I've meet Mario Puzo by person.
He is a good friend of mine

The plan, which was the product of a vivid and troubled imagination first came to him when he thought about the Ressurection story at Easter time in his catechism class.
While his feelings about his father were conflicted, and while he suspected from the time they shot up his parents bedroom that his dad was mixed up in something dangerous, he did not fully comprehend the extent to which Michael had set his course toward a destiny that would repay him for his many sins.

His feelings for the people around Michael were also mixed. In addition to loving his nonno and uncle Freddie, and being somewhat afraid of Rocco Lampone and Al Neri, he didnt know what to make what to make of the distant and cold Tom Hagen, who had been so transparent when he told him the electric car was a gift from his dad. Anthony loved some of the others, most especially Frank Pentangeli. Back in New York, and in Tahoe, Frankie Five Angels was like a jolly uncle to Anthony. He taught Anthony how to drink water from a hose, and told him jokes and played tricks that always made Anthony laugh. He also taught Anthony about operas, something for which Frankie had a passion. Frankie would sing sections of the more famous operas to Anthony, and even got him to memorize a part of La Donn 'e mobile from Rigoletto. Frankie explained to Anthony that Operas were one of the great forms of Italian culture and that he should nevr forget that the among the greatest musicians were Italians. "They're stories, but the actors sing the parts instead of talking," Frankie told him. Then he would always add, "Tony if an orchestra doesnt have at least one Italian in it, its not really an orchestra!" Curious, Anthony would ask Frankie to tell him the stories of the operas, one of which was La Cavaleria Rusticana, in which the Ressurection scene was played out onstage.

Even as he was driving to Reno with his father in the silent car, the music Frankie had sung to him, in his gruff voice, turned sweet, and was of solace to the child. "When I grow up I want to see the opera," he blurted out to Michael who of course prommised him he would take him as soon as he had finished some business. Anthony didn't believe his father any more, but on one of her secret visits to the Tahoe compopund, Anthony, in a rare moment confided to his mother, Kay, that he wanted to see a real opera. After that, from time to time, Aunt Connie would give Anthony opera records she told him came from his mom...but not to mention it to dad.

In time, he forgot about the fantasy to bring Fredo back, and at age 13, when he and Mary found themselves shipped to New Hampshire and to an exclusive boarding school where his mom taught part time, he began to realize how much pain his father had actually caused. During his visits home all through school he enjoyed all the holiday festivities, and was heartened by the kindly way his step dad Douglas had treated him. Sometimes though he and Mary would talk of the good times in the Corleone family, and of the differences between the genuinely joyous Italian festivities they rmembered, as compared to the rather dry W.A.S.P. way things were done in New Hampshire.

Although Mary was never much of a student, a well placed endowment got her into a top notch photography school in Rochester, New York. Anthony, who excelled in academics and in music was torn between an offer extended from Julliard and acceptance to a pre-law program at The University of Pennsylvania. Oddly it was Douglas who persuaded Anthony to go into pre law, and later to begin law school at Penn by telling him "You've got great classical music there in Philly, and you are a short train ride from New York where you can get all the culture you want. Get the law degree, make money, and be a patron of the arts," he would say.

During those years Anthony became disillusioned with school and for three years he dropped out altogether. Kay, who was always supportive, allowed him to bum around Europe for this time, although she never learned that he had made a month long side trip to Sicily where he visited the town of Corleone and learned much of the family history from barkeeps and locals all too eager to recount the legends of "La Famiglia Corleone." It was there he learned for the first time that his father had spent more than a year hiding in Sicily, and that he had married a young girl who was blown up in a car. Although he went to the little bar her brothers had inherited from their father, he never disclosed to them who he was, or why he was there. To them he was just an American tourist looking for some adventure, and at one point they even threatened him about playinhg fast and loose with Sicilian girls.

He really had not thought about it much, but the idea of girls was not something that consumed him. He did not find them unattractive, and he had no feelings toward men, but still he knew there was something about his sexuality that was different than other guys he knew. It was a feeling of emptiness, and repulsion at any form of closeness -- a problem of alienation he would learn about many years later when he sought psychiatric help following Mary's murder on the steps of the Palermo Opera House.

During these years he traveled to Milano where he saw much of the Italan Canon at La Scala, to Germany where he saw the entire Ring Cycle, and to Paris, and even to Spain where he learned Zarzuela watching a family named Domingo performing in Barcelona. He was especipally taken by the talent of their son, Placido, who was about the same age as he, but with a talent he had never before witnessed. It was during this trip that he thought more and more about changing the direction of his life.

He did come home, and finished college at his mother's request, and went through two years of law school before he announced to Kay and Doug that he was dropping out and would enroll at Julliard. Kay allowed him to take classes there, but it was not widely known or discussed. Her mother's instinct told her this was the path he had chosen, and in a way it gratified her because it was so far reomved from the life choices Michael had made. The fact that he was leaving the law altogether made her believe that now there would never be any chance he would change his mind about all those bad years, and be persuaded to work for Michael.

It was in 1979 that Anthony and Michael received a letter out of the blue from their father...."My dear children, It is now several years since I moved to New York and I haven't seen you as much as I would like to......"

Anthony paused. He had visited his father two or three times in New York, never telling him he was at Julliard and leading him to believe he was in his third year at Penn law. The meetings were always brief, cool, and they never ventured beyond small talk. Anthony would always have some excuse not to stay for dinner, and ther was never a meeting between the two that lasted more than thirty minutes. Mary had always been closer, and despite everything, she still loved her dad. She spent several weekends at the apartment, going off to shop with aunt Connie, and having dinner with her father.

As he read the part in the letter entreating Kay to come to the Papal Honors ceremony, the idea hit Anthony like a thunderbolt.
He was immediately on the phone to his mother. "Dad wants you to come to New York with us....to see something the Church is doing for him." Kay told him it was out of the question when he said, "Mom, he wants you there because he wants some kind of forgiveness from you. You are the only leverege I have. You can convince him to let me follow my dream."

Kay saw immediately what Anthony was talking about, and when the invitation came to her and Douglas, she sent out an RSVP saying they'd be there. Douglas was phlegmatic about it, and believed Kay's sole motive was for Anthony. He never knew that there was a lasting feeling in Kay for Michael, and she never let on about it. After all, Douglas had been good to her and her children. He was a decent man who did not deserve such complication in his life.

Still, she deliberately arrived late for the ceremony.

For Mary, the visit to Michael's apartment was a continuation of their reconciliation. When she was eight she was spending a weekend with Michael, who took her to the wedding of Clemenza's grandaughter, which he had quietly paid for in memory of his his father's Capo, and in the ways of being "made" his mentor. Clemenza's widow had been long dead, and his only daughter, herself widowed after he husband, a low level bookie failed to pay some shylock from another family money he owed. The poor woman had asked Michael to intervene and obtain justice, but he had refused. First, the hit had nothing to do with the Corleone business, and the debt this man incurred was somethinghe had done on his own, and without the knowledge of his wife, who would have gone to Michael for financial help in any case. Second, Michael was hardly in a positioin to get himself directly or even indirectly involved in some turf war that was of no concern to him for anybody. He was inching closer and closer to the legitimate world, and such a move would have been a stupid one no matter how you looked at it. Nevertheless, Michael always helped Clemenza's daughter out financially, and he was pleased to see that his granddaughter who had obtained a nursing license was marrying a middle class youn man of Italian descent, who had just passed his exams and had been hired by a large firm as a CPA. He could not help but think how proud Clemenza would have been to see the flesh of his flesh being fully absorbed into the American culture, and totally in the legitimate world. What Michael lacked in humor or compassion, he made up for in loyalty. Many of the old family retainers still counted on him for help, and he never refused. Enzo the baker's son had done well in high school, and when the time came Michael made a generous contribution to Brown University, where the boy was accepted on a full scholarship.
Likewise when a nephew of Frank Pentangeli ran into some trouble on a background check a major airline had done while considering hiring him as a pilot, Michael made sure that a few calls were made to the right people which resulted in his getting the job and a good living. He never asked for returns of favors such as this, he simply saw it as an extension of his father's generousity to those who had shown their loyalty over the years.
This wedding was going splendidly, and Michael took real joy in seeing Mary tasting, for maybe the first time, the foods and deserts he had grown up with, hearing the music he had heard so often at the old Corleone family parties, and otherwise being among old school paisan who were slowly but surely realizing the American Dream. It was ironic, he thought, that the mere passage of time had allowed the descendants of so many footsoldiers to become "legitimate" yet how difficult it was for him to make the same leap. The diaspora caused by Michael's taking out the heads of all the families became a blessing to many of their relatives, and Michael was well aware that names like Tattaglia, Cuneo, Barzini, even Brasi now graced the letterheads of law firms, stock brokerages and medical practices.
These thoughts were interupted when Michael heard the girlish squeals of Mary and several other pre-teens as they were drawn to a lone fifteen year old who had suddenly appeared at the wedding party. Mary didn't know who this young man was, and she didn't even really understand the feeling she had when she saw him, and perhaps if Michael had a window into Mary's soul on that day, he would have taken better care to insure that she would not have met him nor talked to him that day or any other.
After all Michael knew very well who this handsome young tough was. He went by the name Vincent Mancini.

Later that evening Mary had gone to bed, and Michael was in his study, shuffling papers on his desk, and procrastinating doing what he dreaded the most...trying to get some sleep. The telephone rang, he answered it and he heard the news from a low level associate in a real estate firm in Vegas. The sale of the Tropicala had not gone through. A group of investors whose identities were thenn unknown had bankrolled the erstwhile buyer to purchase a rival hotel with the promise that it would be remodeled and "put the Tropicala to shame." It left Michael the owner of what would soon be a second rate casino. Johnny Fontaine and his associates were no longer the draw they used to be, and Michael's aloofness had kept him from widening his circle of friends in the entertainment business, or for that matter any business.




It was almost ninety degrees in the middle of December 1972 in West Palm Beach, where B.J. Harrison, Esq. was tanning himself when a butler brought and plugged in a telephone near thje chaise lounge where he was lying. "For you sir. I believe its the call you'd been expecting." Harrison waved off the servant and picked up the phone. On the other end, Santo Trafficante, from Tampa, was nervously telling Harrison about a "rat" whom he believed was someplace "out west," and who was talking too much about what Trafficante simply called "The Dallas Thing."

To the world, B.J. Harrison had burnished his image as a brilliant criminal defense lawyer, a playboy, a socialite, and overall publicity hound. His picture regularly appeared in GQ, Esquire, W and various tabloids either standing outside some courthouse with his newly minted "Not Guilty verdict" or entering high society fundraisers donning a tailor made tux, with this starlet or that model draped on his arm like some trophy he'd just been awarded.

This was the public B.J. Harrison. In truth the personna of B.J. Harrison was a complete fiction. His birth name Benjamin Jacob Horrowitz had disappeared from all public records, the work of his grandfather the late Hyman Roth. Raised by Roth's nephew in Hollywood, Florida, B.J. attended catholic schools, often driven back and forth by none other than Jimmy Blue Eyes, an older hit man in the Roth family. The back story they created was largely based on the true story of how Tom Hagen came into the Corleone family, was generally accepted, and as he grew older more embellishments, and changes to his background both in public records and through articles in the press, not to mention from his own mouth had created a public figure, who, like Poe's purloined letter, allowed his true identity to remain hidden the more the spotlights shone upon him. The creation of "Harrison" had been Roth's idea. Believing that no Jew could gain full acceptance into American society, Roth had decided to raise the brightest of his eight grandchildren to become one of the "goyim" while all the time having intintimate knowledge and command over his operations. After his death, the family was shattered, but they continued with the plan.
The shooting of Roth, and the subsequent expropriation of his vast gambling interests in Havana by Fidel Castro had left the family nearly broke. Filling the vacuum was Trafficante, who restored Roth's nephew, Jake Horrowitz, married to Roth's daughter, and a brilliant accountant in his own right, to a reasonably high position of power, but at a heavy price. Terms of peace between the Roths and the Corleones was a deal breaker. It has been a bitter pill for his "father" to swallow, but for him Hyman Roth was nothing more than a shadowy memory who meant nothing. If he had to do business with the Corleones, so be it.

"I think I know who dropped the ball here, B.J., and I think you need to talk to Michael Corleone to make sure this thing doesnt get out of control." "I'll see what I can do ." Harrison said and he hung up the phone. Harrison pushed a button and almost instantly the butler reappeared. Speaking as if he was asking for a glass of water Harrison instructed, "Check the weather in New York, pack me bags for a three day stay. The usual suite at the Waldorf, call my pilot and tell him to have the plane ready in an hour. Book my regular table at 21 for 10 tonight, and put a call into whats-her name -- you know the blonde on Park Avenue, let her know I'll be in town. The butler acknowledged his charge, and Harrison picked up th telephone, this time to call Franlkin Dewhurst, the senior partner in one of New York's most oldest and most prestigious firms, Dewhurst, Dunlop and Lohan ("DD&L"). Harrison handled all of their clients' white collar crime cases. D&L would never soil its hands with criminals, at least not directly. No one knew that in exchange for this exclusive relationship Harrison kicked back 15% of his exhorbitant fees to DD&L. DD&L's impeccable reputation as the premier WASP firm in New York not only opened any door DD&L wanted opened, it also had on its client list the names of those who so badly wished to be a real part of DD&L's world -- its highest paying client being one Michael Corleone.

It was not yet noon,, and Tom Hagen was pouring his fourth scotch. His son, with whom he was never close had gone to live in a seminary, he and his wife had a loveless marriage once she found out about his mistress, and his relatioinship with Michael had almost become nonexistent since Michael had moved back to New York. Still up until recently Hagen had remained a major player, operating as a negotiator among the various cna changing circles of power in the underworld, serving as the Corleone's attorney in Vegas" and sitting on two or three boards of directors, along with holding a majority interest in a State Chartered Bank. In '62 and '63 Michael had dispatched Tom to Tampa to "make some arrangements" with Santo Trafficante. Specifically Michael had told him "do what he asks, but I dont want to know about it. The Corleones must have no part in what he is doing, but we need him to keep the peace with the Roths, and he is useful to me in some other ventures." Tom had done as he wasa ordered, but in late '63 when he returned to Vegas the contacts with Michael were fewer and farther between. The only assignment on his plate was to unload the Tropicala for a decent profit, and now he'd blown that. When he learned about how he'd been out maneuvered he threw back a fifth of scotch, and was in no condition to call Michael with the news. When he awoke the following morning with a searing hangover, he drank more to steady himself, and make the inevitable call, but now it was Tom's phone that was ringing.

"Tom why do I have to hear about your fuck ups from real estate agents?" It was a familiar and unwelcomed tone of voice. "Mikey I was just going to call you." "Are you drinking Tom?" "No Mike, ...well just one before I was going to call you." "Tom I want you to get it back on track. I dont care how you do it, but you make this sale go through. After that, Tom I want you here. I want you in a hospital, and I want you to dry out." These were not suggestions, they were orders. "Mikey it was one screw up...one...after all these years, please Mike youve gotta understand." "Ahhhh one mistake. You want to tell me one mistake Tom? You want to talk about Sonny, or Kay's abortion, or Geary? You want to talk about how I almost went to prison because you didnt figure out they had Pentangeli?" There would be no argument this time. Tom knew he had failed Mike for the last time. "Tom you will always be my brother. I want you to close out this deal and come back east where you can get some help. Sell what you have out there and bring Teresa here. You'll have a good life in New York, and whatever else because of what we've been through you are still the only one I can talk to freely."

Tom felt somewhat better, and became determined to get it together and do what Mike asked. Perhaps a move back east and an easier lifestyle was what he needed.

Mike put the telephone down. He was sorry for Tom, but still he was angry that he had screwed up this deal. It wasnt so much that he'd lose money, that bothered him it was that ownership of the casino was holding him back from realizing his plan to go completely legitimate. A moment later the phone rang again. It was the doorman of the building telling him a courier had a private message at the frint desk. "Send someone up with it."
When the elevator opened, and the envelope was handed to him Michael thanked the man and went back to his study where he examined the embossed DD&L Logo on the fine paper which also bore his name in perfect palmer method script. He opened it and read the brief handwritten letter. Dear Michael, Our mutual acquaintance B. J. Harrison will be in town for the next three days, and he requests about an hour of your time. You may contact me to make arrangements, or you may call him at the Waldorf any time after the start of business tomorrow as wyou wish. Cordially, Franklin Dewhrst."

Michael quickly wrote a note to Harrison and summoned a courrier. "Take this to Mr. Harrison at the Waldorf." The courrier obliged, and went immediately to fulfill his task notwithstanding the hour. The note read " My apartment, 10:00 am tomorrow, -- Michael Corleone."
Harrison may be a big time lawyer,but Michael Corleone wasn't going to meet him or anyone like him on any turf but his own. Dutifully Harrison appeared at the appointed time and place. After exchanging pleasantries they went into Michael's office to talk.

"Mr. Corleone I know what happened in Vegas. The Molinari family on the coast along with some associates in Detroit along with some investors from Mexico bankrolled a Nevada Corporation which essentially forced your hand to keep the Tropicala."

"Whats their motive?" Michael asked.
"They want you in gambling, and they want you in the business you are in. With all due respect Mr. Corleone, Tom Hagen made it easy for them to pull this one off."

Michael sat silent.

"Now I have a plan, Mr. Corleone, that will get you out of the casino business altogether, and which will allow you to start on the path to legitimacy."

"Why would you care about this?"
"Sir, its this simple. I have accomplished everything I ever set out to do in the legal world. I have fame, and I have reapect. Besides, I don't intend to work for you for nothing. "

Nearly three thousand miles away it was quarter past seven. Hagen stumbled from his bed, and Teresa barely moved. He put on a bathrobe, and went to the basement where he unlocked a cabinet.

He withdrew a 12 gauge shotgun from the rack, loaded it, put both barrels in his mouth, and using his toe, squeezed the trigger.

Within a half hour Michael got the news. Harrison had just left, but his proposal to replace Hagen struck him as ill timed. Something was not right about this "suicide." He picked up the phone and dialed Al Neri's house. "Al, Mike...Tom Hagen is dead. Theyre calling it a suicide, but I dunno. I want you to go to Vegas and see what you can find out. Give Teresa whatever assurances you need to...tell her the family won't forget her or their son, and find out what happened.

It was late in the afternoon Las Vegas time when Neri got to the Hagen household. Teresa seemed oddly unemotional when she showed him in. "Michael Corleoe sends his condolences, and wishes for you to know that if there is anything you need, he will provide it."
"Thank you Al, that is generous of him given what's happened with Tom over these years."
"Why did he do it? Was it because of the Tropicala thing?"
"He has been drinking heavily for years now, and I just don't know what drove him to it."
"Is there anything .... a letter or a diary that might shed some light on this?"
"He kept his papers very private, and I never really looked. They are in his study, go have a look."
Neri excused himself and went to the study. Papers were piled all over the desk in such a disorganized way it was no wonderHagen, sober or not could accomplish anything. An envelope caught his eye. The return address was that of a well known publishing house in New York and shoved into it was a letter.
"Dear Mr. Hagen:
Thank you for your recent submission of your novel "The Consigliere." While we read it with great interest, we do not feel a first person account of the lawyer for a crime family responsible for the major events you describe is something in which this firm has interest. We encourage you to try with another publisher."

Neri carefully folded the leter and put it in his pocket.
He stayed on in Vegas for a few days, helped with funeral arrangements, Tom was to be cremated, and his ashes placed near Vito Corleone's grave (Momma's ashes had been interred there years earlier after the family funeral ceremony in Tahoe and Michael saw placing Tom in such hallowed ground would earn the loyalty of an un and coming priest whose help he might need some day. With some help, Neri got the Hagen house sold, and made arrangements for Teresa to move back to New York, where she had family, and where she would be closer to her son who was finishing a Doctorate in Church History at Georgetown, and who was then scheduled to be ordained.

It didnt' take more than two days for Michael to get his hands on the book Hagen had submitted to the publisher, and he was incredulous that Hagen would so casually break the oath of Omerta, even under the guise of fiction. He rationalized that it was the booze, but the fact remained that now two of his "brothers" had tried to betray him. He caled Harrison, who by then was back in Florida.

"I've thought about your offer. I'd like to talk some more."
Harrison was pleased and he was eager to please. "I can tell you something about Hagen," he said, "He was peddling some kind of tell all book, and our friend in Tampa found out about it."
"I know all of it already," Michael said, even though the final piece of the puzzle was news to him.

So there it was. Someone had blackmailed Hagen with his book, forced him to allow the Tropicala deal to tank, and literally drove him to his death. It was information Michael would keep to himself for a very long time.

______________
SICILY 1981
______________


After Mary's funeral in New York, Michael returned to Sicily with the intention of never returning to the United States. In short order he let go of Hasrrison, and on his own he negotiated the sale of all his interests in Immobiliare and invested it conservatively in Mutual Funds, in Europe and the United States. He remained a wealthy man, but he was more aloof than ever. Connie would commute between New York and Sicily, and when she wasn't there Michael lived with a cook, a gardner, and a medical aide who took care of his diabetes. He had few visitors. Occasionally Don Tomassino's widow would invite him for supper, but he always declined. Still, from time to time she would send him trays of food, for which he always thanked her in writing. Andrew Hagen, now a Monsignor assigned to one of the more powerful Cardinals in the Curia came to visit for a week, but it gave Michael little cheer. Never one who had any hobbies or interests outside his work, Michael spent his days gazing out over the landscape, sometimes walking to the local village to buy fruit, bread or wine, and then meandering back home.

He read the International Herald Tribune, the Times of London, the Economist, and Opera News, to follow his son's careeer. After taking off almost a year, Anthony mounted a comeback, but he was really going no where. He did not get into the companies of the Met or La Scala, and the best he could do was play minor characters at second tier opera houses in the U.S. and Europe.

Against Michael's advice, and Michael's telling him the promise he would never lift a finger to help him, Vincent Mancini returned to New York to carve out a niche for himself living "the life." He was reasonably successful with numbers and prostitution, but with the advent of State Lotteries, and the sexual revolution still in full swing, sex and gambling things were no longer forbidden by society as they had been in his grandfather's day, and so, to continue making a living he succumbed to dealing drugs. Even that was doubly dangerous because not only did he have to watch out for law enforcement, but he had to hold his ground against the ever powerful emerging cartels from Colombia and Mexico.
He would send Michael greetings for his birthday and for Christmas but Michael had not written him back.

On a brisk November afternoon, Michael was coming home from one of his walks when he encountered the local postman approaching his house.

"Don Corleone, ecc' una littera per voi"
Michael took the envelope and thanked the postman.
He rubbed his thumb over the fine grade of paper and he noticed the perfect Palmer cursive address. He had not seen this handwriting since 1979.

He tore the envelope open:

Dear Michael:
I really don't know where to begin. The things I said to you after Mary died are inexcusable, and if you never speak to me again I understand. I was in so much pain then that I never took into account how this affected you, but a week ago Connie called, we had lunch and she told me you had become a recluse.

You may have heard -- I don't know -- Douglas died of a massive heart attack about a year ago. He left me with a handsome life insurance policy, and with the money I got from our divorce, I am doing well financially, but like you, basically I am alone.
My parents are gone, and Anthony travels so much I rarely get to see him.

I have gone back to teaching part time just to fill the hours of the day, but in the evenings, when it is supper time, I feel so alone, and I am sure for you it is even worse. I try to keep active by doing volnteer work, and I go to Church events, but nothing fills the hole in your heart that the death of a child leaves. I have spent much time in counseling, and it has been of some help, and I do know this: tearing yourself apart for such a tragedy does no good whatsoever.

Connie says you refuse to leave Sicily, you rarely see anyone and
you hardly ever respond to anything outside your world. You know, Michael in spite of everything I still care for you, and I want you to to do something to restore yourself. You have a brilliant mind, and for all the bad you did, your foundations and your other endeavors to be legitimate showed us all of your capabilities and talent.

I know that neither COnnie nor I want you to wither away, but more important, I tell you that this is not the way Mary would want you to act. So please, Michael, if for nothing else but for Mary's sake, re-join the world and try to get back what you can of what you lost.
Love,
Kay.

For the first time in his life Michael Corleone doubled over sobbing and weeping.

New Hampshire 1982

"How many years ago was it when we walked down this same street?"
" Thirty ...maybe more. Thank you for seeing me, Kay."

"It is I who should be thanking you for coming. You know, Michael, I always condemned you for the life you led, but really I enabled you. I profited from it, I lived the good life, and
I got used to it. We gained from blood, and we lost blood for it all, and now we have nothing left but each other. That's why I wrote to you."

"I've forgotten how beautiful it is here. Right here in New Hampshire where we shared all of our idealistic dreams, where I thought I could break away from my father and live my own life. But it wasn't my desitny Kay, and it wasnt our desitny to live longer than one of our children."

"Michael you've given up. You can't hide in Sicily forever beating up on yourself for whats happened. I know you have liquidated everything, and I know you have forsaken business of all kind, but you have a great mind, and you still have time to have more of a life than you have. I want to be a part of it again Michael."

Michael sighed and took Kay by the hand. "So maybe my destiny is not as dark as I thought.

was . a good friend of yours.

This may be a good end for Micheal's life as we expect, but not a good end for GodFather trilogy. We need something thrilling and different.

Hello Plawrence

i just reading your little book, great work man! wow i enjoyed it. I must agree with Don Cardi you really got something there my friend. i have written over ten screenplays, but I would never touch Puzo's Godfather story ever.

And to The Dr who fixed Lucy, your right about weingardne it guts to write the godfather books. But i must say your also right about connie. And i myself would never have touch the godfather. I first read the book when i was 14yr old when I first pick it up I read the whole book though the night finished the next day. When i started to read the gother returns and the godfather revenge it was way off. but keep writing.

Plawrence is dead.

http://www.gangsterbb.net/threads/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=166252&page=1#Post166252

Obviously you are new to these boards and probably was not aware that our dear friend Plawrence passed away over a year ago is no longer physically with us here on earth. I revived this topic when he passed away because he was well loved by many on these baords and as you saw here had a fantastic ability to write.

I am sure that if he were still alive and active on these boards he would have appreciated the compliment that you have paid to him here in this topic.

I will say a prayer for his soul. He was a fine good writer. Thank you for telling me this Don cardi and Beth E.

But Dontomasso please keep writing,it's real good.
I will stay in touch.

New York 1984.

Because of his diabetes Michael had not touched a plate of pasta, a canolli or even a slice of sausage for years. Tonight was going to be an exception. His personal cook, who kept him on a strict diet had the night off, and Connie prepared a five course Sicilian dinner for Michael, Kay, Anthony and herself. After Mary's death, Conie had returned to New York and took up residence in Michael's oulent East Side Co-Op. She servd dutifully on the Boards of the various foundations the family had founded, and, as ever, she grew into the position in ways no one ever expected. She became well versed in ivestment strategies, and she would often challenge the "experts" the foundations had hired about the management of the endowments -- and to their chagrin she was usually more astute than they. In one of his very rare communications outside of Sicily, Michael, who always reviewed the financial statements of the foundations had written Connie a brief congratulatory note, saying, "Of you, Santino and me, you're by far the best Don since our father."

Kay and Michael had spent most of their time in New York since their reconciliation. She had persuaded him to get counseling for his grief, but he never really bought into it, so it didn't do him much good. If anything, it made Kay feel better, and in turn that allowed her to become more open and forgiving with Michael, and that assuaged some of his pain.

Tonight Anthony would be joining them for dinner, and Michael was looking forward to a quiet family dinner. He arrived
at 8 and after a glass of wine the four of them, Connie, Mike, Anthony and Kay quietly went into the dining room.
Over the first course, calamari sauteed in olive oil and garlic, Anthony staryed to say something but then stopped short.
"What is it Tony," Kay asked softly. "Nothing...it's..."
"Your career," said Michael with a tone of sympathy and understanding that surprised Anthony.
"Since Mary's death I can hardly control myself when I get near an opera house." Kay reached over to him and patted his arm.
Connie looked at Michael, "Isn't there something you can do to help?"
"This isn't the time or place Connie, but later Anthony, if you like we can talk. "
Kay quickly interjectd "Michael is right."
There was an awkward silence for a moment, but it was broken by Michael telling Connie how much he liked the Calamari. "These are every bit as good as what we get in Sicily." This broke the ice somewhat and as the remnants of the once great Corleone family moved from one course to the next talking about food, the old days, and each chose to remember selectively the good times and the warmth they had alll shared.
As they were beginning desert a butler appeared in the dining room holding a wireless telephone. "Mr. Corleone, I am terribly sorry to interrupt your dinner, but this is urgent." Michael gestured and the servant brought the phone to him.
"This is Michael Corleone"
There was an interminable pause. Micheal said a weak thank you, handed the phone back, sighed and slumped back in his chair.
"What is it?"
"Its Vincent. He was shot an hour ago in front of his club in Little Italy. He's in the hospital. It doesnt look good."
Istantly COnnie stood up. "I'll go. Kay, you and Michael stay here and I'll call. Anthony...
"I'll go with you Aunt Connie."

Vincent lay comatose, in critical condition for nearly ten days. He was hit by fifteen bullets in a drive-by, and no one was sure who did it. When he died, Michael gave the order to have his remains cremated and interred near the Corleone monument where Vito, Mama and Mary were buried. After the services, which were sparsely attended, Connie gave a quiet recption back at the apartment. Michael assured Lucy Mancini that he would see to it that she would be financially secure for life, and the rest of the family offered their condlences.

A couple of days went by when Michael received a telephone call from B.J. Harrison in which the lawyer explained that he had been contacted by a man claiming to be Connie's son, and an associate of Vincent's. "Keep it to yourself for now," Michael told him, and see if you can hold him off for a couple of days."
"Hold him off?"
"Yes, he'll want a meeting, and I need to find out about a few things."
Michael lost all interest in the street business since Mary's death, leaving it entirely up to Vincent. He still shared in the profits, and although he knew Vincent's business was drugs, he really didn't care. The years he had spent in Sicily gave him a sense of personal security because it was widely accepted
in Cosa Nostra circles that Michael was out of their business, and for all intents and purposes was a civilian. By no means was this sense of safety born of naivete, and Michael knew well that the old families had long been infiltrated by Clombians and other non-Italians, and the old codes of omerta, honor and respect no longer held sway. He knew if a debt was not paid, if a deal failed to materialize, or even if some grudge went on too long that anything could happen. Wives and children were no longer off limits, nor were people who cooked books and made court appearances, regardless of the fact that they were not on the "muscle end" of things.

As he sat in his study a sense of rage that he had not experienced in years began to come over him. He summoned a maid and told her to find Connie and tell her he wanted to see her in his study right away.

"Did you know your son Victor was working with Vincent?"
"It's not your concern, Michael."
"Then why did he contact my lawyer?"
Connie was stunned. Michael's tone and fierce stare reminded her of how cold and remote he was as a younger man.
He went on. "You live here in my house, and your son, who has a long prison record is dealing drugs on the street and you say it doesn't concern me?"
"Michael I'll take care of this."
"No you won't. You can't it's me he is approaching, and it's me he'll want to deal with. You've never controlled him, and I have no reason to believe you can control him now. I'm gonna take care of this, and I just hope it doesnt pull us back into anything illegal."

Connie left the room quickly, and Michael picked up the telephone and placed a call to Al Neri who was living in Las Vegas.

"Michael...its been a long time. I heard you and Kay got back together and your living in New York, is that right?"
"It is Al, and I hate to interrupt your retirement, but I need a favor."
"Anything Michael, you know that. Is it connected with that Mancini business?"
"Al, apparently Connie's boy Victor was working for him. They were into dealing drugs, and I turned a blind eye. Now he's made contact with my lawyer and no doubt wants a meeting. Do you still have any contacts on the street?"
"Some Mike, not like the old days, but I can always call in a favor."
"Good. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to find out all you can about Vincent and Victor. Who they sold to, who their suppliers were, what they deal, and who provided their muscle. And I want you to do it in a way that draws no attention to you so no one can trace any of this to me. I need the information in two days."
"I'm on it Mike."
Neri put the phone down and plopped himself on to a sofa. His back was hurting like hell, and he thought again about the botched disc surgery that had left him barely able to walk. He'd grown old, sick and soft, and he didn't have the confidence in himself that he had just displayed for Michael. For about an hour he sat thinking about how he could best serve his old boss, and protector, when sudenly it came to him.

"Michael you haven't said a word during dinner...are you alrght."

"Yes Kay, I was just thinking about Mary, about us."
"Oh Michael, you have to try to move forward."
"I know Kay, I know."
"Michael why was Connie so upset earlier?"
"I dunno Kay....something to do with Vincent I think."

CARTAGENA COLOMBIA

Richard Williams arrived at the bar in the El Convento hotel at 6:00 p.m. about fifteen minutes early. He had flown in from New York on a morning flight, checked into the hotel, enjoyed a leisurely lunch of arroz con coco washed down by a Cerveza Aguilla. At about four he went to his room, took a nap, showered, and changed his clothes in preparation for the meeting. At the bar, he ordered a mojito.

At 6:15 sharp, Ernesto Diaz-Granados entered the bar and shouted across the room "Reechard!" Williams turned around and warmly greeted the rotund drug lord from Medellin as if they were long lost brothers. Diaz-Granados was a firm believer in being so outgoing and garrolous that no one would suspect what he was really up to. He often said he never understood why the Sicilians were so furtive when they did business, and he firmly believed one of the reasons his operations in New York were so succesful was that what is obvious is oftern harder to see than what is hidden. His only quirk, it seemed was that he never used telephones, and would only discuss business, even in the most oblique terms one on one. He sat down next to Williams and ordered a mojito.

Williams got to the point immediately. "The business in New York is completed as planned," and our friends in Grand Cayman say everything was wired after things were confirmed. Pulling two Cuban cigars from his guyabera pocket he offered one to WIlliams and simply said, "Bueno." They both lit up and enjoued a few more mojitos, never discussing any more business. They didn't have to. Vincent Corleone, who'd managed through sheer toughness and cunning had not only kept them out of Brooklyn, he managed to comromise their operations throughout New York using contacts in the police department, and, they suspected well placed spies who would now have to be dealt with.

They left the hotel around eight and took a cab to the Club de Pesca for dinner. At an outdoor table off to the corner, they resumed talking business, but in a way no one, not even a DEA aganet would suspect a thing. Diaz-Granados first asked about "the cousin." "We arranged for him to call the uncle's lawyer, so the uncle and the aunt must know by know
he was involved.
So far the plan was working. With Vincent out of the way Diaz-Granados and his partner Williams could now move in on the territory. Neither of them believed Michael Corleone would
lend his support to his sister's son, given the elder's well known desire to keep himself out of street business, and by having him call Harrison to tell him he had been deeply involved in Vincent's operation they knew the messages they wanted to be delivered had reached the top of the food chain. of course what Harrison could not have known was that Victor was reading from a script Williams had given him, and that while he was talking he had a gun pointed to his head.

"When do you go back to New York, my friend?" I'll stay here in town through the weekend, do some diving in the Rosario Islands, see the fort and do all the tourist things in the old city. This pleased Diaz-Granados because he thought it gave Williams more cover to appear as an American tourist
and not what he really was.

"And you Ernesto?" "I'm at the Hilton. Flying back tomorrow. There's no need for us to talk untill I see you in New York next month when we can take the next step. "Which day?" "The fifteenth. Same time. I think I'd like something to go with my cocktails at the oyster bar at The Plaza."
They shared a cab that took Williams back to El Convento and Diaz-Granados to the Hilton, on the other side of town.

I enjoyed reading all of this

I'm new here and was glad to find a place to discuss these films> Godfather I and II are excellent films, and as I get older, I appreciate them even more.
I like what you have written very much.
This may have been addressed here, but how is your story being protected from others that may steal some or all of your story?

He was a good friends of ours.

And damn, Plawrence, i didnt think fan-fiction could be so good; that really is art. I actually feel bad now for not having known you; the outpouring of grief and emotion when you passed was evident that you were a "man of respect", but this is a legacy of yours that has inspired me, and something i myself have respect for and will remember as your gift. RIP, and rest easy, mate.

Its like Puzo with a thread of originality runnning through it, like its Puzo's son or nephew or something. it sucks that i didnt read this thread much earlier. I am considering printing this up all nice for my own future enjoyment when and if it gets done (obviously with full accreditation to all writers, of course!) And its made me want to return to work on my own gangster/family epic, though im hard pressed writing at that calibre with the stage of skill im at currently.

Don Tomasso, keep going, dude, keep it up. I like what your doin' man, i think its cool.

Holy shit this threads a year old.

Guys, check out James Caan's live web cam chat at Openfilm.com, May 20th 12 PST.

Actually, it's nearly 5 years old and the originator is deceased.

While it's great to revive & keep it going every so often, it might also be a good idea to check it out from the beginning so that much of the interesting input can be appreciated.

Apple

It was of course not my intent, but it is my sincere hope that i have not offended any with seemingly insensitive or presumptuous post's.

In regards to this thread in particular, I recognised that a well respected member of the GangsterBB Community had passed on and i made a misguided attempt to proclaim my own admiration for the man's fiction. Misguided because my klutzy speech gave the impression that i was trying to make out that i actually knew the man, Mr. Plawrence, rather then simply pored over his GF fan fiction. For those that saw my post's & comments in bad taste, i have to apologise. I would hate for people to think that i was attempting to equate any of my own feelings with those of whom really knew & lost that person.

In fact i have read the whole thread, and i was/am remarkably impressed & entertained by the collected posts of some very talented posters. Forgive me for not paying closer attention to the actual date of the post before throwing in my own 2cents, change we probably could've done without, in retrospect.

Hi, Mickey...you'r'e a good guy.

In return, please know my post wasn't intended to come across as 'scolding' you (which I have no place doing here anyway), but more building on your revelation that the thread was at least a year old.

Plawrence had several close friends on the BB and I should admit I was not one of them. However, I am fairly sure (and hopeful) that none of those individuals was offended or insulted at your dialogue 'with' him. In fact, if I had been a friend I would consider it a compliment to his memory that new members continue to contribute to threads that he initiated!!!

Take care, look forward to chatting w/ you about many things, including the pros/cons of GFIII !!!

AppleOnYa

Wow. Thank you, AppleOnYa. That is like, the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me over the internet.

There really are some tops people & minds on this board. I wish id found it years ago.

I like this film-godfather.Psychological warfare acted almost be perfect.
additional,I recommend a web ,we can buy some cheaper DVD,they're genuine and high quality.

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

Yes, the story is pretty impressive and interesting, i love the story and love reading it.

Great Stuff!!! Could definitely be an official sequel. with all the intelligent (and plausible) ideas from some of the more studied Godfather fans on this site, this could really happen. Bravo! This story (so far) is now cosidered Canon in my own Godfather world

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Thank you very much.