mp.godfather-第54章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


artment　house。
　
　The　village　of　tenements　extended　only　as　far　west　as　Tenth　Avenue。　Eleventh　Avenue　was　mostly　warehouses　and　lofts　rented　by　firms　who　shipped　by　New　York　Central　Railroad　and　wanted　access　to　the　freight　yards　that　honeybed　the　area　from　Eleventh　Avenue　to　the　Hudson　River。　Fanucci's　apartment　house　was　one　of　the　few　left　standing　in　this　wilderness　and　was　occupied　mostly　by　bachelor　trainmen；　yard　workers；　and　the　cheapest　prostitutes。　These　people　did　not　sit　in　the　street　and　gossip　like　honest　Italians；　they　sat　in　beer　taverns　guzzling　their　pay。　So　Vito　Corleone　found　it　an　easy　matter　to　slip　across　the　deserted　Eleventh　Avenue　and　into　the　vestibule　of　Fanucci's　apartment　house。　There　he　drew　the　gun　he　had　never　fired　and　waited　for　Fanucci。
　
　He　watched　through　the　glass　door　of　the　vestibule；　knowing　Fanucci　would　e　down　from　Tenth　Avenue。　Clemenza　had　showed　him　the　safety　on　the　gun　and　he　had　triggered　it　empty。　But　as　a　young　boy　in　Sicily　at　the　early　age　of　nine；　he　had　often　gone　hunting　with'his　father；　had　often　fired　the　heavy　shotgun　called　the　lupara。　It　was　his　skill　with　the　lupara　even　as　a　small　boy　that　had　brought　the　sentence　of　death　upon　him　by　his　father's　murderers。
　
　Now　waiting　in　the　darkened　hallway；　he　saw　the　white　blob　of　Fanucci　crossing　the　street　toward　the　doorway。　Vito　stepped　back；　shoulders　pressed　against　the　inner　door　that　led　to　the　stairs。　He　held　his　gun　out　to　fire。　His　extended　hand　was　only　two　paces　from　the　outside　door。　The　door　swung　in。　Fanucci；　white；　broad；　smelly；　filled　the　square　of　light。　Vito　Corleone　fired。
　The　opened　door　let　some　of　the　sound　escape　into　the　street；　the　rest　of　the　gun's　explosion　shook　the　building。　Fanucci　was　holding　on　to　the　sides　of　the　door；　trying　to　stand　erect；　trying　to　reach　for　his　gun。　The　force　of　his　struggle　had　torn　the　buttons　off　his　jacket　and　made　it　swing　loose。　His　gun　was　exposed　but　so　was　a　spidery　vein　of　red　on　the　white　shirtfront　of　his　stomach。　Very　carefully；　as　if　he　were　plunging　a　needle　into　a　vein；　Vito　Corleone　fired　his　second　bullet　into　that　red　web。
　
　Fanucci　fell　to　his　knees；　propping　the　door　open。　He　let　out　a　terrible　groan；　the　groan　of　a　man　in　great　physical　distress　that　was　almost　ical。　He　kept　giving　these　groans；　Vito　remembered　hearing　at　least　three　of　them　before　he　put　the　gun　against　Fanucci's　sweaty；　suety　cheek　and　fired　into　his　brain。　No　more　than　five　seconds　had　passed　when　Fanucci　slumped　into　death；　jamming　the　door　open　with　his　body。
　
　Very　carefully　Vito　took　the　wide　wallet　out　of　the　dead　man's　jacket　pocket　and　put　it　inside　his　shirt。　Then　he　walked　across　the　street　into　the　loft　building；　through　that　into　the　yard　and　climbed　the　fire　escape　to　the　roof。　From　there　he　surveyed　the　street。　Fanucci's　body　was　still　lying　in　the　doorway　but　there　was　no　sign　of　any　other　person。　Two　windows　had　gone　up　in　the　tenement　and　he　could　see　dark　heads　poked　out　but　since　he　could　not　see　their　features　they　had　certainly　not　seen　his。　And　such　men　would　not　give　information　to　the　police。　Fanucci　might　lie　there　until　dawn　or　until　a　patrolman　making　the　rounds　stumbled　on　his　body。　No　person　in　that　house　would　deliberately　expose　himself　to　police　suspicion　or　questioning。　They　would　lock　their　doors　and　pretend　they　had　heard　nothing。
　
　He　could　take　his　time。　He　traveled　over　the　rooftops　to　his　own　roof　door　and　down　to　his　own　flat。　He　unlocked　the　door；　went　inside　and　then　locked　the　door　behind　him。　He　rifled　the　dead　man's　wallet。　Besides　the　seven　hundred　dollars　he　had　given　Fanucci　there　were　only　some　singles　and　a　five…dollar　note。
　
　Tucked　inside　the　flap　was　an　old　five…dollar　gold　piece；　probably　a　luck　token。　If　Fanucci　was　a　rich　gangster；　he　certainly　did　not　carry　his　wealth　with　him。　This　confirmed　some　of　Vito's　suspicions。
　
　He　knew　he　had　to　get　rid　of　the　wallet　and　the　gun　（knowing　enough　even　then　that　he　must　leave　the　gold　piece　in　the　wallet）。　He　went　up　on　the　roof　again　and　traveled　over　a　few　ledges。　He　threw　the　wallet　down　one　air　shaft　and　then　he　emptied　the　gun　of　bullets　and　smashed　its　barrel　against　the　roof　ledge。　The　barrel　wouldn't　break。　He　reversed　it　in　his　hand　and　smashed　the　butt　against　the　side　of　a　chimney。　The　butt　split　into　two　halves。　He　smashed　it　again　and　the　pistol　broke　into　barrel　and　handle；　two　separate　pieces。　He　used　a　separate　air　shaft　for　each。　They　made　no　sound　when　they　struck　the　earth　five　stories　below；　but　sank　into　the　soft　hill　of　garbage　that　had　accumulated　there。　In　the　morning　more　garbage　would　be　thrown　out　of　the　windows　and；　with　luck；　would　cover　everything。　Vito　returned　to　his　apartment。
　
　He　was　trembling　a　little　but　was　absolutely　under　control。　He　changed　his　clothes　and　fearful　that　some　blood　might　have　splattered　on　them；　he　threw　them　into　a　metal　tub　his　wife　used　for　washing。　He　took　lye　and　heavy　brown　laundry　soap　to　soak　the　clothes　and　scrubbed　them　with　the　metal　wash　board　beneath　the　sink。　Then　he　scoured　tub　and　sink　with　lye　and　soap。　He　found　a　bundle　of　newly　washed　clothes　in　the　corner　of　the　bedroom　and　mingled　his　own　clothes　with　these。　Then　he　put　on　a　fresh　shirt　and　trousers　and　went　down　to　join　his　wife　and　children　and　neighbors　in　front　of　the　tenement。
　
　All　these　precautions　proved　to　be　unnecessary。　The　police；　after　discovering　the　dead　body　at　dawn；　never　questioned　Vito　Corleone。　Indeed　he　was　astonished　that　they　never　learned　about　Fanucci's　visit　to　his　home　on　the　night　he　was　shot　to　death。　He　had　counted　on　that　for　an　alibi；　Fanucci　leaving　the　tenement　alive。　He　only　learned　later　that　the　police　had　been　delighted　with　the　murder　of　Fanucci　and　not　too　anxious　to　pursue　his　killers。　They　had　assumed　it　was　another　gang　execution；　and　had　questioned　hoodlums　with　records　in　the　rackets　and　a　history　of　strongarm。　Since　Vito　had　never　been　in　trouble　he　never　came　into　the　picture。
　
　But　if　he　had　outwitted　the　police；　his　partners　were　another　matter。　Pete　Clemenza　and　Tessio　avoided　him　for　the　next　week；　for　the　next　two　weeks；　then　they　came　to　call　on　him　one　evening。　They　came　with　obvious　respect。　Vito　Corleone　greeted　them　with　impassive　courtesy　and　served　them　wine。
　
　Clemenza　spoke　first。　He　said　softly；　〃Nobody　is　collecting　from　the　store　owners　on　Ninth　Avenue。　Nobody　is　collecting　from　the　card　games　and　gambling　in　the　neighborhood。〃
　
　Vito　Corleone　gazed　at　both　men　steadily　but　did　not　reply。　Tessio　spoke。　〃We　could　take　over　Fanucci's　customers。　They　would　pay　us。〃
　
　Vito　Corleone　shrugged。　〃Why　e　to　me？　I　have　no　interest　in　such　things。〃
　
　Clemenza　laughed。　Even　in　his　youth；　before　growing　his　enormous　belly；　he　had　a　fat　man's　laugh。　He　said　now　to　Vito　Corleone；　〃How　about　that　gun　I　gave　you　for　the　truck　job？　Since　you　won't　need　it　any　more　you　can　give　it　back　to　me。〃
　
　Very　slowly　and　deliberately　Vito　Corleone　took　a　wad　of　bills　out　of　his　side　pocket　and　peeled　off　five　tens。　〃Here；　I'll　pay　you。　I　threw　the　gun　away　after　the　truck　job。〃　He　smiled　at　the　two　men。
　
　At　that　time　Vito　Corleone　did　not　know　the　effect　of　this　smile。　It　was　chilling　because　it　attempted　no　menace。　He　smiled　as　if　it　was　some　private　joke　only　he　himself　could　appreciate。　But　since　he　smiled　in　that　fashion　only　in　affairs　that　were　lethal；　and　since　the　joke　was　not　really　private　and　since　his　eyes　did　not　smile；　and　since　his　outward　character　was　usually　so　reasonable　and　quiet；　the　sudden　unmasking　of　his　true　self　was　frightening。
　
　Clemenza　shook　his　head。　〃I　don't　want　the　money；〃　he　said。　Vito　pocketed　the　bills。　He　waited。　They　all　understood　each　other。　They　knew　he　had　killed　Fanucci　and　though　they　never　spoke　about　it　to　anyone　the　whole　neighborhood；　within　a　few　weeks；　also　knew。　Vito　Corleone　was　treated　as　a　〃man　of　respect〃　by　everyone。　But　he　made　no　attempt　to　take　over　the　Fanucci　rackets　and　tributes。
　
　What　followed　then　was　inevitable。　One　night　Vito's　wife　brought　a　neighbor；　a　widow；　to　the　flat。　The　woman　was　Italian　and　of　unimpeachable　character。　She　worked　hard　to　keep　a　home　for　her　fa