The end of Chapter 2.....Don Altobello and Joey Zasa take an airplane ride, and Michael tells his sister that Fredo is dead. But does she believe his story?

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Don Nicholas Altobello disliked the idea of traveling on an airplane. In fact, he considered the airplane to be a wholly unreliable means of transportation, although if asked why he was unable to offer anything other than his inability to understand how a machine made of metal and weighing several tons when fully loaded with passengers could possibly stay in the air, ascending and descending only because of the operation of its controls by a pilot, who seemed to be able to do so with no more difficulty than it took one to drive an automobile.

The unexpected assassination of Hyman Roth, however, had forced this airplane trip. Roth’s wife, in accordance with Jewish law which required burial as soon as possible, had scheduled his funeral for the day following his death, and Altobello, after consulting various train schedules, had determined that it would not be possible for him to attend unless he made the trip to Miami by air.

Sleeping in the first class seat next to him, Joey Zasa had no such problems. Dozing even before the plane left the runway of New York’s LaGuardia Airport, Zasa awoke only when he found his face a few inches away from the backside of the pretty young stewardess who was bending over to serve dinner to the passenger in the seat across the aisle.

Altobello watched with amusement. “Ah, Joey, you have an eye for the pretty young girls.” He said.

“What can I tell ‘ya, Nicky. I’ve been chasing girls since I was four.” His New York accent made it sound like “flaw", only without the letter “L”.
“It’s gonna get you in trouble one day” Altobello said. “You wait and see.”

“Nicky, don’t worry about it” Zasa looked at his wristwatch, diamond encrusted and custom-made by the most famous watchmaker in Switzerland. “We should be landing in about fifteen minutes.”

“The sooner the better, Joey” replied Altobello. “You know how I hate riding in these things.”

“What are you worried about?” asked Zasa. “You’re safer in an airplane than you are in your own bathtub.”

“Especially in our business” Altobello laughed out loud at his own joke.

Below them now was icy looking clear blue water, and the coastline of Florida had become off to their right, drawing closer.

“Joey, you know I’m a religious man” Altobello said. “If God had wanted us to fly, he would have given us wings.”

“That’s silly, Nick.” Joey Zasa smiled at what he thought was the simple-mindedness of this powerful Don. He wondered again, for perhaps the hundredth time, how a man such as Nicholas Altobello could have become so powerful, and decided again that for now it would have to remain a mystery to him. “That’s the same as saying ‘if God wanted us to drive, he would have given us wheels instead of legs’ “.

“Joey, always with the wisecracks, Joey. That’s one of the things that I love about you.” Altobello said. “Look, we’re coming in for a landing.”

Their airplane landed and taxied to a hangar, where a metal stairway was rolled out and placed against the body of the plane. As if he could no longer wait, the moment the doors were opened the first person out to feel the intense Florida heat was Don Nicholas Altobello, head of one of the most powerful Mafia families in the country.

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Although the members of the Corleone family referred to their home on Lake Tahoe as an estate, it was really much more like a high security compound. Extending in every direction from the lake for several hundred wooded acres, it was completely surrounded, both at its furthest perimeter and again in the inner area which included the airstrip and various buildings, by a fence of barbed wire which could be electrified by the mere flipping of a switch.

Within the second fence were was the huge lawn on which Anthony Corleone’s First Communion party had been held, nearly two acres square in size, leading from the edge of the lake and its large dock, and then the boathouse, used mostly by Michael as his personal office and private sanctuary. Beyond the boathouse stood the main house in which Michael lived; two smaller houses, those of Tom Hagen and his family and Connie Corleone and her children; and four two-bedroom cottages, one occupied by Al Neri, one the home of Rocco Lampone, and two more available for the occasional overnight visitors, almost all of whom came to Lake Tahoe for the purposes of business.

Michael and Ton emerged from the woods on the path leading from the airstrip. “Let’s get Neri first, then go and talk to my sister” Michael said.

The two men walked to Al Neri’s house, and Tom waited a few feet away when Michael knocked on the door. Neri opened it, saw Michael and Tom waiting for him, and after he and Hagen exchanged barely perceptible nods, the three of them cut across the huge lawn and began walking towards the house occupied by Connie Corleone.

“You understand that I’m going to tell Connie it was an accident” Michael said. Hagen and Neri were both silent.

“She wouldn’t understand the truth” Michael added. It was almost as if he were still trying to justify to himself the act of murdering his own brother.

Michael knocked on the door, and Connie opened it. Seeing the looks on the faces of the three man, Connie instinctively knew that something was wrong.

“Michael” she said. “What is it?”
“Can we come in?” Michael asked.

Connie stepped aside, and the three men entered the house.

“Where are the children?” Michael said, looking around the room.
“Victor is outside somewhere” Connie replied. “Michael is upstairs taking a nap.”

Hagen and Neri were still standing in the entranceway, flanking either side of the door. “Sit down, Connie” Michael said.

Connie sat down on the sofa, and Michael took a dining room chair, turned it around, and sat down facing his sister less than three feet away, facing her with his arms resting on the back of the chair.

“Fredo’s dead, Connie” Michael said. He waited for her response, a question, or even an indication that she had heard him.

Connie said nothing. “He drowned” Michael said. “When he went fishing this afternoon with Al”.

Connie stared straight ahead, past Michael, into some unknown space. “I knew something was wrong when you said that you weren’t going to Reno after all” she said. “After Fredo and Al had already left.” She looked at Al Neri, standing in the doorway, but strangely he was staring through the window at something unseen outside.

“Did it have to happen, Michael?” she said.

Michael was unsure if she saw through his story, or was simply questioning the action of fate, so he said nothing.

Connie was fighting to hold back her tears. “I accept it, Michael” she said simply. ‘Whatever happened was meant to be.” She reached out and embraced her brother, who hugged her tightly while he continued to wonder whether or not she embraced the story of Fredo’s death as well.

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