The Family Corleone (10 page)

“It’s Tom Hagen,” Johnny said. Johnny was a thin, handsome kid with a thick head of dark hair combed down over his forehead. “He thinks he’s going blind.”

“Blind?” Sonny said. “Why?”

Nino said, “His mother died and then his father—”

“I know all that,” Sonny said to Nino. To Johnny he said, “Why’s he think he’s going blind?”

Johnny said, “How do I know, Sonny? Go ask him.” Then he added, “His mother went blind before she died. Maybe he thinks he caught it from her.”

Nino laughed and Sonny said, “You think this is funny, Nino?”

Johnny said, “Don’t mind Nino. He’s a twit.”

Sonny took a step toward Nino, and Nino put up his hands. “Hey, Sonny,” he said. “I didn’t mean nothin’.”

Michael tugged at Sonny’s shirt and said, “Come on, Sonny. Let’s go.”

Sonny let his gaze linger on Nino, and then he walked away with Michael following. He stopped in front of Tom and said, “What are you doing, stupid? What do you got that bag over your head for?” When Tom didn’t answer, he tilted the bag back and saw that Tom had wrapped a dirty gauze bandage over his eyes. Pus and crusted blood seeped out from under the edge of the bandage over his left eye. Sonny said, “What the hell’s going on, Tom?”

Tom said, “I’m going blind, Sonny!”

They hardly knew each other at that point. They had talked once or twice, nothing more—and yet Sonny heard a pleading in Tom’s voice, as if they had been lifelong companions and Tom was crying out to him. Tom said
I’m going blind, Sonny!
in a way that seemed to have given up hope at the same time it begged for help.

“
V’fancul’!
” Sonny murmured. He turned a small circle on the sidewalk, as if his little dance might give him the couple of seconds he needed to think. He handed the groceries to Michael, wrapped his arms around Tommy, chair and all, picked him up, and carried him along the street.

Tom said, “What are you doing, Sonny?”

“I’m taking you to my father,” Sonny said.

And that was what he did. With Michael following wide-eyed, he carried Tom, chair and all, into his house, where his father and Clemenza were talking in the living room. He dropped the chair in front of his father. Vito, a man whose composure was legendary, looked like he might faint.

Clemenza pulled the bag off Tom’s head, and then took a step back when he saw the blood and pus dripping out from the bandage. “Who’s this?” he asked Sonny.

“It’s Tom Hagen.”

Carmella came into the room and touched Tom gently on the forehead. She tilted his head back to get a better look at his eye. “
Infezione
,” she said to Vito.

Vito whispered to her, “Get Dr. Molinari.” He sounded like his throat was parched.

Clemenza said, “What are you doing, Vito?”

Vito raised his hand to Clemenza, silencing him. To Sonny he said, “We’ll take care of him.” He asked, “Is he your friend?”

Sonny thought about it a second and then said, “Yeah, Pop. He’s like a brother to me.”

Then or now, he had no idea why he said it.

Vito’s gaze rested on Sonny for what seemed like the longest time, as if he were trying to look right down into his heart, and then he put his arm around Tom’s shoulder and led him into the kitchen. That night and for the next five years, until he left for college, Tom shared Sonny’s room. His eye healed. He put on weight. All through school, he was Sonny’s private tutor—helping him figure out things where he could, and feeding him answers when all else failed.

Tom did everything to please Vito—but nothing he could do would ever make him Vito’s son. And nothing he could do would ever give him back his real father to raise him. That was why Sonny couldn’t get too mad at him, that and the memory of the day he
found him with a bag over his head sitting on a three-legged chair, and the way he said
I’m going blind, Sonny!
, which was a memory lodged in Sonny’s heart, as vivid as yesterday.

All the way from the kitchen, Mama’s voice came sailing up the stairs like a song. “Santino!” she yelled. “Dinner’s almost ready! How come I don’t hear the bathwater running?”

Sonny yelled, “I’ll be down in ten minutes, Ma!” He jumped up from his bed, unbuttoning his shirt. In his closet, he found a robe and slipped into it. On the back of a high closet shelf, he dug around until he found a hatbox he had stashed there. He opened it, took out a new, soft-blue fedora and put it on. In front of the dresser he tilted the mirror up and looked himself over. He pulled the brim of the hat down over his forehead and then cocked the hat a little to the right. He smiled his big toothy, handsome smile at himself, tossed the hat back into the box, and put the box back on the shelf.

“Santino!” Carmella called.

“I’m coming, Ma!” Sonny answered, and he hurried out the door.

At a little after midnight Juke’s was packed with swells in top hats and tuxes, and dames wrapped in silk and fur. Onstage the trombonist pointed his horn toward the ceiling while he worked the slide with one hand and the mute with the other, the rest of the band wailing with him through a jazzy version of “She Done Him Wrong.” The drummer leaned forward on his throne till it looked like his face was touching the snare drum, and he tapped out the beat wrapped up in his own private envelope of sound. On the dance floor, couples crowded into each other and pushed up against strangers, laughing and sweating as they swigged from silver or leather-wrapped flasks. All through the spacious room, waiters hurried past each other, carrying trays laden with food and drink to scores of tables surrounded by the well-dressed and the well-heeled.

Sonny and Cork had both been drinking for hours, as had Vinnie, Angelo, and Nico. Stevie hadn’t shown up, though they’d all agreed to celebrate at Juke’s. Vinnie and Angelo were both wearing tuxes.
Angelo had started out the night with his hair combed back neatly off his face, but as the night and the drinks wore on, a few strands of loose hair kept breaking free and falling over his face. Nico and Sonny were dressed in double-breasted suits with big lapels and satin ties, Nico’s bright green and Sonny’s soft blue, to go with his new fedora. Most of the dames at Juke’s were in their twenties and older, but that didn’t keep the boys from dancing with them, and now, sometime around midnight, they were all sweaty and in various stages of drunkenness. They had opened their collars and loosened their ties, and they were laughing readily at each other’s jokes. Cork, who was the least dressed up of the gang in a tweed suit with a vest and bow tie, was the drunkest. “Jaysus,” he said, announcing the obvious, “I’m in me cups, gentlemen!” He rested his head on the table.

“
In me cups
,” Sonny repeated, amused by the phrase. “How about we get you some coffee?”

Cork bolted upright. “Coffee?” He pulled a flask out of his pocket. “While I’ve still got first-rate Canadian malt whiskey?”

“Hey, you thievin’ mick,” Nico said. “How many bottles did you filch for yourself?”

Cork said, “Ah, shaddup, you guinea-wop-dago son of a bitch!”

Since the night of the hijacking, that line had been repeated for laughs again and again, and it didn’t fail at Juke’s. Vinnie Romero’s laughter ended abruptly when he saw Luca Brasi walk into the club. “Hey, boys,” he said to the others, “look at this.”

Luca came into the club with Kelly O’Rourke on his arm. He was in tails and striped pants, a white boutonniere pinned to his lapel. Kelly pressed up against him in a slinky cream-colored evening gown, strapless on one shoulder. A heart-shaped diamond pin at her hip held the bunched-up fabric of the dress so that it formed a kind of sash. They followed the maître d’ to a table at the front of the club, close to the band. When Luca spotted Cork and the boys watching him, he nodded to them, said a word to the maître d’, and then brought Kelly over to the table. “What do you know,” he said, “if it ain’t the sneaker gang.”

The boys all stood, and Luca shook hands with Cork. “Who’s this mug?” Luca asked, looking at Sonny.

“This mug?” Cork said, shoving Sonny. “Just some palooka swipin’ drinks off us.”

“Hey!” Sonny said. He scratched his head and tried to look drunker than he was. “What’s the sneaker gang?”

“Never mind,” Cork said to Sonny. “It ain’t nothin’.” To Luca he said, “Who’s the gorgeous doll?”

“What’s it to you?” Luca said, and he threw a pretend punch toward Cork’s jaw.

Kelly introduced herself and said, “I’m Luca’s girl.”

“Lucky dog,” Cork said, looking at Luca.

Kelly wrapped her arms around Luca’s arm and leaned on him, her eyes on Sonny. “Hey,” she said. “Aren’t you a friend of that college boy, Tom somebody?”

“What college boy?” Luca asked Kelly, without giving Sonny a chance to respond.

“Just a college boy,” Kelly said. “Why, Luca? You’re not jealous of some college boy, are you? You know I’m your girl.” She put her head on his shoulder.

Luca said, “I ain’t jealous of anybody, Kelly. You know me better than that.”

“Sure, I know you better than that,” Kelly said, hugging his arm tighter. “Well,” she asked Sonny, “do you know him?”

“Tom somebody?” Sonny said. He dropped one hand into the pocket of his jacket, and he noticed that Luca’s eyes followed the motion. “Yeah, I know a college kid named Tom.”

“You tell him to give me a call,” Kelly said. “Tell him I want to hear from him.”

“Oh yeah?” Luca said. He looked at the boys. “Dames,” he said, as if sharing some common knowledge about women. To Kelly he said, “Let’s go, doll.” He wrapped his arm around Kelly’s waist and yanked her away from the table.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Nico said to Sonny, “What the hell was that about?”

“Yeah, Sonny,” Cork chimed in, “how the hell’s she know Tom?”

Sonny glanced across the room and saw that Luca was looking back at him. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.

Cork said, “Jaysu Christi,” and he looked toward the exit. “You go first,” he said. “Remember, we don’t know you.”

Angelo said, “We’ll keep an eye on Luca.”

Sonny stood, all smiles, and Cork shook his hand as if he were a departing acquaintance. Sonny said, “I’ll wait for you in my car.”

Sonny made his way slowly to the coatroom. He ambled, took his time. He didn’t want to give Luca the impression he was running. A Jane in a pillbox hat and net stockings toting a tray of cigarettes crossed his path and he stopped her to buy a pack of Camels. “You should try Luckies,” she said, batting her eyes at him. “They’re toasted,” she said, being cute, “for throat protection and better taste.”

“That’s swell,” Sonny said, playing along. “Give me a pack, then, doll.”

“Take it yourself,” she said, and she stuck her chest out, pushing the tray toward him. “They’re so round, so firm, so fully packed,” she said.

Sonny tossed a quarter on the tray. “Keep the change.”

She winked at him and sauntered away. Sonny followed her with his eyes. Across the room, he saw Luca leaning over his table, head-to-head with Kelly. He didn’t look happy. “Tom,” Sonny whispered to himself, “I’m gonna kill ya.” He got his coat and hat and went out to the street.

Juke’s front doors opened onto West 126th, near Lenox Avenue. Sonny stopped in front of a tent sign, unwrapped the Luckies, and lit up. The sign advertised Cab Calloway and his Orchestra playing “Minnie the Moocher.” Sonny said, “Hi-de-hi-de-hi,” and turned up the collar of his jacket against a cold breeze. It was still fall, but the breeze promised winter. Behind him, the door to the club opened, spilling music out onto the street. A guy with gray hair wearing a black overcoat with a fur collar came out lighting up a cigar. “What’s the rumpus?” he said to Sonny, and Sonny nodded to him but didn’t reply. A moment later a skinny kid came out the door wearing an
argyle sweater. He gave the black-overcoat guy a look, and then they walked away down the street together.

Sonny followed them until he reached his car. He got in behind the wheel, rolled the window down, and stretched out as best he could. His head was swimming a bit, but he’d sobered up pretty quickly when Kelly asked him about Tom. In his mind’s eye he saw Kelly again as she pulled back the curtain and faced the street. She was in the window for only a second before Tom appeared behind her and closed the curtain, but in that second Sonny took in her body, which was a dream, all white and pink with shocks of red hair. Her face was round, with red lips and angled eyebrows—and even at a distance, all the way across Eleventh Avenue, looking up, through glass, he thought he saw something about her that was angry.

Sonny wondered just how dangerous this Kelly O’Rourke might be. He pushed his hat back and scratched his head. He asked himself what her play could be, and all he came up with was jealousy. She wanted to make Luca jealous. But why Tom? And how did she know Sonny knew Tom? How did she know Sonny for that matter? He got stuck there. Dames were always hard to figure, but this one was a prizewinner. If Pop found out about this,
Madon’!
He wouldn’t want to be Tom. Pop had plans for all his children. Tom had to be a lawyer and get into politics. Sonny was going to be a captain of industry. Michael and Fredo and Connie weren’t old enough yet to have had their futures picked out for them—but that would come. Everybody had to be the thing Pop said they would be—except Sonny wasn’t going to be slaving for Leo much longer, one way or another. He’d have to find a way to talk to his father. He knew what he wanted to do and what he was good at. It was less than a year now that he had his gang together, and he already had a car and a new wardrobe and a few thousand stuffed in his mattress.

“Hey!” Cork rapped on the passenger-side window and jumped into the front seat beside Sonny.

“
Minchia!
” Sonny straightened out his hat, which he’d knocked sideways jumping up when Cork startled him.

The back doors opened and the Romero brothers and Nico piled in. “What the hell was all that about?” Nico asked.

Sonny shifted around in his seat so that he could see into the back of the car. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said, and then he went on and explained what had happened with Tom and Kelly.

“
Christ!
” Vinnie said. “Tom screwed that dame!”