She shook her head. "I don't want them to see me this way. I'll come next week."
"OK," Sonny said. He picked up her kitchen phone and dialed a number. "I'm getting a
doctor to come over here and take a look at you and fix you up. In your condition you
have to be careful. How many months before you have the kid?"
"Two months," Connie said. "Sonny, please don't do anything. Please don't."
Sonny laughed. His face was cruelly intent (полный решимости; пристальный;
погруженный во что-либо [ın'tent]) when he said, "Don't worry, I won't make your kid
an orphan before he's born." He left the apartment after kissing her lightly on her
uninjured cheek.
On East 112th Street a long line of cars were double-parked in front of a candy store
that was the headquarters of Carlo Rizzi's book. On the sidewalk in front of the store,
fathers played catch with small children they had taken for a Sunday morning ride and
to keep them company as they placed their bets (делали ставки). When they saw Carlo
Rizzi coming they stopped playing ball and bought their kids ice cream to keep them
quiet. Then they started studying the newspapers that gave the starting pitchers (pitcher
– подающий мяч; to pitch – бросать, кидать; /спорт./ подавать), trying to pick out
winning baseball bets for the day.
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Carlo went into the large room in the back of the store. His two "writers," a small wiry
man called Sally Rags and a big husky fellow called Coach, were already waiting for the
action to start. They had their huge, lined pads in front of them ready to write down bets.
On a wooden stand was a blackboard with the names of the sixteen big league baseball
teams chalked on it, paired to show who was playing against who. Against each pairing
was a blocked-out square to enter the odds.
Carlo asked Coach, "Is the store phone tapped (to tap the line – подслушивать
телефонный разговор; tap – пробка, затычка; кран; to tap – вставлять кран,
снабжать втулкой; вынимать пробку) today?"
Coach shook his head. "The tap is still off."
Carlo went to the wall phone and dialed a number. Sally Rags and Coach watched
him impassively as he jotted down the "line," the odds on all the baseball games for that
day. They watched him as he hung up the phone and walked over to the blackboard
and chalked up the odds against each game. Though Carlo did not know it, they had
already gotten the line and were checking his work. In the first week in his job Carlo had
made a mistake in transposing the odds onto the blackboard and had created that
dream of all gamblers, a "middle." That is, by betting the odds with him and then betting
against the same team with another bookmaker at the correct odds, the gambler could
not lose. The only one who could lose was Carlo's book. That mistake had caused a
six-thousand-dollar loss in the book for the week and confirmed the Don's judgment
about his son-in-law. He had given the word that all of Carlo's work was to be checked.
Normally the highly placed members of the Corleone Family would never be
concerned with such an operational detail. There was at least a five-layer insulation to
their level. But since the book was being used as a testing ground for the son-in-law, it
had been placed under the direct scrutiny of Tom Hagen, to whom a report was sent
every day.
Now with the line posted, the gamblers were thronging into the back room of the
candy store to jot down the odds on their newspapers next to the games printed there
with probable pitchers. Some of them held their little children by the hand as they looked
up at the blackboard. One guy who made big bets looked down at the little girl he was
holding by the hand and said teasingly, "Who do you like today, Honey, Giants or the
Pirates?" The little girl, fascinated by the colorful names, said, "Are Giants stronger than
Pirates?" The father laughed.
A line began to form in front of the two writers. When a writer filled one of his sheets
he tore it off, wrapped the money he had collected in it and handed it to Carlo. Carlo
went out the back exit of the room and up a flight of steps to an apartment which
housed the candy store owner's family. He called in the bets to his central exchange
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and put the money in a small wall safe that was hidden by an extended window drape.
Then he went back down into the candy store after having first burned the bet sheet and
flushed (to flush – спускать; бить струей) its ashes down the toilet bowl.
None of the Sunday games started before two P.M. because of the blue laws, so after
the first crowd of bettors, family men who had to get their bets in and rush home to take
their families to the beach, came the trickling (trickle – струйка) of bachelor gamblers or
the die-hards (die-hard – твердолобый человек; консерватор) who condemned their
families to Sundays in the hot city apartments. These bachelor bettors were the big
gamblers, they bet heavier and came back around four o'clock to bet the second games
of doubleheaders (две игры, следующие непосредственно друг за другом). They
were the ones who made Carlo's Sundays a full-time day with overtime, though some
married men called in from the beach to try and recoup (компенсировать, возмещать
[rı'ku:p]) their losses.
By one-thirty the betting had trickled off so that Carlo and Sally Rags could go out and
sit on the stoop (крыльцо со ступенями; открытая веранда) beside the candy store
and get some fresh air. They watched the stickball (stickball – a form of baseball played
in the streets, on playgrounds, etc., in which a rubber ball and a broomstick or the like
are used in place of a baseball and bat) game the kids were having. A police car went
by. They ignored it. This book had very heavy protection at the precinct and couldn't be
touched on a local level. A raid would have to be ordered from the very top and even
then a warning would come through in plenty of time.
Coach came out and sat beside them. They gossiped a while about baseball and
women. Carlo said laughingly, "I had to bat (бить палкой, битой; bat – бита; дубина,
било /для льна/) my wife around again today, teach her who's boss."
Coach said casually, "She's knocked up pretty big now, ain't she?"
"Ahh, I just slapped her face a few times," Carlo said.
"I didn't hurt her." He brooded for a moment. "She thinks she can boss me around, I
don't stand for that (не потерплю этого)."
There were still a few bettors hanging around shooting the breeze (to shoot the
breeze – трепаться, болтать /сленг/; breeze – легкий ветерок; новость, слух), talking
baseball, some of them sitting on the steps above the two writers and Carlo. Suddenly
the kids playing stickball in the street scattered. A car came screeching (to screech –
скрипеть, визжать) up the block and to a halt in front of the candy store. It stopped so
80
abruptly that the tires screamed and before it had stopped, almost, a man came hurtling
out (to hurtle – пролетать, нестись со свистом; сильно бросать) of the driver's seat,
moving so fast that everybody was paralyzed. The man was Sonny Corleone.
His heavy Cupid-featured face with its thick, curved mouth was an ugly mask of fury.
In a split second he was at the stoop and had grabbed Carlo Rizzi by the throat. He
pulled Carlo away from the others, trying to drag him into the street, but Carlo wrapped
his huge muscular arms around the iron railings of the stoop and hung on. He cringed
(to cringe – съеживаться /от страха/) away, trying to hide his head and face in the
hollow of his shoulders. His shirt ripped away in Sonny's hand.
What followed then was sickening. Sonny began beating the cowering Carlo with his
fists, cursing him in a thick, rage-choked voice. Carlo, despite his tremendous physique,
offered no resistance, gave no cry for mercy or protest. Coach and Sally Rags dared not
interfere. They thought Sonny meant to kill his brother-in-law and had no desire to share
his fate. The kids playing stickball gathered to curse the driver who had made them
scatter, but now were watching with awestruck interest. They were tough kids but the
sight of Sonny in his rage silenced them. Meanwhile another car had drawn up behind
Sonny's and two of his bodyguards jumped out. When they saw what was happening
they too dared not interfere. They stood alert, ready to protect their chief if any
bystanders had the stupidity to try to help Carlo.
What made the sight sickening was Carlo's complete subjection, but it was perhaps
this that saved his life. He clung to the iron railings with his hands so that Sonny could
not drag him into the street and despite his obvious equal strength, still refused to fight
back. He let the blows rain on his unprotected head and neck until Sonny's rage ebbed.
Finally, his chest heaving, Sonny looked down at him and said, "You dirty bastard, you
ever beat up my sister again I'll kill you."
These words released the tension. Because of course, if Sonny intended to kill the
man he would never have uttered the threat. He uttered it in frustration because he
could not carry it out. Carlo refused to look at Sonny. He kept his head down and his
hands and arms entwined in the iron railing. He stayed that way until the car roared off
and he heard Coach say in his curiously paternal voice, "OK, Carlo, come on into the