Chapter 27

AFTER LUCADELLO and Shea left, Hagen made himself a stiff drink and went out onto the balcony. Johnny Fontane’s name was in lights on the marquee of the casino across the street, the Kasbah. The Chicago joint. No performer “belonged” to a certain Family, but for years it had rankled Hagen that they’d let the biggest draw in Las Vegas cross the street to play the casino of the Corleones’ biggest rival. Hagen didn’t like Johnny, the way Vito and Fredo did, and even, to an extent, Michael. Michael was right that Families couldn’t be fighting over matters so small as what singer was booked in what casino, but in truth Michael was also covering for Fredo, who’d been responsible for overseeing the entertainment at the Corleone hotels at the time. Thinking his friendship with Johnny was a substitute for negotiation, Fredo had been caught flat-footed when Fontane-who was friendly with Russo, too, after all-had signed a six-year exclusive deal with the Kasbah. Fuck friendly. It was business.

This was business, too. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t let his emotions enter into it.

The door opened, and Michael joined him on the balcony. There was a built-in hi-fi unit, and Michael turned on a radio station, again as cover, presumably. Opera. Hagen didn’t particularly care for opera, which Michael knew. Hagen didn’t bother objecting.

“That wasn’t the first time you heard that offer,” Hagen said. “How long have you known about it?”

Michael flipped open his lighter, a jeweled one with something engraved on it. His face glowed in the flame. He took a long drag off his cigarette. “Since the last time I was in Cuba.”

“The last time you were in Cuba, you-” Were there with Fredo. Hagen didn’t want to get into that at all. “The revolution was just under way. They knew then? You knew then?”

“We talked about it then,” Michael said. “At the time, it was more of an idea than an offer. His idea. Just talk. At the time, I believed that the revolution was far bigger than the charisma of one man. I didn’t think killing him would make any difference.”

“And now?”

“The same. Only now I don’t think it makes any difference if it makes a difference.”

More riddles. Tom took a slug of his drink.

“I love you,” Tom said, “but it may be time for you and me to go our separate ways. Professionally, at least.”

“I was thinking just the opposite,” Michael said.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I can tell you, I’ve had it up to here with being kept in the dark, enough of being in, then I’m out, then I’m in, then I’m out. I’m your brother, then I’m just your lawyer. I’m your consigliere, then I’m just another politician on your payroll, then I’m in charge of things while you’re out of the country, then I’m some fucking nothing that you don’t consult about a thing like this. You knew I wasn’t going to say anything one way or the other about-anything, really, in front of a man I’ve known since this morning, without talking to you about it first. Not to mention Corbett Shea. Yet for some secret reason I’ll have to puzzle out on my own, you set it up that way.”

“Look, Tom, there’s nothing to puzzle out. I wanted you to hear it from him first because it’s his operation. Not mine. We’d be performing a service. Mickey Shea is your reassurance that the president is behind this, too. You saw how angry Mickey was. For us, it’s business. Money, opportunity, power. For them it’s revenge. I wasn’t sure about that myself, but there was no better way to see it firsthand.”

Mickey Shea. Hagen had never heard anyone call him that but the Don, Vito.

“You want to talk about it, Tom, let’s talk. Doing this job at all is a big step. The fact that we need to do it with Geraci’s people makes it a bigger step. Theoretically we could use our men here in Nevada, but the only one who’s ready for something like this would be Al Neri, and we can’t risk losing him. This is more than likely a suicide mission. If we have Geraci’s men do it, either they succeed or they don’t. If they don’t, we’ll have set it up so that we have nothing to do with it. Any repercussions would be felt by him but not us. I’m retired, after all.”

Hagen crunched an ice cube from his drink, his eyes on the nearby darkness of the desert.

“It’s possible that they’ll succeed,” Michael said, “and yet the Communists stay in power. So what? The world is neither better nor worse, and we wind up with a little something for our trouble. But think of it, Tom. Think if it does make a difference. Freedom is restored, we’re back in business in Cuba. Legal, bigger than anything we have now. Our government and whatever sort of puppet regime the U.S. installs in Cuba will be indebted to us, enough to ensure that we get re-established down there ahead of any other Family. We can easily convince the others on the Commission that Geraci and his men were just our puppets. Any resentment for our having cooperated with the government will be quelled by the millions they’ll make because of us when Cuba reopens. In any case, though, no matter how all this plays out, we’d get half the money the government is prepared to pay and Geraci’d get the other half. He’ll never know that the whole thing came through us. Joe and his associates will approach him without mentioning us. We’ll get half what they’re paying, same as if Geraci gave us our share of any big deal, only in this case Joe will bring it to us directly. Geraci is too opportunistic, too aggressive, to turn down a chance like this. And he’s got all those Sicilians he can use on this job-brave, single-minded people with the added bonus of not having the rule about killing cops or government officials. In the unlikely event that Geraci does come to us and ask for our advice or our blessings, we simply say that we’re out of such things. If he offers us a share of the money, we politely decline. Only if his efforts are successful will he ever learn a thing-probably via his godfather, Don Forlenza. Again, so what? By then Geraci will be a hero, and he’ll owe it all to us. But the bottom line is this, Tom: I need someone beside me so smart and loyal that I’ll be-we’ll be-thinking with two brains. I can’t, and won’t, go ahead with this without you at my side.”

“You’ve already thought it out pretty well without me,” Hagen said. “You’d have your old pal Joe at your side. Neri at your side. Nick Geraci doing the dirty work. I’m not indispensable, Mike. Look at the body count in this thing of ours, and it’s been going on for centuries, turning a profit every year. None of it needs any of us.”

“Well, I need you, Tom. You’ve been dealing with the Ambassador for years. The president won’t do anything to us against the old man’s wishes.”

“You could send someone else. A lawyer, a judge, somebody like that.”

“You’re the only person on this earth I trust. You know that. There’s nothing I’ve ever done that cut you out because I didn’t value you or need you. I was only trying to protect you.”

“Protect me, huh?” he said. “Thank you very much.”

“What do you want me to say? You want me to say I’m human? That I’ve made mistakes, particularly when it comes to you, and that I’m sorry? Is that what you want?”

Tom sighed. “Of course not. What I want are some straight answers.”

Michael extended his arm in an after-you gesture. “Ask away, counselor.”

“Is that eye patch for real?”

“That’s your question?”

“I’m working up to the big ones.”

“He told me war wound. I never gave it a thought after that.”

“And he’s for real, too? This whole thing, you’re certain it’s on the level? The Ambassador may have helped get his son elected, but he has no official position. I’ve never trusted him, and I’m sure you don’t either.”