gets that film. The part is perfect for him. It'd make him a big star. But
I'm not going to give it to him. And do you know why?' He stood up and
began to move slowly around the table towards Tom. 'I had a beautiful
young actress. She was going to be a star. I spent hundreds of thousands
of dollars on her, singing lessons, acting lessons, dancing lessons. Then
Johnny Fontane came along and took her away from me. I lost her. He
made me look stupid, and that's something I can never forgive. That's
why I'll make sure that Johnny Fontane never works in films. Now, you
get out of here! And if your boss wants to frighten me, tell him I'm no
band-leader!'
Tom waited until Woltz had finished. 'Thank you for the dinner,' he said
quietly. 'Could your car take me to the airport now, please? Mr.
Corleone is a man who likes to hear bad news immediately.'
Then without another word he left the table, took his hat from one of the
servants and walked quickly out of the room.
♦
Jack Woltz was sleeping alone in his enormous bed. For some reason,
this morning he woke up earlier than usual. The room was getting light.
Everything was quiet. But he could feel that there was something
wrong. He turned over and saw that there were wet red marks on his
bedclothes. His night-shirt felt sticky, and there was a horrible smell in
the room. He lifted the bedclothes off his body and looked down. His
nightshirt was covered in blood. Without thinking, he sat up and pulled
the bedclothes off his bed completely. The shock of what he saw nearly
killed him. At first he couldn't breathe. He felt sick. Then, a moment
later, he was filled with an animal fear. He opened his mouth and
screamed.
For there, at the bottom of his bed, was the beautiful black head of his
favourite racehorse, Khartoum. Somebody had cut it