Chapter 2.3

That evening, Hagen went to the Don's house to prepare him for the important meeting

the next day with Virgil Sollozzo. The Don had summoned his eldest son to attend, and

Sonny Corleone, his heavy Cupid-shaped face drawn with fatigue, was sipping at a

glass of water. He must still be humping that maid of honor, Hagen thought. Another

worry.

Don Corleone settled into an armchair puffing his Di Nobili cigar. Hagen kept a box of

them in his room. He had tried to get the Don to switch to Havanas but the Don claimed

they hurt his throat.

"Do we know everything necessary for us to know?" the Don asked.

Hagen opened the folder that held his notes. The notes were in no way incriminating,

merely cryptic reminders to make sure he touched on every important detail. "Sollozzo is

coming to us for help," Hagen said. "He will ask the family to put up at least a million

dollars and to promise some sort of immunity from the law. For that we get a piece of

the action, nobody knows how much. Sollozzo is vouched for by the Tattaglia family and

they may have a piece of the action. The action is narcotics. Sollozzo has the contacts

in Turkey, where they grow the poppy. From there he ships to Sicily. No trouble. In Sicily

he has the plant to process into heroin. He has safety-valve operations to bring it down

to morphine and bring it up to heroin if necessary. But it would seem that the processing

plant in Sicily is protected in every way. The only hitch is bringing it into this country, and

then distribution. Also initial capital. A million dollars cash doesn't grow on trees." Hagen

saw Don Corleone grimace.The old man hated unnecessary flourishes in business

matters. He went on hastily.

"They call Sollozzo the Turk. Two reasons. He's spent a lot of time in Turkey and is

supposed to have a Turkish wife and kids. Second. He's supposed to be very quick with

the knife, or was, when he was young. Only in matters of business, though, and with

some sort of reasonable complaint. A very competent man and his own boss. He has a

record, he's done two terms in prison, one in Italy, one in the United States, and he's

known to the authorities as a narcotics man. This could be a plus for us. It means that

he'll never get immunity to testify, since he's considered the top and, of course, because

of his record. Also he has an American wife and three children and he is a good family

man. He'll stand still for any rap as long as he knows that they will be well taken care of

for living money."

The Don puffed on his cigar and said, "Santino, what do you think?"

Hagen knew what Sonny would say. Sonny was chafing at being under the Don's

thumb. He wanted a big operation of his own. Something like this would be perfect.

Sonny took a long slug of scotch. "There's a lot of money it that white powder," he said.

"But it could be dangerous. Some people could wind up in jail for twenty years. I'd say

that if we kept out of the operations end, just stuck to protection and financing, it might

be a good idea."

Hagen looked at Sonny approvingly. He had played his cards well. He had stuck to the

obvious, much the best course for him.

The Don puffed on his cigar. "And you, Tom, what do you think?"

Hagen composed himself to be absolutely honest. He had already come to the

conclusion that the Don would refuse Sollozzo's proposition. But what was worse,

Hagen was convinced that for one of the few times in his experience, the Don had not

thought things through. He was not looking far enough ahead.

"Go ahead, Tom," the Don said encouragingly. "Not even a Sicilian Consigliere always

agrees with the boss." They all laughed.

"I think you should say yes," Hagen said. "You know all the obvious reasons. But the

most important one is this. There is more money potential in narcotics than in any other

business. If we don't get into it, somebody else will, maybe the Tattaglia family. With the

revenue they earn they can amass more and more police and political power. Their

family will become stronger than ours. Eventually they will come after us to take away

what we have. It's just like countries. If they arm, we have to arm. If they become

stronger economically, they become a threat to us. Now we have the gambling and we

have the unions and right now they are the best things to have. But I think narcotics is

the coming thing. I think we have to have a piece of that action or we risk everything we

have. Not now, but maybe ten years from now."

The Don seemed enormously impressed. He puffed on his cigar and murmured, "That's

the most important thing of course." He sighed and got to his feet. "What time do I have

to meet this infidel tomorrow?"

Hagen said hopefully, "He'll be here at ten in the morning." Maybe the Don would go for

it.

"I'll want you both here with me," the Don said. He rose, stretching, and took his son by

the arm. "Santino, get some sleep tonight, you look like the devil himself. Take care of

yourself, you won't be young forever."

Sonny, encouraged by this sign of fatherly concern, asked the question Hagen did not

dare to ask. "Pop, what's your answer going to be?"

Don Corleone smiled. "How do I know until I hear the percentages and other details?

Besides I have to have time to think over the advice given here tonight. After all, I'm not

a man who does things rashly." As he went out the door he said casually to Hagen, "Do

you have in your notes that the Turk made his living from prostitution before the war? As

the Tattaglia family does now. Write that down before you forget." There was just a

touch of derision in the Don's voice and Hagen flushed. He had deliberately not

mentioned it, legitimately so since it really had no bearing, but he had feared it might

prejudice the Don's decision. He was notoriously straitlaced in matters of sex.