The Godfather: Part II Page #8

NERI:

How do you want me to handle it?

Michael glances at Hagen, who has been waiting in the room.

MICHAEL:

Later. Tom?

Hagen brings him a folder; then, as Michael glances through

it:

HAGEN:

I've cleared it through the

Senator's chief aide, a man named

Turnbull. Turnbull's a heavy

gambler, and into us for over a

hundred grand, so I figure his

information is reliable.

Neri moves to the bar, to prepare Michael a drink.

HAGEN:

The Senator can be set up; but he

thinks of himself as a clean

politician. So it's got to be on

terms he can live with: campaign

contribution, donation to a

charitable cause that he controls,

things like that. If he gets even

the inkling that you think you're

buying him, he'll freeze up.

Nevada's a funny state, they like

things both ways here... All right.

Turnbull says the Senator will be

here at two-thirty, and he's been

primed. He knows you'll want to

meet with him alone, and he knows

it's about the Tropicana's license.

At any rate, he expects to be

introduced around to some of the

influential people here today, and

generally treated as an ordinary

guest. Just go light on him,

Mikey, sometimes the biggest crooks

don't like to think of themselves

as crooks...

Michael glances at Hagen, as though that last remark was

unnecessary.

HAGEN:

I'm sorry; of course, you know that.

MICHAEL:

Two-thirty. That gives me time to

see my boy.

HAGEN:

Connie's outside.

Michael doesn't want to see her.

HAGEN:

I promised; she said it was urgent.

Michael nods.

MICHAEL:

All right. Apologize to Pentangeli.

Neri opens the door; Hagen exits, and Connie steps in

impatiently, followed by Merle.

MICHAEL:

I said I would see my sister, alone.

MERLE:

I think this concerns me too.

(taking a cigarette

from the dispenser)

You don't, do you?

Connie steps forward, kisses Michael on the cheek.

CONNIE:

How are you, honey? You've met

Merle, haven't you. He was with me

in Vegas.

MICHAEL:

I saw him with you.

CONNIE:

We're going to Europe next week. I

want to get passage booked on the

Queen.

MICHAEL:

Why do you come to me? Why don't

you go to a travel agent?

MERLE:

We're going to get married first.

Michael is silent. Then he rises, and moves to the window

overlooking the lake.

MICHAEL:

The ink on your divorce isn't dry.

Your children see you on weekends;

your oldest boy, Michael Francis...

was in some trouble with the Reno

police over some petty theft that

you don't even know about.

CONNIE:

Michael...

MICHAEL:

You fly around the world with lazy

young men who don't have any love

for you, and use you like a whore.

CONNIE:

You're not my father!

MICHAEL:

Then why do you come to me?

CONNIE:

Because I need MONEY!

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