click. He looked at his heavy 
gold-banded wristwatch and noted the exact time of the call and jotted it down on the 
tablecloth. 
He sat at the kitchen table, frowning. His wife asked, “Sonny, what is it?” He told her 
calmly, “They shot the old man.” When he saw the shock on her face he said roughly, 
“Don’t worry; he’s not dead. And nothing else is going to happen.” He did not tell her 
about Hagen. And then the phone rang for the fifth time. 

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