OK, I made some minor changes to the Tom/Michael "Walk & Talk" scene, incorporating some of Don Tomasso's suggestions and the timeline mistake that Sicilian Babe caught.

Thanks again, guys.

Here's another installment:

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Willi Cicci was seated in the office of Bradley Pennington, Assistant Attorney General of the United States.

Even seated behind his desk, Pennington was a handsome and imposing, if rather youngish looking, figure. Six feet, four inches tall with blonde hair and blue eyes and only thirty-two years of age, his rise through the ranks of the Justice Department had been meteoric.

After graduating from Yale University, where he had played three sports and starred at forward on a basketball team that had won the Ivy League championship, he stayed at Yale for Law School, editing the school’s law review, and being offered, upon graduation, a position clerking for a noted Supreme Court Justice, for whom he had written the bulk of the majority opinion in an important case involving school desegregation in the south.

Upon completion of his clerkship, he was recommended by that grateful justice for a government position, which he eagerly accepted, thinking that a few years working for the Justice Department would enable him to make the contacts necessary for an entry into either a lurative private practice or politics.

“First of all, the government would like to thank you once again for your cooperation, Mr. Cicci” Pennington said. “Even though Michael Corleone was able to ‘escape our clutches’ so to speak, we think we gave him and his cohorts – his associates – in organized crime something to think about.”

Willi Cicci knew exactly what a “cohort” was. It always amused him, he thought, how people perceived him as someone lacking in intelligence. He had used that perception to his advantage many times in the past, and he thought about the time that he had made Senator Questadt explain to him what a “buffer” was.

“Also, Mr. Cicci, I have here the details and necessary paperwork and such for your new identity. You’ll also find your plane ticket inside, and all the information that you’ll need to get started with, ah, your ‘new life’, so to speak.” He handed an envelope across the desk to Willi.

Cicci took the envelope, but did not open it. He waited to see if Pennington was going to say anything else.

Pennington was the first to break the silence. “Your new name will be Dominick Abruzzio. You’re being relocated to Houston, Texas. As our agreement stipulates, you will receive a lump sum of $2000 to help you get settled, and a $400 monthly stipend from the government for the next two years. But you’re expected to find employment and become self sufficient within that time period.

Cicci knew exactly what the terms of his agreement with the government were, and he didn’t need Pennington to explain them to him for what seemed like the twentieth time since he had made the deal to testify four months go. He sat there and continued to stare at Pennington. He still hadn’t said a word.

“Well, Mr. Cicci, if you don’t have any questions….” Pennington was clearly becoming uneasy in the presence of a career criminal and murderer. “If there’s nothing else, you’ll have to excuse me, please.” He rose.

“Agents Ross and Wilson are waiting for you outside. They will escort you back to your hotel, and then to the airport this evening to make sure you get on your plane all right. I would advise you, by the way, to cut your hair and shave your mustache once you are no longer under the direct protection of the FBI.” He paused for a moment. “Let me thank you once again for your invaluable help and cooperation, and take this opportunity to wish you the very best of luck.’ He tentatively held out his hand, and Cicci, just as tentatively, shook it.

Dominick Abruzzio of Houston, Texas. He’d blend in nicely there, Willi thought, fighting hard to suppress a smile. He’d go to Houston, he thought. He might even stay a while and get settled. But he also had some ideas of his own. Like a visit to Nevada, where he planned to say “Hello” to an old friend and former employer.

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Nice. I like Pennington. And love Cicci being deeper than the peeks we've been allowed in the movies. You figure he had to be intelligent and ruthless if the Corleones were willing to trust him with Tessio's execution.

PS Me being slightly anal again. In the conversation between Tom and Michael, you should capitalize Pop.

sb, if you think you're anal retentive, you're not alone. plaw, i was going back and rereading all the stories again to see the changes you've made, and i noticed in the first installment that it states frankie killed himself while the fbi agents played pinochle, but weren't they playing hearts? completely irrelevant, i know, but i just thought i'd ask so my children aren't pointing out the continuity errors of the greatest selling book of all time on some message board someday. but if i'm wrong, just tell me to get a life.

I changed it, but according to MS Word spellcheck, it should be lower case. I'll have to look into that further. Yup, it was hearts, and I changed it.

Thank you both.

Right on, Plaw!

So let me get this straight...Pennington ghost wrote Brown v. Board of Education and then is reduced to talking to the likes of Willi Cicci, all in the name of political ambition!

OR

You are being VERY subtle in your foreshadowings and your sense of irony. Remember that Pentangeli (Cicii's Don) was furious that the Rosatos recruited "spicks and niggahs." Ultimately the whole operation was integrated thanks to Joey Zasa. Thus without the visionary opinion Pennington wrote, the whole direction of what happened to the Corleone operation in New York would never have happened.

I'd like to say that I am being "very subtle in (my) foreshadowings and sense of irony", but unfortunately I'm not that good.

I really didn't have anything more in mind for Pennington, but since Sicilian Babe likes him maybe I'll keep him around.

Sure you are Plaw. You don't really think FFC and Puzo thought out all the things we on these boards have extrapolated from the novel and the movies do you? Great artists never really know what they are creating.

I like that

I had that in mind when I started; recall that the last line in the first section about Rocco mentions "The funeral of Fredo Corleone", but I guess I got sidetracked introducing all of the characters.

But when he makes the movie version, I'll change it around in the screenplay so FFC can open with a big 20 minute funeral mass scene.

Gee, a character just for me?? I'm touched. Well, you know that FFC always loved to have Anglos to kick around (Bonasera's court experience, McCluskey, the Ellis Island workers, Geary), so I think that Pennington should stick around, if only to serve that purpose.

As for the Pop, wouldn't you capitalize Dad or Daddy? It is a proper noun. The same rule should apply to Pop, since that's what they called their father.

Oh Yeah, That is for sure. Like Tom said, that story is unbelievable.

You better do some more research on bodies if you want to use anything like this! Because this story line is surely unbelievable. Even Weingardner wouldn't miss this one.

Sorry, these last few don't come close to the stuff you first started with.

This is the kind of feedback and fact checking I need. Obviously, I thought the story was a bit unbelievable, hence Mike's comment to Tom.

I tried like hell to come up with a theory for the age-old and oft discussed question of "Who killed the Tahoe asassin?" that fit all of he facts as we knew them, and if I do say so myself, this one a least was unique and fit the facts.

I figured that unless the bodies were frozen and thawed out, rigor mortis would have set in long before they were dumped in the ditch, which would have been noticed when they were "fished out".

So permit me, if I may, to ask an expert on the subject:

Would the bodies need longer to thaw out? How long does it take before RM would set in? Or, what's a scenario I could use that would permit the substitution of the bodies without anyone knowing that they had been dead for maybe 16-18 hours?

The end of Chapter 2.....Don Altobello and Joey Zasa take an airplane ride, and Michael tells his sister that Fredo is dead. But does she believe his story?

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Don Nicholas Altobello disliked the idea of traveling on an airplane. In fact, he considered the airplane to be a wholly unreliable means of transportation, although if asked why he was unable to offer anything other than his inability to understand how a machine made of metal and weighing several tons when fully loaded with passengers could possibly stay in the air, ascending and descending only because of the operation of its controls by a pilot, who seemed to be able to do so with no more difficulty than it took one to drive an automobile.

The unexpected assassination of Hyman Roth, however, had forced this airplane trip. Roth’s wife, in accordance with Jewish law which required burial as soon as possible, had scheduled his funeral for the day following his death, and Altobello, after consulting various train schedules, had determined that it would not be possible for him to attend unless he made the trip to Miami by air.

Sleeping in the first class seat next to him, Joey Zasa had no such problems. Dozing even before the plane left the runway of New York’s LaGuardia Airport, Zasa awoke only when he found his face a few inches away from the backside of the pretty young stewardess who was bending over to serve dinner to the passenger in the seat across the aisle.

Altobello watched with amusement. “Ah, Joey, you have an eye for the pretty young girls.” He said.

“What can I tell ‘ya, Nicky. I’ve been chasing girls since I was four.” His New York accent made it sound like “flaw", only without the letter “L”.
“It’s gonna get you in trouble one day” Altobello said. “You wait and see.”

“Nicky, don’t worry about it” Zasa looked at his wristwatch, diamond encrusted and custom-made by the most famous watchmaker in Switzerland. “We should be landing in about fifteen minutes.”

“The sooner the better, Joey” replied Altobello. “You know how I hate riding in these things.”

“What are you worried about?” asked Zasa. “You’re safer in an airplane than you are in your own bathtub.”

“Especially in our business” Altobello laughed out loud at his own joke.

Below them now was icy looking clear blue water, and the coastline of Florida had become off to their right, drawing closer.

“Joey, you know I’m a religious man” Altobello said. “If God had wanted us to fly, he would have given us wings.”

“That’s silly, Nick.” Joey Zasa smiled at what he thought was the simple-mindedness of this powerful Don. He wondered again, for perhaps the hundredth time, how a man such as Nicholas Altobello could have become so powerful, and decided again that for now it would have to remain a mystery to him. “That’s the same as saying ‘if God wanted us to drive, he would have given us wheels instead of legs’ “.

“Joey, always with the wisecracks, Joey. That’s one of the things that I love about you.” Altobello said. “Look, we’re coming in for a landing.”

Their airplane landed and taxied to a hangar, where a metal stairway was rolled out and placed against the body of the plane. As if he could no longer wait, the moment the doors were opened the first person out to feel the intense Florida heat was Don Nicholas Altobello, head of one of the most powerful Mafia families in the country.

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Although the members of the Corleone family referred to their home on Lake Tahoe as an estate, it was really much more like a high security compound. Extending in every direction from the lake for several hundred wooded acres, it was completely surrounded, both at its furthest perimeter and again in the inner area which included the airstrip and various buildings, by a fence of barbed wire which could be electrified by the mere flipping of a switch.

Within the second fence were was the huge lawn on which Anthony Corleone’s First Communion party had been held, nearly two acres square in size, leading from the edge of the lake and its large dock, and then the boathouse, used mostly by Michael as his personal office and private sanctuary. Beyond the boathouse stood the main house in which Michael lived; two smaller houses, those of Tom Hagen and his family and Connie Corleone and her children; and four two-bedroom cottages, one occupied by Al Neri, one the home of Rocco Lampone, and two more available for the occasional overnight visitors, almost all of whom came to Lake Tahoe for the purposes of business.

Michael and Ton emerged from the woods on the path leading from the airstrip. “Let’s get Neri first, then go and talk to my sister” Michael said.

The two men walked to Al Neri’s house, and Tom waited a few feet away when Michael knocked on the door. Neri opened it, saw Michael and Tom waiting for him, and after he and Hagen exchanged barely perceptible nods, the three of them cut across the huge lawn and began walking towards the house occupied by Connie Corleone.

“You understand that I’m going to tell Connie it was an accident” Michael said. Hagen and Neri were both silent.

“She wouldn’t understand the truth” Michael added. It was almost as if he were still trying to justify to himself the act of murdering his own brother.

Michael knocked on the door, and Connie opened it. Seeing the looks on the faces of the three man, Connie instinctively knew that something was wrong.

“Michael” she said. “What is it?”
“Can we come in?” Michael asked.

Connie stepped aside, and the three men entered the house.

“Where are the children?” Michael said, looking around the room.
“Victor is outside somewhere” Connie replied. “Michael is upstairs taking a nap.”

Hagen and Neri were still standing in the entranceway, flanking either side of the door. “Sit down, Connie” Michael said.

Connie sat down on the sofa, and Michael took a dining room chair, turned it around, and sat down facing his sister less than three feet away, facing her with his arms resting on the back of the chair.

“Fredo’s dead, Connie” Michael said. He waited for her response, a question, or even an indication that she had heard him.

Connie said nothing. “He drowned” Michael said. “When he went fishing this afternoon with Al”.

Connie stared straight ahead, past Michael, into some unknown space. “I knew something was wrong when you said that you weren’t going to Reno after all” she said. “After Fredo and Al had already left.” She looked at Al Neri, standing in the doorway, but strangely he was staring through the window at something unseen outside.

“Did it have to happen, Michael?” she said.

Michael was unsure if she saw through his story, or was simply questioning the action of fate, so he said nothing.

Connie was fighting to hold back her tears. “I accept it, Michael” she said simply. ‘Whatever happened was meant to be.” She reached out and embraced her brother, who hugged her tightly while he continued to wonder whether or not she embraced the story of Fredo’s death as well.

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Part: Here's what I was thinking motivated Connie to act the way she did in this scene--

She's accepts her role and Michael's role in the family. She accepts Fredo's death as something that had to happen, whether by Michael's hand or by fate. She herself is not sure if she belives Mike's story or not, but realizes that either way "what's done is done", and so she accepts it, knowing that there is nothing she can do about it anyway.

I think that Connie reacted as Connie would have. She knew that, at this point, Michael is all she has left. Taking care of Michael is all she's got, as her children are pretty well grown. Also, her own kids were screwed up. She could see being a surrogate mother to Michael's children as a way to redeem herself as a mother.

Anyway, the only thing that I might change about her reaction is that instead of fighting back the tears, perhaps they could stream silently, that they made their way down her face in spite of the fact that she struggled against them, as if the old, emotional Connie still lives below the new calm surface.

I do like Joey, especially the nice touch with the watch. What I didn't understand was "four" and "floor". Aren't they supposed to rhyme, or is it because I'm from NY?

According to Peter Biskind's The Godafther Companion, Connie's oldest, Victor, was born in 1949, which doesn't jibe with Michael's comment to Connie about him being picked up in Reno for petty theft, since my story is set in the late 50's.

I decided to go with the younger Victor, since the 1949 birthdate had more credibility, since his baptism scene is depicted in the film and corresponds with that date.

Also, again according to Briskind, her second son, Michael, was born in 1955, presumably the offspring of Connie's second marriage.

That's why I had one of them "outside somewhere (playing?)", and the other napping.


Yup, it's the Noo Yawk accent that Joey had. "Four" without pronouncing the "R".

But looking at it now, I realize that we don't pronounce the "R" in "floor" either, so that was a bad example. I'm gonna go back and change it to "flaw".

I assume it is Victor that Connie is carrying when she is beaten by Carlo, who is then beaten by Sonny. It is Michael Rizzi's baptism at the end of The Godfather. If Victor is born around the time of Sonny's death, and Michael Corleone has time to meet, marry and bury Appollonia, return to America, live with his parents for at least a year before going to see Kay where he promises to legitimize the family in five years, then seven years goes by and he's dancing with Kay at the party, Victor easily could be a young teen at beginning of GF2.

Timeline and continuity problems have been much discussed here, of course.

If and when I ever finish this thing, I'll have to edit out any references to the characters that could leave me open to the nitpickers.

Seriously, I appreciate the feedback. Now, if FS would only tell me how long I need to thaw out a frozen body......

Also, the Fredo funeral scene will be taking place without a body. Anybody know how a Roman Catholic funeral would be handled under those circumstances?

We're waiting!! We want more, we want more, we want more!!

I believe a closed coffin would be used with something from the person's personal possesions inside. Unlike the jewish religion, the catholic religion does not require a body. I'm pretty sure of that.

In reality you could always have it that Michael requested a closed coffin becasue his brothers body was too deformed from being in the water for so long. So even if there really was no body, the family would not know that and they would think that Fredo's body WAS inside. It is not uncommon to have a closed coffin for someone who drowned.


Don Cardi

Not sure if this will help, but it was interesting.

Catholic Funeral Guidelines

Okay, Plaw, it is the All-Star break, so I'm going to try my best to catch up; I copy/pasted all the parts into Microsoft Word to have them all together. I think I've forgotten what I'd already read, as it's been a while, but maybe it'll be better to read everything at once, anyway. I don't think I'll be able to read it tonight, but I'll try to get started on it as soon as possible...after all, baseball will be back before you know it!

By popular demand, Chapter 3 begins.

Say hello to the annoying (to some) Kay Corleone, and yet another lawyer

Chapter 3

Kay Corleone had briefly considered dropping the “Corleone” from her name and reverting back to her maiden name of Adams, and, in fact, had even done so for a short time, until she realized the she received much better service and was treated with considerably more deference when people learned that her name was Corleone, even in situations when they weren’t certain that she was one of those Corleones.

Sitting across the desk from her newest attorney, Douglas Michelson, Kay wondered if she were not on a mission of futility. The divorce proceedings in the Nevada courtroom that had not only terminated her marriage to Michael Corleone but awarded him custody of their two children, Anthony and Mary, had been, in her mind, a sham. The judge, it seemed to her, had been far from impartial, and even her own lawyer had appeared at times to be working against her.

After losing the custody battle, Kay had moved to Carson City in order to be close enough to the Corleone Tahoe estate to be able to visit Anthony and Mary on the alternate weekends which were permitted by the court. Her former sister-in-law, Connie, and Tom Hagen, had remained friendly, and, to an extent, even sympathetic to her and the difficulty of her plight, but the children seemed to be growing more and more distant from her in the months following their separation.

Finally, unable to bear the pain of seeing her children so infrequently, unable to handle the accompanying guilt, and unable to deal any longer with the anger she felt against the father of her children who she had once loved, Kay Corleone began to make inquiries in Carson City, hoping to find an attorney who could re-open her case.

Douglas Michelson had come to her attention through several sources. He had practiced in Nevada capitol for more than ten years, having moved there from California following the war, in which he had served with distinction in the Judge Advocates Generals Corps. Setting up a private practice, he had become well connected politically over the years and developed a reputation as a man who could “get things done”. He was friends with the Governor and State Senator Geary, two of the most powerful men in the state, and was even acquainted with some of the lesser known, though equally influential men in Nevada, men such as Tom Hagen and the recently deceased Hyman Roth.

Although he had no particular love, or even liking, for those who he considered part of the “gangster element” who were populating Nevada in increasing numbers, he was practical enough to understand that gambling, more than the clean air and beautiful scenery, was responsible for the state’s economic growth, and pragmatic enough to be willing to look the other way at the activities of the gamblers and casino owners, understanding that they were, at least for now, an integral part of the process.

He had earned a considerable amount of money over the years arguing for the casino licensing of men that the Gaming Commission had initially turned down, and for the exclusion of others from the famed Las Vegas “Black Book”, a listing of those individuals who were considered to be “undesirable” and had been barred from entering the casinos.

In fact, Michelson had thought at times, he would not have had very much of a practice had it not been for his work with various individuals who he knew without doubt were associated in some way with organized crime, and he had no desire to jeopardize his relationship with them.

Still, he felt sorry for the woman now sitting across from him. Clearly, she had not been treated fairly by the Nevada courts. She had lost the custody fight for her children for another reason that he could see than the identity of her former husband. Obviously, the judge had been afraid of who and what her husband was and the influence he wielded in the state. He had been presented to the court as a legitimate businessman and casino owner, with no mention made of his position as head of the most powerful organized crime family in the United States. It was argued that it was he who would best be able to provide for the children, who, under his guardianship, would live on an estate, attend the best private schools, and be supervised at all times by a professional governess. Her own attorney, it had appeared to Michelson, had been incompetent, yet he was not surprised to learn that just a few short weeks after representing Kay Corleone, that very same attorney had been appointed a Judge of the Nevada Appellate Court.

He had listened to Kay Corleone’s story with interest, and felt that he could help her. The question in his mind was whether or not he wanted to.

“I believe that we do have good grounds for reopening your case, Mrs. Corleone” he began. “It would appear that there were certain facts about your ex-husband which were not brought out at the original custody hearing. You were married to him for ten years, and there is quite a bit that you could testify to regarding his criminal activities, but, unfortunately, without a corroborating witness I’m afraid that your testimony would not carry very much weight.”

“I know, Mr. Michelson” Kay said. “That’s always been the problem. Getting someone to testify against Michael.

“Perhaps his sister” Michaelson said. “Surely, as a woman, she must realize that the children would be better off with you.”

“No chance” said Kay. “Connie would never go against her brother.”

Kay was beginning to feel helpless again. Yet somehow, for some reason, she felt an attraction to this man and believed that he would be the one who could finally help her.

“Well, Mrs. Corleone” he said “Without someone to help us, I’m afraid that we don’t have very much of a chance.”

“Please call me ‘Kay’ ” she said. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to get to know this man any better than she already did, except for the feeling that he could he help.

“I’d be happy to call you ‘Kay’ “ he replied. “But only if you begin to call me ‘Douglas’. Perhaps you would like to join me for dinner this evening, Kay” Michelson said. “We can discuss your case further” he added, with a slight smile and a twinkle in his eye.

“Why, that would be very nice, Douglas” Kay answered. “I think I would like that very much.

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YAY!! More!! I think that Kay is properly grief-stricken about the loss of her children in your description of her, but I don't know if she comes across that way in her conversation. However, I still crave more, so you must be doing something right!!

A LAWYER hitting on his client? Say it aint so!

Douglas is Kay's future husband, so that makes it OK.

Gotta have a little romance in there, don't we?

Plus, it will gave me a chance to try my hand at writing some, um, "love scenes".

How's this:

His hand reached around and down her belly until he felt the touch of her moist, warm, and turgid flesh.

or this:

Instinctively she wrapped her fingers around his hard and throbbing manhood.

Turgid?? You gotta love a word like turgid. Also, you could try and work sultry in there. There's something about that word, too. And don't forget to have Kay tremble at some point. That's VERY important. And at some point, they need to sigh. In unison. Perhaps after they quake and tremble. In unison.

And then you can have that Italian model with the long hair (what IS his name???) be on the cover.

Yeah, there's a million examples of unison orgasms IN LITERATURE!

dunno. What Italian model? You possibly mean Monica Bellucci?

No, he was a model for romance novel covers and he was very muscular and had long blond hair. I cannot remember his name.

Well it had better be protected sex cause we dont want any more abortions.

He felt her hot breath on his neck as he pleasured her wet clitoris with his finger.
"Oh Douglas, its been so long," she said as he pressed his hard granite-hard member against her pulsating thigh. Expertly he unbuttoned her blouse and unhooked her bra, revealing her heaving mounds....supple yet firm, her nipples erect.

Feeling him up against her, her mind was racing, inexplicably the term "hung like a horse entered her mind, and suddenly she was distracted because her mind flashed to a story she had heard about a horse named Khartoum.

"Whats wrong Kay?"
"Its nothing...its about..."
"That part of your life...that nighmare is over, Kay, he said stroking her hair and nibbling at her earlobes."