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〃It's my problem； Tom；〃 Sonny said。 〃I'll find the answer。 Keep the negotiation alive and follow through on the other stuff。 Let's go back into business and see what happens。 Then we'll take it from there。 Clemenza and Tessio have plenty of soldiers； we can match the whole Five Families gun for gun if that's the way they want it。 We'll just go to the mattresses。〃
There was no problem getting the free…lance Negro bankers out of business。 The police were informed and cracked down。 With a special effort。 At that time it was not possible for a Negro to make a payoff to a high police or political official to keep such an operation going。 This was due to racial prejudice and racial distrust more than anything else。 But Harlem had always been considered a minor problem； and its settlement was expected。
The Five Families struck in an unexpected direction。 Two powerful officials in the garment unions were killed； officials who were members of the Corleone Family。 Then the Corleone Family shylocks were barred from the waterfront piers as were the Corleone Family bookmakers。 The longshoremen's union locals had gone over to the Five Families。 Corleone bookmakers all over the city were threatened to persuade them to change their allegiance。 The biggest numbers banker in Harlem； an old friend and ally of the Corleone Family； was brutally murdered。 There was no longer any option。 Sonny told his caporegimes to go to the mattresses。
Two apartments were set up in the city and furnished with mattresses for the button men to sleep on； a refrigerator for food； and guns and ammunition。 Clemenza staffed one apartment and Tessio the other。 All Family bookmakers were given bodyguard teams。 The policy bankers in Harlem； however； had gone over to the enemy and at the moment nothing could be done about that。 All this cost the Corleone Family a great deal of money and very little was ing in。 As the next few months went by； other things became obvious。 The most important was that the Corleone Family had overmatched itself。
There were reasons for this。 With the Don still too weak to take a part； a great deal of the Family's political strength was neutralized。 Also； the last ten years of peace had seriously eroded the fighting qualities of the two caporegimes； Clemenza and Tessio。 Clemenza was still a petent executioner and administrator but he no longer had the energy or the youthful strength to lead troops。 Tessio had mellowed with age and was not ruthless enough。 Tom Hagen； despite his abilities； was simply not suited to be a Consigliere in a time of war。 His main fault was that he was not a Sicilian。
Sonny Corleone recognized these weaknesses in the Family's wartime posture but could not take any steps to remedy them。 He was not the Don and only the Don could replace the caporegimes and the Consigliere。 And the very act of replacement would make the situation more dangerous； might precipitate some treachery。 At first； Sonny had thought of fighting a holding action until the Don could bee well enough to take charge； but with the defection of the policy bankers； the terrorization of the bookmakers； the Family position was being precarious。 He decided to strike back。
But he decided to strike right at the heart of the enemy。 He planned the execution of the heads of the five Families in one grand tactical maneuver。 To that purpose he put into effect an elaborate system of surveillance of these leaders。 But after a week the enemy chiefs promptly； dived underground and were seen no more in public。
The Five Families and the Corleone Empire were in stalemate。
Chapter 18
Amerigo Bonasera lived only a few blocks from his undertaking establishment on Mulberry Street and so always went home for supper。 Evenings he returned to his place of business； dutifully joining those mourners paying their respects to the dead who lay in state in his somber parlors。
He always resented the jokes made about his profession； the macabre technical details which were so unimportant。 Of course none of his friends or family or neighbors would make such jokes。 Any profession was worthy of respect to men who for centuries earned bread by the sweat of their brows。
Now at supper with his wife in their solidly furnished apartment； gilt statues of the Virgin Mary with their red…glassed candles flickering on the sideboard； Bonasera lit a Camel cigarette and took a relaxing glass of American whiskey。 His wife brought steaming plates of soup to the table。 The two of them were alone now； he had sent his daughter to live in Boston with her mother's sister； where she could forget her terrible experience and her injuries at the hands of the two ruffians Don Corleone had punished。
As they ate their soup his wife asked； 〃Are you going back to work tonight？〃
Amerigo Bonasera nodded。 His wife respected his work but did not understand it。 She did not understand that the technical part of his profession was the least important。 She thought； like most other people； that he was paid for his skill in making the dead look so lifelike in their coffins。 And indeed his skill in this was legendary。 But even more important； even more necessary was his physical presence at the wake。 When the bereaved family came at night to receive their blood relatives and their friends beside the coffin of their loved one； they needed Amerigo Bonasera with them。
For he was a strict chaperone to death。 His face always grave； yet strong and forting； his voice unwavering； yet muted to a low register； he manded the mourning ritual。 He could quiet grief that was too unseemly； he could rebuke unruly children whose parents had not the heart to chastise。 Never cloying in the tender of his condolences； yet never was he offhand。 Once a family used Amerigo Bonasera to speed a loved one on； they came back to him again and again。 And he never； never； deserted one of his clients on that terrible last night above ground。
Usually he allowed himself a little nap after supper。 Then he washed and shaved afresh； talcum powder generously used to shroud the heavy black beard。 A mouthwash always。 He respectfully changed into fresh linen； white gleaming shirt； the black tie； a freshly pressed dark suit； dull black shoes and black socks。 And yet the effect was forting instead of somber。 He also kept his hair dyed black； an unheard…of frivolity in an Italian male of his generation； but not out of vanity。 Simply because his hair had turned a lively pepper and salt； a color which struck him as unseemly for his profession。
After he finished his soup； his wife placed a small steak before him with a few forkfuls of green spinach oozing yellow oil。 He was a light eater。 When he finished this he drank a cup of coffee and smoked another Camel cigarette。 Over his coffee he thought about his poor daughter。 She would never be the same。 Her outward beauty had been restored but there was the look of a frightened animal in her eyes that had made him unable to bear the sight of her。 And so they had sent her to live in Boston for a time。 Time would heal her wounds。 Pain and terror was not so final as death； as he well knew。 His work made him an optimist。