The Family Corleone Read Online Free PDF Page A

dismissing the possibility that Luca could find out. “I think she’s a little crazy,” he said. “She was acting crazy all night.”
    Sonny said, “You know this ain’t all about you, Tom. Luca finds out and comes after you, then Pop’s got to go after him. Then we got a war. And all ’cause you can’t keep your zipper closed.”
    “Oh, please!” Tom shouted. “You’re lecturing me about keeping my zipper closed?”
    Sonny knocked the cap off Tom’s head.
    “She’s not going to tell him,” Tom said. “There won’t be any ramifications.”
    “
Ramifications
,” Sonny mocked. “How do you know? How do you know she doesn’t want to make him jealous? Did you think about that? Maybe she’s trying to make him jealous.”
    “That’s pretty crazy, don’t you think?”
    “Yeah,” Sonny said, “but you just said she was crazy. Plus she’s a dame and dames are all nuts. ’Specially the Irish. The whole bunch of them are lunatics.”
    Tom hesitated, and then spoke as if he had settled the question. “I don’t think she’ll tell him,” he said. “If she does, I’ll have no choice but to go to Pop.”
    “What’s the difference if Luca kills you or Pop kills you?”
    Tom said, “What else can I do?” Then he added, the thought just occurring to him, “Maybe I should get a gun.”
    “And what? Blow your foot off with it?”
    “You got an idea?”
    “I don’t,” Sonny said, grinning. “It’s been nice knowing you, though, Tom. You been a good brother to me.” He leaned back and filled the car with his laughing.
    “You’re funny,” Tom said. “Look. I’m betting she won’t tell him.”
    “Yeah,” Sonny said, taking pity on him. He knocked the ash off his cigarette, took a drag, and spoke as he exhaled. “And if she does,” he said, “Pop’ll figure out a way to fix it. You’ll be in the doghouse for a while, but he’s not lettin’ Luca kill you.” After another moment, he added, “Of course, her brothers…,” and then he laughed his big laugh again.
    “You having a good time?” Tom said. “Hotshot?”
    “Sorry,” Sonny said, “but this is rich. Mr. Perfect’s not so perfect. Mr. Good Boy’s got a little bad in him. I’m enjoying this,” he said, and he reached over to rough up Tom’s hair.
    Tom pushed his hand away. “Mama’s worried about you,” he said. “She found a fifty-dollar bill in the pocket of a pair of pants you brought her to wash.”
    Sonny slammed the heel of his hand into the steering wheel. “That’s where it went! She say anything to Pop?”
    “No. Not yet. But she’s worried about you.”
    “What did she do with the money?”
    “Gave it to me.”
    Sonny looked at Tom.
    “Don’t worry,” Tom said. “I’ve got it.”
    “So what’s Mama worried about? I’m workin’. Tell her I saved the money.”
    “Come on, Sonny. Mama’s not stupid. This is a fifty-dollar bill we’re talking about.”
    “So if she’s worried, why don’t she ask me?”
    Tom fell back in his seat, as if he were tired of even trying to talk to Sonny. He opened his window all the way and let the wind blow across his face. “Mama don’t ask you,” he said, “the same way she don’t ask Pop why now we own a whole building in the Bronx, when we used to live the six of us on Tenth Avenue in a two-bedroom apartment. Same reasons why she don’t ask him how come everybody that lives in the building happens to work for him, or why there’s always two guys on the front stoop watching everybody who walks or drives by.”
    Sonny yawned and ran his fingers over a tangle of dark, curly hair that spilled down over his forehead almost to his eyes. “Hey,” he said. “The olive oil business is dangerous.”
    “Sonny,” Tom said. “What are you doing with a fifty-dollar bill in your pocket? What are you doing in a double-breasted, pin-striped suit looking like a gangster? And why,” he asked, moving quickly to shove his hand under Sonny’s suit jacket and up