Per Fare Una Pace Fragile (To Make a Fragile Peace

Chapter Six

Sonny, Tom, and Clemenza were in Don Corleone's study when they came downstairs. Tom was sitting on the sofa, drinking a brandy, but he put it aside and stood up quickly when he saw Wilmer. Wilmer went to him, and they exchanged hand clasps. "Wilmer," said Tom. "I feel a lot better now, knowing you're here."

Wilmer nodded. "How are you, old man? You look good. They weren't stupid enough to rough you up?"

Tom shook his head, sitting back down. "No. This was business, not retaliation. Sollozo wants to meet to discuss keeping full scale war from breaking out. No one wants that--it's bad for everyone. We'd all lose people, and," he shrugged, "it's just bad business."

"Business, business," snapped Sonny, pacing in front of the desk. "He'll get the business, all right. Son of a bitch thinks he can try to take out my father not ONCE," his finger stabbed at the floor in emphasis, "but TWICE, the arrogant motherfucker, and the next fuckin' day he wants to call for conciliation! He's got balls like cantaloupes, the bastard."

"What did he have to say?" asked Wilmer.

Tom started to open his mouth to reply, but Sonny broke in again. "What did he say? Badda-beep, badda-bap, badda-boop, badda-beep. Shit, that's what he said. He wants us to send Michael." Sonny pointed at Michael, and his voice shook just a little. "He tried to kill my father, and now he wants my baby brother."

Michael, didn't speak, crossing his arms and looking down at his feet. Clemenza and Wilmer exchanged looks. Neither of them liked that extra tremor in Santino's voice. This was a time that called of cool, clear logic, decisions made beyond emotion. Everyone knew about Sonny's temper, but this seemed to be different--something a little beyond that. Wilmer knew what it was about, but Clemenza didn't.

Sonny continued. "Yeah, he wants Michael, and he says--he PROMISES," Sonny snarled the word, "that the deal is so good that we're not going to be able to turn it down."

Tessio came in, and Wilmer said, "What about Bruno Tattaglia?"

This time Tom managed to speak before Sonny. "That's part of the deal. Bruno cancels out what they did to the Don." Sonny made a sound of disgust, but Tom kept talking. "We ought to see what they have to say."

Sonny stood in front of him, hands balled into fists at his side. "No, no, and no! No more talks, no more deals, no more Sollozzo tricks. As for the other families, you give 'em one message--I want Sollozzo. If I don't get him, it's all out war--we go to the mattresses."

"Sonny, some of the other families won't stand for all out war."

"Then they give me Sollozzo."

"Sonny, your father would't want to hear this. It's business, not personal."

"They shot my father!"

Tom said quietly, "Even shooting your father was business, not personal."

Wilmer wanted to shake his head. *You're trying to talk sense to him, Tom. Ain't gonna work.*

Sonny went and threw himself into the chair behind the desk. His voice sounded almost petulant. "Well, businesses take a downturn now and then. And Tom, do me a favor? No more advice on how to patch things up--just help me win, all right?"

Tom sighed, and nodded. If he kept arguing, Sonny would just get more stubborn. All he could do was go along, and try to keep his adopted brother from doing anything TOO outrageous. "I found out about this Captain McCluskey--the one who broke Michael's jaw."

Sonny sat forward, and there was a lethal undertone in his voice. "What about him?" Normally that tone would have pleased Wilmer, but he had a feeling that it wasn't so much brotherly concern as it was rage that someone had dared lay hands on what Sonny considered to be his own.

Tom was going to make one more try. "McCluskey is on Sollozzo's payroll, and he's paying him hefty money. In return, McCluskey is acting as the Turk's personal body guard. When he's guarded like that, Sonny, he's invulnerable, and he knows it. No one has ever dared kill a New York police captain. It would be a disaster. All Five Families would come after you--the Corleone family would be pariahs. Even the old man's political cover would run. Please, Sonny--at least consider this."

Sonny was still obviously unhappy, but the seriousness of what he wanted had finally seeped in. "All right," he sighed. "We wait."

"We CAN'T wait." All eyes turned in surprise to Michael. He had taken a seat in one of the wing back chairs, and his hands rested quietly on the arms. Wilmer had a sudden eerie frisson. How many times had he seen Michael's father sitting in exactly that posture as he made the hard decisions about the Family? Michael repeated himself. "We can't wait. I don't care what Sollozzo says, I don't care what he promises. He's going to kill Pop no matter what--that's the key for him. We gotta get Sollozzo."

The room was quiet for a moment. Finally Clemenza, the man with the most experience in these things, spoke, pronouncing judgment. "Mike is right."

Sonny was studying Michael. He sounded almost curious as he said, "So, Professor, what about McCluskey? What about the policeman?"

"They want to have a meeting with me, right? It'll be me, McCluskey, and Sollozzo--no one else on either side. Set it up for a public place, like a bar or restaurant, somewhere with people, because I'm a citizen, and I'll want to feel safe."

He paused, smiling slightly at this, and again Wilmer felt that slight, but definite, chill. *Oh, Mikey--you've changed. They made you change.*

Michael was continuing. "They'll search me when I show up, so I can't bring a weapon with me, but..." he paused, looking at Clemenza, "if you can figure out a way to PLANT one for me--have it waiting..." He paused again, then said flatly, "I'll kill them both."

Clemenza, Tessio, and Sonny laughed, and Tom looked pained, but Wilmer didn't let himself react. Sonny got up and walked over to Michael's chair. "Hey, what do you want to do, nice college boy like you? You didn't want to get mixed up in the family business, and now you want to kill a police captain? It ain't like in the army, Mikey, where you kill 'em from a mile away. You gotta get up close," he grabbed the back of Michael's head, made a gun with his hand, and pressed a fingertip to Michael's forehead, "Bah-bing! Like that, and blow their brains all over your nice Brooks Brothers suit. C'mere..." Still holding Michael, he bent and kissed him fiercely on top of the head.

Michael stiffened. "Sonny..."

Luckily everyone in the room was too involved with the brothers to notice Wilmer's reaction. It was small, but it was there, and it was a mark of how angry Wilmer was that he showed anything at all. He made his living presenting a blank slate to the world. Now he had to use all his self-control not to rip Sonny away from Michael.

Sonny sounded jovial. "You're taking this too personal, kid. Tom, this man is takin' this very, very personal."

Tom sighed, ready to begin talking sense to Michael, but Michael said, "Tom, listen to me. We're not talking about a hard working, honest flatfoot here. We're talking about a dishonest man--someone mixed up in drugs. Show that to the public. He's a bad cop who got mixed up in the rackets, and got what he deserved. That'll make a terrific story, really get to the heart of the public. We have newsmen on our payroll, don't we?" Tom nodded thoughtfully. "Wouldn't they love a story like that?"

"They just might."

Michael looked at Sonny, who was watching him with dawning respect. "See, Sonny? It's not personal--it's business."

Sonny said slowly, "You're showing hidden depths, Mikey. It isn't sounding as crazy as it did at first."

"I hope you approve, Sonny--because I'm doing it. It'll be easier and more likely to succeed if you, and everyone else," his eyes went to Wilmer, "help me. But I'm doing it."

Wilmer didn't say anything, but he gave Michael a tiny nod. He hated to see Michael dragged into this bloody business, but he couldn't fault the kid for wanting revenge for his father--and it DID make sense--for business. There was no way he'd let Mike go through this without him.

~*~

Wilmer and Michael were in the basement. Wilmer said, "You know I'd do this for you if I could, right?"

"I know," said Michael.

"Okay. Here's the gun Clemenza got. I'm kicking myself for not bringing another one from Cali. I can get 'em clean out there, and it would be that much less likely to be traced, but this is a good one. I talked to Clemenza, and this is as clean as it gets. Now, I know they have your prints on file since you were in the Army, but don't worry about it. I put special tape on the butt and the trigger." He handed it over and pointed at a mattress against the far wall. "Give it a try." Michael took the gun, hefting it, studying it, but didn't fire it. "What's wrong? Trigger too tight?"

Michael glanced at him, then turned and fired, the bullet thudding into the mattress. The sound reverberated in the basement, and Michael said, "Maron! My ears..."

Wilmer smiled. "You want it noisy. It scares away those pain-in-the-ass innocent bystanders. Okay, you shot 'em both. Now what do you do?"

"Sit down, finish my dinner, see what they have on the dessert cart..."

Wilmer's expression sobered. "This is no time to kid around, Mike. You've got to be cold while you do this--chilly, all through it. Once you're away and safe, THEN you can react any way you want. Look, you shoot," Wilmer made the motions. "Then you let your hand drop to your side, and just let the gun slip. Drop it, but don't make a show of it. That way everybody is going to think that you still have it, and they won't be inclined to get heroic, and try to stop you. They're gonna be staring at your face, Mike, so get out of there fast, but don't run--walk fast. You run--you're trying to get away from something. You walk fast--you're just running late, and your wife will have your ass when you get home to a cold dinner. Don't look anyone directly in the eye, but don't look away, either." Wilmer patted his shoulder. "They're gonna be scared shitless of you, so don't worry about anything. Everything will come out all right. You'll take a long vacation--no one knows where. It's the people left here that are gonna catch hell."

"Not you, Wilmer? I don't want..."

"You don't worry about me. I've been takin' care of myself for a long time--I can manage a little longer."

"How bad is it going to get?"

Wilmer didn't sugar coat it for him. "Pretty damn bad. The other families are probably going to line up against us, but that's all right. It has to happen every five or ten years--helps clear things out. Get rid of bad blood, you know?" He thought. "You gotta stop them right at the beginning. It's kind of like Hitler at Munich. They never should have let him get away with that. They were asking for big trouble. If they'd stopped it there, maybe you wouldn't have had to go over and get shot at." He paused, then said, "You know, Mike, I was worried when you did that, but I'm really proud of you. You're a real hero."

"Thanks, Wilmer. I don't feel like one." Michael turned back to the mattress, and mimed shooting, saying quietly, "Pow."