Илья Франк - Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

It was unfortunate that the next night he ran into trouble on his shift. His car answered

a call in Harlem, a report of a deadly assault. As usual Neri jumped out of the patrol car

while it was still rolling to a stop. It was after midnight and he was carrying his huge

flashlight. It was easy spotting the trouble. There was a crowd gathered outside a

tenement doorway. One Negro woman said to Neri, "There's a man in there cutting a

little girl."

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Neri went into the hallway. There was an open door at the far end with light streaming

out and he could hear moaning. Still handling the flashlight, he went down the hall and

through the open doorway.

He almost fell over two bodies stretched out on the floor. One was a Negro woman of

about twenty-five. The other was a Negro girl of no more than twelve. Both were bloody

from razor cuts on their faces and bodies. In the living room Neri saw the man who was

responsible. He knew him well.

The man was Wax Baines, a notorious pimp, dope pusher and strong-arm artist. His

eyes were popping from drugs now, the bloody knife he held in his hand wavered. Neri

had arrested him two weeks before for severely assaulting one of his whores in the

street. Baines had told him, "Hey, man, this none of your business." And Neri's partner

had also said something about letting the niggers cut each other up if they wanted to,

but Neri had hauled Baines into the station house. Baines was bailed out the very next

day.

Neri had never much liked Negroes, and working in Harlem had made him like them

even less. They all were on drugs or booze while they let their women work or peddle

ass. He didn't have any use for any of the bastards. So Baines' brazen breaking of the

law infuriated him. And the sight of the little girl all cut up with the razor sickened him.

Quite coolly, in his own mind, he decided not to bring Baines in.

But witnesses were already crowding into the apartment behind him, some people

who lived in the building and his partner from the patrol car.

Neri ordered Baines, "Drop your knife, you're under arrest."

Baines laughed. "Man, you gotta use your gun to arrest me." He held his knife up. "Or

maybe you want this."

Neri moved very quickly, so his partner would not have time to draw a gun. The Negro

stabbed with his knife, but Neri's extraordinary reflexes enabled him to catch the thrust

with his left palm. With his right hand he swung the flashlight in a short vicious arc. The

blow caught Baines on the side of the head and made his knees buckle comically like a

drunk's. The knife dropped from his hand. He was quite helpless. So Neri's second blow

was inexcusable, as the police departmental hearing and his criminal trial later proved

with the help of the testimony of witnesses and his fellow policeman. Neri brought the

flashlight down on the top of Baines' skull in an incredibly powerful blow which shattered

the glass of the flashlight; the enamel shield and the bulb itself popping out and flying

across the room. The heavy aluminum barrel of the flashlight tube bent and only the

batteries inside prevented it from doubling on itself. One awed onlooker, a Negro man

who lived in the tenement and later testified against Neri, said, "Man, that's a hard-

headed nigger."

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But Baines' head was not quite hard enough. The blow caved in his skull. He died two

hours later in the Harlem Hospital.

Albert Neri was the only one surprised when he was brought up on departmental

charges for using excessive force. He was suspended and criminal charges were

brought against him. He was indicted for manslaughter, convicted and sentenced to

from one to ten years in prison. By this time he was so filled with a baffled rage and

hatred of all society that he didn't give a damn. That they dared to judge him a criminal!

That they dared to send him to prison for killing an animal like that pimp-nigger! That

they didn't give a damn for the woman and little girl who had been carved up, disfigured

for life, and still in the hospital.

He did not fear prison. He felt that because of his having been a policeman and

especially because of the nature of the offense, he would be well taken care of. Several

of his buddy officers had already assured him they would speak to friends. Only his

wife's father, a shrewd old-style Italian who owned a fish market in the Bronx, realized

that a man like Albert Neri had little chance of surviving a year in prison. One of his

fellow inmates might kill him; if not, he was almost certain to kill one of them. Out of guilt

that his daughter had deserted a fine husband for some womanly foolishness, Neri's

father-in-law used his contacts with the Corleone Family (he paid protection money to

one of its representatives and supplied the Corleone itself with the finest fish available,

as a gift), he petitioned for their intercession.

The Corleone Family knew about Albert Neri. He was something of a legend as a

legitimately tough cop; he had made a certain reputation as a man not to be held lightly,

as a man who could inspire fear out of his own person regardless of the uniform and the

sanctioned gun he wore. The Corleone Family was always interested in such men. The

fact that he was a policeman did not mean too much. Many young men started down a

false path to their true destiny. Time and fortune usually set them aright.

It was Pete Clemenza, with his fine nose for good personnel, who brought the Neri

affair to Tom Hagen's attention. Hagen studied the copy of the official police dossier and

listened to Clemenza. He said, "Maybe we have another Luca Brasi here."

Clemenza nodded his head vigorously. Though he was very fat, his face had none of

the usual stout man's benignity. "My thinking exactly. Mike should look into this himself."

And so it was that before Albert Neri was transferred from the temporary jail to what

would have been his permanent residence upstate, he was informed that the judge had

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reconsidered his case on the basis of new information and affidavits submitted by high

police officials. His sentence was suspended and he was released.

Albert Neri was no fool and his father-in-law no shrinking violet. Neri learned what had

happened and paid his debt to his father-in-law by agreeing to get a divorce from Rita.

Then he made a trip out to Long Beach to thank his benefactor. Arrangements had

been made beforehand, of course. Michael received him in his library.

Neri stated his thanks in formal tones and was surprised and gratified by the warmth

with which Michael received his thanks.

"Hell, I couldn't let them do that to a fellow Sicilian," Michael said. "They should have

given you a goddamn medal. But those damn politicians don't give a shit about anything

except pressure groups. Listen, I would never have stepped into the picture if I hadn't

checked everything out and saw what a raw deal you got. One of my people talked to

your sister and she told us how you were always worried about her and her kid, how

you straightened the kid out, kept him from going bad. Your father-in-law says you're

the finest fellow in the world. That's rare." Tactfully Michael did not mention anything

about Neri's wife having left him.

They chatted for a while. Neri had always been a taciturn man, but he found himself

opening up to Michael Corleone. Michael was only about five years his senior, but Neri

spoke to him as if he were much older, older enough to be his father.