At a quarter to five that afternoon, Don Corleone had finished checking the

Papers the office manager of his olive oil company had prepared for him. He put

on his jacket and rapped his knuckles on his son Freddie's head to make him take

his nose out of the afternoon newspaper. "Tell Gatto to get the car from the lot,"

he said. "I'll be ready to go home in a few minutes."

2 Freddie grunted. "I'll have to get it myself. Paulie called in sick this morning.

Got a cold again."

3 Don Corleone looked thoughtful for a moment. "That's the third time this

month. I think maybe you'd better get a healthier fellow for this job. Tell Tom."

4 Fred protested. "Paulie's a good kid. If he says he's sick, he's sick. I don't mind

getting the car," He left the office. Don Corleone watched out the window as his

son crossed Ninth Avenue to the parking lot. He stopped to call Hagen's office

But there was no answer. He called the house at Long Beach but again there was

No answer. Irritated, he looked out the window. His car was parked at the curb in

Front of his building. Freddie was leaning against the fender, arms folded,

Watching the throng of Christmas shoppers. Don Corleone put on his jacket. The

Office manager helped him with his overcoat. Don Corleone grunted his thanks

And went out the door and started down the two flights of steps.