Wednesday night at dinner with JG, SC, and Don Cardi, one of the subjects that came up was how lousy Weingardner's The Godfather Returns was, and how any one of us could have written a better sequel.

Don Cardi also mentioned that he had once written about ten pages of a sequel, told from the POV of the Tattaglia Family, which I thought was a rather interesting idea.

Anyway, I decided to put the "any one of us can do better" theory to the test.

What I've written here is the beginning of a sequel. Maybe it'll wind up being a novel (I doubt that very much. I have 2,000 words here; I'll need about 200,000 to fill an entire book. Besides, after Weingardner's bomb, who'd publish it or buy it?), maybe a "longish" short story (more likely), or perhaps (most likely), this will be as far as I go with it.

I've tried to do a few things here besides introduce the characters and give some backround to the story: This is intended as a sequel to both the original novel and the first two films of the trilogy. If completed, it will span at least some of the time period between the end of GF II and the beginning of GF III. I also wanted to tie up some of the loose ends and inconsistencies left over from both the book and films, and also capture the writing style of Mario Puzo, to the extent that such a thing is possible.

So, here 'ya go. Like anyone else, I love praise, but constructive criticism will also be appreciated (I know I may have some problems with the timeline, for example).

-----

Rocco Lampone lay in his hospital bed, his bullet-ridden body close to death.

Out side the door, waiting to question him, were agents of the F.B.I., anxious to learn the details of his participation in the assassination plot against the gangster, Hyman Roth, at Miami’s International Airport that morning, and hoping that Lampone would live long enough to make a statement implicating Michael Corleone, the head of the American Cosa Nostra, about which, at that time, very little was known.

Attached to intravenous feeding tubes with the huge doses of morphine he was receiving made almost unnecessary by his lapses in and out of consciousness, the doctors had held out little hope for Lampone’s survival. But Lampone was the highest ranking member of the Corleone family ever to be taken into custody – of higher rank, even, than the Underboss Frankie Pentangeli, who had cut his wrists in his bathtub one evening that very same week and quietly bled to death while his guards innocently played hearts outside the bathroom door – and the agents waiting outside his hospital room were under strict orders from no less than J. Edgar Hoover himself to attempt to obtain a statement from Lampone in the unlikely event that it should become possible to do so.

And so the F.B.I. agents, duty-bound and following the strict orders given them only hours before, waited hopefully for Rocco Lampone to regain consciousness. If and when he did, when the questioning was over and Lampone, loyal to the very end, had told the emissaries of Hoover nothing, he would learn that he had but one regret: That because of his personal misfortune despite his success in the murder of Hyman Roth, his confinement to his hospital bed had caused him to miss the funeral of Fredo Corleone.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Michael Corleone stood at the window, watching as Albert Neri expertly maneuvered the small motorboat, docking it just outside the boathouse of the Corleone estate on Lake Tahoe, Nevada.

He watched as Neri climbed from the boat onto the dock, taking with him the fishing gear belonging to both himself and Fredo Corleone. Standing on the dock, Neri looked towards the boathouse and saw the familiar figure of Michael Corleone standing impassively at the window, watching to make sure that only he, Neri, had returned.

Slowly, almost sadly, he walked to the boathouse to report on the details of the act of murder he had just committed: That of Michael’s older and only remaining brother.

Michael turned from the window before Neri entered the boathouse.

"It was something that had to be done, Al. "
“I know, Michael. I’ve never questioned your judgment.”
“Are you prepared to speak to Connie?” Michael asked. “She’ll want the details”.
“Just as we talked about” Neri replied. “That Fredo stood up in the boat, lost his balance, and fell in the lake. How I jumped in to try and save him, and how he almost drowned us both by holding on and almost pulling me down with him. Connie knows he didn’t know how to swim.”
“She won’t believe it at first, you know” Michael said. “She’ll see right through that story. But she’ll make herself believe it, she’ll want to believe it. She’ll have no choice. Without me, she has nothing.”
“I know” said Neri. “You have everything figured perfectly, just as you always do.”

Michael seemed to pay no attention to Neri’s last remark, as he thought it gratuitous. This was business, and he considered such compliments to be unnecessary.

“Remember the rest of the plan”. Michael was all seriousness, as he always was now. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed, or even smiled. Sometimes it seemed as though it had been years.

“Go change your clothes. Make sure that what you’re wearing now gets good and wet when you take your shower. Not even Tom knows what really just happened out on the lake, so be prepared for him to be surprised, too, when he gets back from Las Vegas. We’ll wait for Tom, and after you’re dressed the three of us will go and talk to my sister together. I think I’ll let her make all of the arrangements for the funeral.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

It was late afternoon when Tom Hagen returned to his rooms in The Tropicalla Hotel in Las Vegas.

Hagen’s suite was small, and although well appointed, bore no resemblance to some of the better accommodations in the hotel. The Tropicalla was the most luxurious of the four Corleone Family-owned properties in Las Vegas, and the better suites were reserved mostly for the “High Rollers”, those casino customers who thought nothing of betting thousands of dollars at a blackjack table on the turn of a single card or on one roll of the dice at a craps table.

Although in his role as the Corleone Family attorney Hagen was rarely involved in the gambling end of the business, he was still amazed at the mentality of the gambler. How they were willing to go against the odds and percentages that always favored the house, and so willingly lost huge sums of money, almost as if they desired and wished to do so.

Hagen slowly removed his tie, then his jacket. He was more tired than hungry, and decided to order dinner from room service. Today had been a full day: Visiting the counting rooms – rooms in which technically he should not have been permitted to enter – of all four casinos in the morning, and then appearing that afternoon at a hearing before the Licensing Commission to represent a family-sponsored applicant for an important management position at one of the casinos who had brought in especially from Cuba at great expense and who happened to have a criminal record in the United States.

He placed his room service order, and then walked out onto the terrace of his suite. In front of him lay the city of Las Vegas, already one of the fastest growing in the entire country. In addition to the four hotels they already owned, the Corleone Family had an interest in the construction of at least five more, already begun or still in their planning stages.

It was a time of unsurpassed prosperity and success, financial and otherwise, for the family. In a final meeting before leaving for Las Vegas, Hagen had discussed with Michael Corleone, Rocco Lampone, and Al Neri, the elimination of Michael’s last remaining real enemy, the ancient Hyman Roth. Indeed, he had read in the newspaper that very morning how Roth had been killed in Miami’s airport by "an as yet unidentified gunman". He didn’t need to know the details. It was enough to know that Rocco Lampone was behind it. And Hagen himself had been instrumental in convincing Frankie Pentangeli that suicide was the honorable way out, just as it had been in the times of ancient Rome, when, as he had put it, “a plot against the emperor failed.”

Hagen should have been happy. He should have been at peace with himself. He had his wife, he had his children, he had his mistress. The Corleone Family was moving slowly towards total legitimacy in the casino and real estate business in Nevada.

He should have been happy, but he wasn’t. His instincts told him that something was happening – perhaps that very day – that was wrong. He wasn’t sure what it was, or that he even wanted to know yet. But he knew that it was something terrible. He just didn’t know what it was.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Lucy Mancini sat in her living room in a residential section of the growing city, wrestling with the same problem that had been bothering her more than ever for the past three months, ever since she had agreed to marry Dr. Jules Segal.

It was the same problem that she had been unable to resolve since moving to Las Vegas some seven years before, at the behest of the Corleone Family, after the murder of her married lover, Sonny Corleone, the oldest son of Don Vito Corleone.

Her problem was a simple one, the solution, however, not so: How to tell her fiancée about her illegitimate son Vincent, and how to tell her benefactor and protector, Michael Corleone, about the nephew he had never met.

It had been easy at the beginning. Lucy’s family was from Chicago, and she had come east to go to college, where she had met and become best friends with Connie Corleone, Michael's younger sister. She knew she was pregnant before Sonny’s death, but Sonny had wanted her to have the baby. Knowing the dangers in the life he lived, Sonny had secretly made provisions for her in his will, and after his murder she told the Corleones that she needed to go back to Chicago to be with her family.

She stayed with them for more than a year, giving birth to a boy who she named Vincent, and had planned to stay longer, when she received a message from Tom Hagen, offering her the opportunity to relocate to Las Vegas and begin her life anew.

Lucy had always found the weather in Chicago to be disagreeable, and when she received the offer from Hagen she was torn between staying in Chicago and raising the baby who no one in the Corleone family knew about, and moving out west. It was her older sister Theresa who finally provided the solution to her problem. Theresa, married for several years but unable to conceive a child of her own, offered, along with her husband, to raise Vincent as their son until such time that he was old enough to be told and understand the conditions of his birth. Under no circumstances, they assured her, would it ever be kept from Vincent who is mother and father really were.

Finally she decided to leave Vincent in the care of her sister and brother-in-law, and move to Las Vegas. She started there by managing the gift shop in one of the Corleone hotels, and now, seven years later, was responsible for all of the shops in all four hotels. Two or three times a year she visited her family in Chicago and saw Vincent, and her problem was compounded further by the fact that Vincent, now eight years old, was rapidly approaching the age at which he had to be told the truth. From the time he was a toddler, Vincent had been told that it was “Aunt Lucy” who was really his mother, but all he had been told about his father was that he had died shortly before Vincent was born.

Now, with her wedding only three weeks away, Lucy felt that the time had come to make a clean breast of things and expose the secret she had been keeping inside for all of these years. Certainly, Jules must be told that she had a son. And Michael certainly should be told as well.

And Vincent, of course, who even at the young age of eight was already showing the signs of the murderous temper he had inherited from his father, needed to be told that his father was none other than the legendary gangster from the 1940s, Santino Corleone.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #


Willi Cicci was in his hotel room packing. It was amazing, he thought, how meager his possessions were. A life of crime spanning nearly twenty of his forty years, and now everything he owned could be fit into one suitcase.

Cicci had started out as a soldier in the Corleone family in the regime of the Capo , Peter Clemenza. He had quickly risen through the ranks, making a name and reputation for himself during the Five Families War which had begun in 1946 and culminated in total victory for Michael Corleone. By the war’s end, he was a trusted member of the family, and had even been selected to carry out the murder of the trusted, but ultimately traitorous, Sal Tessio.

After that day, his position in the family was assured. He served faithfully under Clemenza, heading his own crew of ferocious killers and reporting directly to Clemenza’s Underboss, Frankie Pentangeli. When Clemenza was found dead in his driveway one morning, in front of the very same house that once belonged to Don Vito Corleone himself and was now his, Cicci suspected foul play. Although the autopsy ruling was a heart attack, and although there were no bullet wounds or blood, Cicci knew that somehow, in some way, Clemenza’s enemies, the Rosato brothers, were behind it. Payoffs had been made, doctors had been bought, and, as Willi was fond of saying, “That was no heart attack.”

With Clemenza’s death, Pentangeli had taken over the New York operations of the Corleone Family, and Cicci had risen to the position of consigliere. The old man Pentangeli liked Willi – he reminded him of an old-timer from the good old days, and despite his outward appearance and demeanor, that of a brutish man possesssed of limited intelligence, Willi Cicci and Frankie Pentangeli had always shared the private joke that between the two of them, Willi was really the one with the brains.

It had always been assumed that it would be Willi Cicci who would take over the New York operations of the Corleone Family upon the death of Pentangeli, and Cicci was patient and happy in the knowledge that his future was assured, until the day of the shootout with the Rosatos outside Richie’s Bar. Taken into custody by New York City detectives, and with his Padrone Frankie Pentangeli murdered, or so he thought, on the orders of Michael Corleone, Cicci saw no way out of a life of imprisonment except by accepting the deal that was now offered to him by the United States Government:

Agree to testify against Michael Corleone at a Senate hearing investigating organized crime in America, and, in exchange, receive immunity from all prosecution along with a new identity and relocation in the government’s newly-formed Witness Protection Program.

Now in Washington, D.C., his testimony completed, Willi Cicci was packing his lone suitcase and preparing, under escort by the two F.B.I agents who had been his constant companions for the past several months, for a final meeting at The United States Justice Department at which he would learn his new name.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

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Pretty impressive. More interesting than Weingardner's entire book. I'm not sure that's saying much though.

plaw -

I've told you a few times that you could've been a successful author and this proves it. Your writing style is easy to follow and it seems you have a story to tell.

Keeping in mind that one should write about what he knows best, I suspect you'd go into great detail and length about the gamblers in Vegas if you were to continue.

Personally, I would not go "into" Michael killing Fredo. Some things are better left unsaid, and I wouldn't give any possibility of Michael explaining why he did it.

I'm a little surprised you didn't mention that Rocco Lampone once ate Chinese food with the Family leaders.

You did a good job here, plaw!

I thought of exactly that, just as Puzo threw in his extensive knowledge of the inner workings of Hollywood and (yuck) female anatomy. I don't want to go into too much detail here, especially since I haven't really worked out the details myself yet, but I was thinking of introducing a new character, a high roller who breaks the bank at one of the casinos, and using that character to write about the ins and outs of casino operations and gambling.
I'm not sure I agree.

I always felt that Connie's line in GF III about "poor Fredo drowning" was a bit ridiculous, but since I intend to remain as true as possible to the storylines of both the book and all three films, I see no harm in a scene where Michael tells her about the "accident".

Also, I plan to possibly use Fredo's funeral (either that or the Lucy-Jules wedding) as the big "party/family gathering" scene, which would be roughly akin to those scenes which opened all three films.

************************************


Anthony Corleone sat on the edge of his bed not knowing if he should be happy that he would finally be spending some time with his father, or be dissapointed that he could not spend the day fishing with his uncle Freddie. He had grown rather fond of his uncle. Ever since nonna Corleone had passed away, he and uncle Freddie had become rather close. Uncle Freddie had become like a big brother to Anthony, doing the many things with him that his own father never seemed to have the time to do. Why was it that his father was always away on a business trip? He once asked Michael this question, during one of the rare times that they were able to spend together, and his father's response to him was "I'm doing this for you, and your sister. Someday, when you are older, when this is all yours, and you have a son of your own, you'll understand." Understand what? Anthony had silently thought to himself. He wouldn't dare talk back to his father. Understand that his father never had the time to spend with his children? That his mother could only visit he and his sister in secret? What was there to understand? It was clear to him now that his father was not a "normal" father, like the other kids fathers were. So many times he and his classmates would be sitting at lunch, mostly boys, and they would exchange stories of how they had gone camping with their fathers, or played a game of catch. Anthony always refrained from joining in on the stories that the other boys shared. What stories did he have to share with the other boys? That his father had thrown his mother out? That one night some bad men came and shot up his house? How every night since then Anthony would have nightmares and wake up shaking? How he wouldn't dare go to his father for comfort out of fear that his father would consider him a coward? No, Anthony would quietly sit there listening to all the other boys, envying them, secretly wishing that his own father could be a "normal" father like the others. But now he had his uncle Freddie. At least now he could go to school and tell his friends how he had spent the day fishing on the lake, having fun. Maybe now he would "fit in" with the others. It was all he could think about as he was about to get into the boat with uncle Freddie. That was until aunt Connie called him back to the house. His father had decided that they would be going to Reno together. Uncle Freddie had a look of dissapointment on his face. But he and Anthony both knew that there would be no choice in the matter. They both knew that when Michael decided something, there was no refuting it. So Anthony unwillingly walked back to the house and prepared himself to make the trip to Reno with his father.

*****************************

Pretty good, there, DC.

I didn't realize that this was gonna be a joint project, though .

J/K..... You kind of captured the same Puzo-like flavor that I was going for. The only thing you need to do is answer an unanswered question about Anthony (I guess maybe you did that by going into how he felt about his father and uncle), but, more importantly, raise a new one that will hold the reader's interest and make them want to know what will happen with Anthony next (Something not as obvious as he's gonna go beserk with hostility when he finds out his uncle is dead, and maybe even be wracked with guilt that he wasn't along to try and help save him).

"The Godfather, the Untold Story"

By P. Lawrence & D. Cardi

with a forward by SC and Turnbull

Dedicated to Don Malta

In memory Of Mark Weingardner's The Godfather Returns!




Don Cardi

*********************************

Maury Dalowitz made his way across the casino floor. The deal was done. The 2 million dollars borrowed from the United Federation of Truckers pension fund would be in his account by noon the next day. He would finally have majority control over the Moondust hotel. He had come a long way from his days with the Lakeville Road Boys, when he was known only as "Moe."

He planned on expanding the casino, adding more rooms to the hotel and wanted to provide more entertainment for the guests. This would all be done as soon as he took majority control over the Moondust. But there was only one hurdle left to get over. That hurdle was Hyman Roth and his sicilian mesenger boy Johnny Ola. Roth had become extremely selfish and bitter in his old age. Ever since Roth's childhood friend, Moe Green had been murdered, Roth decided that he should have an interest in every deal that went down in Las Vegas. It was true that there was a time that Roth made money for all of his associates and partners, but times were changing. Las Vegas was turning into a different kind of town. Legitimacy, on the surface, would be more profitable. There was no longer any room for the likes of a Moe Green in this town. Too much unneeded attention. This is why when Moe Green was found murdered in the spa of his hotel, the Las Vegas Underworld felt a sense of relief. But Roth, on the other hand, became bitter about the murder of his childhood friend.

Now Roth was having his own legal problems and Dalowitz realized that in order for him to appear somewhat legitamite, he needed to severe all ties to Hyman Roth. Hopefully through the intercession of The Corleone family, the Moondust Hotel would be Dalowitz's hotel, without any interference from Roth.

Dalowitz looked down at his watch. He had another hour before his appointement over at the Tropacala to meet with Michael Corleone's attorney Tom Hagen. Just enough time for a late afternoon lunch.


**********************************

Why do I have a feeling that he's not gonna get past the fruit cocktail, and this is gonna be a short chapter?

Plaw keep writing!!!!

C'mon Plaw, how about some more?


Don Cardi

I'm working on it.

Although maybe I should leave everyone hanging for a coupla days.

Here's another installment for you, DC.

Say hello to our old friend, Don Altobello.

...............

Don Nicholas Altobello, deciding whether to bring with him a dark blue necktie, or one of charcoal gray, had always been a close friend and ally of Vito Corleone.

It was Nicholas Altobello who, in 1937 and barely thirty years old, had seen the wisdom in Vito Corleone’s plan to pacify the New York underworld, and so even at such a young age already one of the top lieutenants and bodyguards of Salvatore Maranzano, had almost cheerfully led him to a Brooklyn restaurant, ostensibly for a meeting to make the peace with Don Vito Corleone, but in reality to be trapped and murdered by the gunmen of a secret Corleone regime, led by Sal Tessio.

For performing this act of treachery against his boss, Nicholas Altobello was rewarded by being named as the head of the family, which he then promptly and vainly proceeded to name The Altobello Family after himself, and he assumed his place as the youngest head of one of the six New York Families, along with the other five Dons, Vito Corleone, Emilio Barzini, Phillip Tattaglia, Victor Stracchi, and Otellio Cuneo.

While sometimes held at arms length by the latter four, who thought of his act as one of treachery to be regarded with suspicion, he was secretly embraced by Vito Corleone, who considered him a man of diplomacy and, most of all, common sense.

The two Dons became the closest of friends over the years, confiding in each other, and helping each other in their business dealings whenever possible. But, in fact, had Don Corleone not asked Don Altobello to stand as Godfather to his youngest child, his daughter Constanza, most observers of the underworld, from both outside and within, would not have even begun to realize the depth of the friendship that the two shared.

When the wily Turk, Virgil Sollozzo, proposed his business of drugs, first to Don Tattaglia and Don Barzini, and later to the heads of the other three families for their approval, it was Don Altobello who secretly approached Vito Corleone with the details of what Sollozzo would be requesting of him.

Nearly Don Corleone’s equal in Sicilian cunning as well as having the politician’s flair for diplomacy along with the rare ability to straddle both sides of a fence while making no enemies and keeping those on both sides happy, it was explained to Vito Corleone that while he, Nicholas Altobello, must publicly side with the other Dons in support of the Sollozzo proposition, he was secretly against it and it would be to the benefit of both of them to have, in effect, a spy in the other camp.

But because of their distrust of the other Dons in general, and Don Altobello in particular, the assassination plot against Vito Corleone was kept secret by both Barzini and Tattaglia, and so when Don Corleone had been shot five times in the winter of 1945 and nearly killed, Don Nicholas Altobello had been as surprised as anyone.

When Don Corleone recovered from his wounds and sued for peace in order that he might bring his son Michael home from his exile in Sicily, Don Altobello was advised to not attend the meeting, lest he be forced to publicly state his support for Vito Corleone, thus earning the further distrust and enmity of the heads of the other four families.

And he had done so, feigning illness and, as a widower, spending several days at the newly built Staten Island home of his recently married daughter, his only child, where he sat in the backyard, drinking wine and taking his leisure while playing with his toddler grandson.

And now, some twelve years later, Nicholas Altobello, the last of the six original New York Dons although still relatively young at age fifty-one, was still the loyal soldier, still loyal to the Corleone Family and its head, Michael Corleone.

Ever the diplomat, ever the man who could find comfort on either side of the fence, Don Altobello was on this day preparing to attend the funeral in Miami of his old friend Hyman Roth.

He knew, of course, that Roth had been an enemy of Michael Corleone. That Roth had tried to assassinate Michael Corleone, first at his home in Lake Tahoe, and later in Cuba. But he also knew that as the diplomat he was regarded as being, he must attend the funeral, as there would be representatives of various families from across the United States, and his failure to attend might be seen as an act of disrespect by those unfamiliar with his relationship with the Corleone Family.

Finally, after deciding on the dark blue necktie, Don Altobello closed his bag and summoned his driver and personal bodyguard, Joey Zasa, who was waiting for him in the next room.

Zasa, only twenty-three years old and with a young man’s penchant for fancy clothes and beautiful woman, was already regarded by Altobello as the most important man in his organization. The Altobello Family was small but powerful in its own way, and despite the presence of a titular Consigliere, Don Altobello had immediately and shrewdly noticed something he liked about Joey Zasa, removed him from the crew with which he worked, and taken him under his personal wing, treating him almost like the son he had never had. He now regarded the young Zasa as his most important advisor, believing that because of his youth and intelligence he was more in step with the changing times, thus making his advice that much more valuable.

“Take the bag, Joey” he said when Zasa entered the room. “It's time to leave for the airport.”

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Pl, it reads well, I like the different characters weaving in and out. It reminds me of the opening of The Godfather, when we are introduced to Nazorine, Bonasera, and so on. I think that you were true to continuity and to the characters. I especially loved the section about Tom. And I appreciate the way you introduced Vincent - quite plausible.

The only part I had a bit of difficulty with was the conversation between Al and Michael. Not that I didn't find the exchange interesting, or even illuminating, but I found the dialogue a bit stilted. Perhaps it's because we can't picture Al saying that much! I did like the part about Connie doubting Fredo's cause of death, but coming to accept it eventually because she will prefer to turn a blind eye to it.

I do a great deal of "business" writing in my work, but as far as prose/fiction goes, I've always had problems with

1- Coming up with a decent plot (every time I see a movie I like, or read a book with a good plot, I say to myself "How come I couldn't come up with that?"), and

2- Writing dialogue, which is even more difficult, I think. That's probably why there's so little of it here so far.

As far as introducing the characters one by one goes, that, obviously, is a deliberate attaempt to emulate Puzo's style in writing a novel as well as the style in which he wrote.

Altho I respect the fact that Weingardner is a professional author with a style his own, I felt that one of the major weaknesses of TGFR was his failure to capture Puzo's style, which I always thought was very readable.

Both installments were excellent, Plaw. I find them way more interesting, and readable than Winegardner's effort. Plus, there is way more insight into Don Altobello's early career and alliance with Don Corleone. It also had characters we actually know about, and had insight into what was going on with them. Keep 'em coming!

[QUOTE]Originally posted by plawrence:
[QB] 2- Writing dialogue, which is even more difficult, I think. That's probably why there's so little of it here so far.

As far as introducing the characters one by one goes, that, obviously, is a deliberate attaempt to emulate Puzo's style in writing a novel as well as the style in which he wrote.


Plaw this is really good! Keep writing. For dialogue, just say it out loud. Try to "role play" and just speak as though you were the characters....even use a tape recorder...that may help.

Hey, dontomasso is back!!

Seriously Plaw. All Kidding aside. I think that your writing abilities are just superb. You definaltely captured the essence of Puzo.

I sincerely think that you should take this into serious consideration and really write a book about this. Go for it my friend! What have you got to lose? As we've said many times, Winegardner really had no clue when it came to writing about The Godfather characters. On the other hand you have fantastic insight when it comes to The Godfather and it's characters and that is exactly why I feel that you should follow through and write this book.

Chu can do it mang!


Don Cardi

I'll tell you what, Don C.....

I'll write it, and then sell you the rights for, let's say, $5000.

Then you can try and sell it, and any money you make off of it is yours to keep.

Still want me to keep writing?

Here's the final installment for now, guys, the beginning of Chapter 2. I'm taking the rest of the weekend off.
...........

CHAPTER 2

The room service dinner that Tom Hagen ordered hadn’t arrived yet when his telephone rang.

“Tom, it’s Michael” said the voice at the other end of the line. “I need you back here as soon as possible – tonight, actually.”
“Why? Is everything O.K.?” Tom asked.
There was an almost imperceptible pause before Michael answered. “There’s been an accident, Tom. Fredo is dead.”
“God, Mikey……What the hell happened?” Tom said softly.
“Fredo went out fishing with Al Neri” Michael began. “Somehow, I don’t know, somehow he fell overboard. Neri tried to save him, but Fredo almost drowned them both”. For the first time since he could remember, Tom heard a tinge of emotion in Michael’s voice. And then, as quickly as ithe emotion was there, it was gone, as Michael’s tone switched to his usual businesslike voice.
“The family plane is waiting for you right now at the airport” Michael said. “There’s a car waiting downstairs to get you there. I expect you back in less than three hours. I haven’t told Connie yet, and I want you there when I do.”
“Sure, Mike, I’ll leave right away. Anything else I can do?” Hagen asked.
“No. Just get back here as soon as you can” Michael said, before abruptly hanging up the phone without waiting to hear if Tom Hagen had anything else to say.

# # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

It had been nearly a year since Connie Corleone had had confronted her brother Michael, and in an act of defiance in which she had failed to follow his wishes had run off and married Merle Johnson.

It was only after their honeymoon, paid for by Connie by pawning her jewelry, after they had set up housekeeping in Merle’s squalid Reno apartment, the irony lost on her that the city in which he lived was known at the time as a common residence for rich women of the east while waiting out the residency requirement for a Nevada divorce, and after she learned that he had absolutely no visible means of support other than the anticipation of her allowance from the Corleone family that Michael had now cut off, that she decided to leave him.

It then that she learned of his four previous marriages, all of them to rich divorcees, and all of which had ended with Merle Johnson receiving generous settlements from each of his ex-wives, and of his many infidelities, two of which had taken place during the brief few months that they had been together, almost as if he were planning who his next victim in the crime of marriage would be.

Michael was right, of course, as he almost always had been, when he said about Merle Johnson in his uniquely icy way, “I don’t know who this man is, and I don’t know what he does for a living. Now tell him you don’t want to see him anymore. I’m sure he’ll understand.” Just as he had been right in ordering the killing of her husband, Carlo Rizzi, who she now knew had set-up her brother Sonny to be murdered.

Her initial reaction to the disappearance of her husband had been worry. And two days later, when his body turned up in the marshlands of New Jersey, anger. Anger at Michael, when she put things together and realized that Carlo’s death was somehow related to the murders of the heads of four of the five New York crime families that very same week. Anger at Michael for taking her husband away from her, who, as badly as he treated her, was still the father of her children.

Even after she realized that she no longer cared about his death, that Carlo was responsible for the murder of her oldest brother, a brother who had always protected her and who she realized she loved even more than her husband, Carlo’s death had sent her into a depression and downward spiral that had lasted until only two months before, with the death of her mother.

It was then that she finally forgave Michael, in the process forgiving herself, and reconciled with her older brother.

She knew that for some reason – she was unsure of exactly what the reason was, but suspected that it had something to do with the embarrassment that Fredo’s ex-wife had caused Michael at Anthony’s communion party – that Michael was terribly angry with Fredo, and she begged Michael to make up with him on the very first day of their mother’s wake. And she promised Michael that she would change, that she wanted to stay close to the family now, and that she would take care of him, not as a wife but in the way in which an older sister might care for a baby brother, even though she was the younger of the two.

And Connie Corleone had found happiness and contentment in her new way of life. Her husband had been a gambler and a chaser of other women, and she found a satisfyingly tranquil chord of domesticity in caring for Michael, and Fredo as well, that she had never been able to strike while married to Carlo Rizzi.

# # # # # # ## # # # # # # # # # # # #

Because of the many trips made by Tom Hagen in his role as family attorney, Al Neri, acting as Security Director of the family hotels, and Michael himself, between the Corleone’s Lake Tahoe estate and Las Vegas, Reno, and the state capital in Carson City, the family owned a small twin-engine airplane that seated four comfortably. Michael had even undertaken the considerable expense of clearing several acres of woodland on the property, and built a private airstrip, complete with a hangar and a small cottage, shared by the pilot, a much decorated Korean War veteran on 24-hour call, and an expert airplane mechanic.

Now, flying over Lake Tahoe at dusk, Hagen could see the entire estate in front of him. As many times as he had seen it, the beauty of the lake and the surrounding mountains never failed to impress him as surely being one of the most beautiful places in the world, especially when he compared it to the grime and grit of New York City.

Coming in for a landing, Hagen could already make out the figure of Michael Corleone, standing alone about twenty yards from the end of the runway. Although there was a road which led from the small airstrip to the compound, which was nearly half of a mile away, Hagen saw no car, which meant that he and Michael would be walking back to the compound, giving them about 10-20 minutes of absolute privacy, depending on their pace, to talk.

Tom had once thought that Michael sometimes chose to walk because he appreciated the natural beauty of the surroundings and enjoyed a rare few minutes when he had the opportunity to communicate with nature, but he soon learned otherwise shortly after the airstrip was completed, when he realized that the only time he and Michael walked from the airstrip were those times when Michael wanted to discuss something in absolute privacy and did not wish to risk the chance of being overheard by his driver.

As the plane taxied to a stop, Michael was there at the door to open it for Tom and greet him with an embrace as soon as Hagen’s feet touched the ground. Then, silently, with Michael’s arm draped across Tom’s shoulder in a rare display of emotion, they began to make their way towards the compound.

They walked quietly for a minute or two. Finally, it was Tom who broke the silence.

“Mikey…..I don’t know what to say…..”
“Don’t say anything, Tom” Michael said. “I want you to just listen.” The emotion that Hagen expected to hear in the voice of a man talking about the death of a brother just hours before was missing, and Hagen, not sure of what he was about to hear next yet somehow knowing that he wasn’t going to like it, braced himself for what Michael was about to tell him.
“Fredo didn’t drown” Michael said in his flat and emotionless way. “He and Neri went out in the boat, and Neri shot him and dumped his body in the lake.”
“But why, Mike?” Hagen’s voice cracked, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. “Fredo was no threat anymore. You even said yourself that you knew that Ola and Roth misled him.”
“Fredo was misled” Michael said “But not the way you think he was. We have about a ten minute walk back to the house. I want you to listen while I tell you the whole story of what really happened the night that Hyman Roth and my brother Fredo tried to have me killed.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Now the price to the book rights is less than $1,000 dollars, am I right?

Now why would I ever consider paying more than that?

Uh, Plaw -- you can have my answer now if you like. My offer is this -- nothing. Not even the fee for the book rights, which I would appreciate if you would put up personally.


That last installment was excellent Plaw! Bravo! But don't forget to have Hagen cancel his meeting with Maury Dalowitz before heading back to Tahoe.

Someone needs to forward this to Mark Winegardner so he can see for himslef how a true GF affecinato properly writes a GF book!


Don Cardi

Plaw, I just finished reading this, and I must say, fabulous work!

I've never read Godfather Returns, but I'm sure you put Winegardner to shame! I really enjoyed reading every bit of it, and I hope you'll continue to write.

Firstly: anyone who attempts to chronicle the events between GFII and GFIII makes a brave and worthy attempt, and in this case it has been done in a bold, informed, intelligent and detailed manner.

Secondly: I'm relatively new here and plawrence is an established member of these boards... also I'm not very popular, and I'm fully aware that my opinions may well be dismissed summarily.

Nevertheless, plawrence has submitted his work for criticism and I will venture it, understanding that I may be hated, flamed or ignored. I hope my observations are taken in the productive way in which they are intended.

1. Too many lines from the films.

This was GFIII's failing... gratutious and obvious insertions of film quotes. Be your own man.

2. Unrealistic dialogue.

This is the worst example. Why does Mike tell Tom? And "tears welling up"!? Ah, come on!

3. Inaccuracies

Frequent references to Pantangelli as an underboss, when he was a caporegime. Or, if this is intended to reflect an error in the famous FBI chart, some indication that that chart was wrong and that Frankie was an underboss. [Debatable]

Connie actually thinking that Fredo drowned. Something about the way she said "poor Fredo drowned" in GFIII didn't ring true... she sounded more like a witch from MacBeth than a concerned sibling... she knew that Mike had killed him and was glossing it over for the sake of old Mike and his health. Plus at this stage, Connie was pretty ruthless herself.


Having said all that: the introduction to Altobello and Saza is great. But I just don't find your style as captivating as Puzo's - it's not engaging or stylish, although the underlying ideas are fantastic.

My (limited) attempts at criticism have aimed to be constructive, and I certainly don't represent that I could do anywhere near as well. I think a lot could be built on this... and needless to say, it far surpasses GF Returns. Hope my remarks will be taken in this vein.

Not bad Plaw. But I don't see Michael opening up like that to anyone. I don't see Michael incurring liability like that. Michael is still the master manipulator.

It is believable to me. If he was worried about liability, then he never would have had Tom, Neri and Rocco all together when planning the attack on Roth.

If Michael were to open up to ANYONE, it WOULD be Tom.

" You're the only one that I can trust."

Remember that line from GFII?


Don Cardi

The beauty of Michael is that he never opens up to anyone or tells anyone anything without a reason - he's inherited Vito's pointed calculation, as we all know very well. Without the rest of Plaw's treatment on the Michael/Tom conversation, we do not know if he is just opening up just to open up or if he's telling Tom the "real" story for a reason. I suspect it will be more the latter than the former.

Bravo, plaw. You're doing a great job. You certainly have me hooked.

plaw, you're wonderful! (And good writer, too. This is already so much better than that Weingartner abomination.)
My advice would be to not do as many "update biographies" at the very beginning. The focus needs to be on Michael--how he deals with Fredo's death and Kay's departure. I think a strong focus should be on how he develops his relationships with his children--why Anthony rebels and Mary sticks with him. Another aspect: the Gaming Commission puts him in the "Black Book," and he has to deal with out-of-town Dons.
Too bad Weingartner poisoned the well here.

Admitting that he murdered their sibling is completely different from planning an attack on another organized crime figure.

Yes, Michael doesn't do anything without an angle. That's why I said he was the master manipulator. He's telling Tom about Fredo to serve a particular purpose that has nothing to do with salvation.

Plaw, you could be on the right track with his dialogue with Tom, but I would not have him admit to murder.

Sorry your book was such a big flop, Mr. Weingardner.

BTW, If I PM you with my address, will you send me my $26.95 back?

There is no reason for you to be flamed or ignored. One of the great things about this forum is that we are able to exchange different ideas and points of view in a civilized and mature manner.

Hated? Maybe, you dirty sunovabitch

Keep in mind that this is a sequel, and, as such, must necessarily be derivative and connect to the original to a great extent.

Also, the quotes from the film are offered as exactly that: Quotes. They all appear in quotation marks, and no pretense is made to offer them as original.

The reality, I think, is that in the highly unlikely event that this is ever published, except for screwballs like us the average Godfather reader/fan has probably only read the book or seen the films maybe once or twice, and probably wouldn't even remember the source of these quotes.

And I think that those who do would appreciate them for what they are, while at the seem time enjoying the fact that they got the "inside jokes"

As far as that being a failing of GF III, I would disagree. The use of quotes and references from the first two films was one of the things that made the film stronger rather than weaker.

But that's strictly a matter of opinion, I guess.

As I said, writing dialogue is not my strong suit. If it were, I might be writing bestsellers for a living.

As far as your "Why does Mike tell Tom?" criticism goes, I think that one might be a bit premature, considering that you don't yet know either the plot or the theme that I'm planning to develop.

"tears welling up".....Yeah, I'll give you that that's a bit trite.
Now that's debatable.

In fact, it has been the subject in the past of some discussion here.

Did Connie know the truth about Fredo's death or not? Was she in denial about the truth? Did she play along with the fiction for the sake of Michael's failing health?

The last of those points may be an original idea on your part, BTW, for which you have my compliments, and if so is a valid point on which to reopen this particular discussion in a thread of its own.

That said, I think that your criticism about Connie's belief or disbelief in the drowning scenario is one that is more properly directed at GF III, especially since you don't yet know how I plan to treat her reaction to Michael telling her about Fredo's "accident".

No, that's an error on my part. I'll change that when I get around to it

I consider it a huge compliment rather than a criticism to have my writing style compared to that of Mario Puzo.

If I were able to write as well as he did, you'd probably be paying to read my work rather than getting it for free on an internet message board.

As far as the underlying ideas go, we've had any number of suggestions, treatments, plot outlines, and scripts for possible GF sequels or Part IV films over the years. Just browse through the GF IV Forum to get an idea.

Some of them were better ideas than mine, some of them probably worse. I just went into a little more detail than most, and used a book format, rather than one for a film, as most of the others did.

All of that said, keep in mind that this was done as a lark, inspired by a dinner conversation, and written on a day when I had nothing to do.

I make no representations that I am in any way, shape, or form a competent author of fiction, and since I think that the commercial value of this project is nil, I probably won't ever finish it.