“The Godfather” by Mario Puzo – Restaurant

Today will try another “classic” – with an excerpt from “The Godfather” by Mario Puzo – Restaurant continued using the GPT-J-6B AI.

The initial excerpt input is about 992 words.


The three of them sat at the only round table, Sollozzo refusing a booth. There were only two other people in the restaurant. Michael wondered whether they were Sollozzo plants. But it didn’t matter. Before they could interfere it would be all over.

McCluskey asked with real interest, “Is the Italian food good here?”

Sollozzo reassured him. “Try the veal, it’s the finest in New York.” The solitary waiter had brought a bottle of wine to the table and uncorked it. He poured three glasses full. Surprisingly McCluskey did not drink. “I must be the only Irishman who don’t take the booze,” he said. “I seen too many good people get in trouble because of the booze.”

Sollozzo said placatingly to the captain, “I am going to talk Italian to Mike, not because I don’t trust you but because I can’t explain myself properly in English and I want to convince Mike that I mean well, that it’s to everybody’s advantage for us to come to an agreement tonight. Don’t be insulted by this, it’s not that I don’t trust you.”

Captain McCluskey gave them both an ironic grin. “Sure, you two go right ahead,” he said. “I’ll concentrate on my veal and spaghetti.”

Sollozzo began speaking to Michael in rapid Sicilian. He said, “You must understand that what happened between me and your father was strictly a business matter.” I have a great respect for Don Corleone and would beg for the opportunity to enter his service. But you must understand that your father is an old-fashioned man. He stands in the way of progress. The business I am in is the coming thing, the wave of the future, there are untold millions of dollars for everyone to make. But your father stands in the way because of certain unrealistic scruples. By doing this he imposes his will on men like myself. Yes, yes, I know, he says to me, ‘Go ahead, it’s your business,’ but we both know that is unrealistic. We must tread on each other’s corns. What he is really telling me is that I cannot operate my business. I am a man who respects himself and cannot let another man impose his will on me so what had to happen did happen. Let me say that I had the support, the silent support of all the New York Families. And the Tattaglia Family became my partners. If this quarrel continues, then the Corleone Family will stand alone against everyone. Perhaps if your father were well, it could be done. But the eldest son is not the man the Godfather is, no disrespect intended. And the Irish Consigliori, Hagen, is not the man Genco Abbandando was, God rest his soul. So I propose a peace, a truce. Let us cease all hostilities until your father is well again and can take part in these bargainings. The Tattaglia Family agrees, upon my persuasions and my indemnities, to forgo justice for their son Bruno. We will have peace. Meanwhile, I have to make a living and will do a little trading in my business. I do not ask your cooperation, but I ask you, the Corleone Family, not to interfere. These are my proposals. I assume you have the authority to agree, to make a deal.”

Michael said in Sicilian, “Tell me more about how you propose to start your business, exactly what part my Family has to play in it and what profit we can take from this business.”

“You want the whole proposition in detail then?” Sollozzo asked.

Michael said gravely, “Most important of all I must have sure guarantees that no more attempts will be made on my father’s life.”

Sollozzo raised his hand expressively. “What guarantees can I give you? I’m the hunted one. I’ve missed my chance. You think too highly of me, my friend. I am not that clever.”

Michael was sure now that the conference was only to gain a few days’ time. That Sollozzo would make another attempt to kill the Don. What was beautiful was that the Turk was underrating him as a punk kid. Michael felt that strange delicious chill filling his body. He made his face look distressed. Sollozzo asked sharply, “What is it?”

Michael said with an embarrassed air, “The wine went right to my bladder. I’ve been holding it in. Is it all right if I go to the bathroom.”

Sollozzo was searching his face intently with his dark eyes. He reached over and roughly thrust his hand in Michael’s crotch, under it and around, searching for a weapon. Michael looked offended. McCluskey said curtly, “I frisked him. I’ve frisked thousands of young punks. He’s clean.”

Sollozzo didn’t like it. For no reason at all he didn’t like it. He glanced at the man sitting at a table opposite them and raised his eyebrows toward the door of the bathroom. The man gave a slight nod that he had checked it, that there was nobody inside. Sollozzo said reluctantly, “Don’t take too long.” He had a marvellous antenna, he was nervous.

Michael got up and went into the bathroom. The urinal had a pink bar of soap in it secured by a wire net. He went into the booth. He really had to go, his bowels were loose. He did it very quickly, then reached behind the enamel water cabinet until his hand touched the small, blunt-nosed gun fastened with tape. He ripped the gun loose, remembering that Clemenza had said not to worry about leaving prints on the tape. He shoved the gun into his waistband and buttoned his jacket over it. He washed his hands and wet his hair. He wiped his prints off the faucet with his handkerchief. Then he left the toilet.

Sollozzo was sitting directly facing the door of the toilet, his dark eyes blazing with alertness. Michael gave a smile. “Now I can talk,” he said with a sigh of relief.


And the continued story bellow:


Sollozzo gestured at the chair opposite him. Michael sat down.

“You were right about that wine,” he said. “I shouldn’t drink so much of it.”

“You never drink.”

“I’ve been working too hard.”

“I know,” Sollozzo said. “I heard.”

“I’ve been a little worried,” Michael said, “about my father. I’m afraid he’s sick.”

“He’s not sick.”

“He’s been under a lot of stress.”

“It’s the way he is.”

“Well,” Michael said, “I’m going to do something.”

“What?”

“I’m going to do something about my father.”

“What?”

“I’m going to do something about him,” Michael repeated, “and I’m going to get my Family to help me.”

Sollozzo raised his eyebrows, and his dark eyes took on a knowing look. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll tell you when I have my plans worked out.”

“And what are those plans?”

“You won’t like them,” Michael said. “You won’t like them at all.”

“What are they?”

“I’m not sure I can tell you.”

“You have to.”

“Not yet.”

“You want to run this Family?”

“I’m going to do what I can to help.”

“You’re going to try and protect your father?”

“I have to try and protect him,” Michael said. “I’ve got to protect him from the people who want to kill him.”

Sollozzo looked at him. “You’re going to protect your father?”

“I’m going to try to protect him.”

“And if he kills you?”

“Then,” Michael said, “it’s all over.”

Sollozzo looked at him intently, but he didn’t say anything.

“I want you to help me,” Michael said, “and I want your Family to help me.”

“You know what I want,” Sollozzo said. “I want the Corleone Family.”

“And what do you want that for?”

“You know what I want,” Sollozzo repeated. “You know what I want.”

Michael was silent. He was thinking about the plans he had in mind. He was thinking about the Family. He was thinking about his father. He was thinking about the way he had taken over the Family. He was thinking about the power of the Family. He was thinking about the power of the Sicilian Family. He was thinking about the power of the Mafiosi. He was thinking about the power of the other Families. He was thinking about the power of the United States.

He was thinking about the power of the Corleone Family.

The door opened and closed and then opened again.

Sollozzo jumped to his feet, his hand going to his holster.

“It’s me,” Michael said.

Sollozzo relaxed.

“I came back.”

“Come on in.”

Clemenza came into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked at Sollozzo and nodded his head. “Sollozzo,” he said, the kid’s clean.”

Sollozzo turned to Michael. “What the hell is going on?”

Michael smiled at him. “I want you to help me,” he said. “I want your Family to help me.”

Sollozzo looked at him closely. He could feel the gun in his waistband. He didn’t like the way Michael was looking at him. He didn’t like the way he was sitting.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

“I want you to help me.”

“You want to run this Family?”

“I’m going to do what I can to help.”

Sollozzo was silent.

“You want to protect your father?”

“I have to protect him.”

“And if he kills you?”

“Then,” Michael said, “it’s all over.”

Sollozzo looked at him, his eyes narrowed.

“I want you to help me,” Michael said again. “I want your Family to help me.”

“I want the Corleone Family,” Sollozzo said.

“And what do you want that for?”

“You know what I want.”

“I want the Corleone Family,” Sollozzo repeated.

“And what do you want that for?”

“I want the Corleone Family,” Sollozzo repeated. “I want the Corleone Family.”

“I want the Corleone Family,” Michael said, “and I want the Corleone Family.”

Sollozzo looked at him. “And what do you want that for?”

“I want the Corleone Family,” Michael said.

“And what do you want that for?”

“I want the Corleone Family,” Michael said. “And I want the Corleone Family.”

Sollozzo was silent. He was thinking about the Family. He was thinking about the power of the Family. He was thinking about the power of the Mafiosi. He was thinking about the power of the other Families. He was thinking about the power of the United States.

He was thinking about the power of the Corleone Family.

“You want me to help you,” Sollozzo said. “You want my Family to help you.”

“I want the Corleone Family,” Michael said.

Sollozzo looked at him. He felt that Michael was very dangerous. He felt that Michael was crazy. He felt that Michael was insane. He felt that Michael was an idiot. He felt that Michael was a fucking idiot.

 

the-godfather


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