If Fredo Had Become Godfather

Fredo Corleone, the godfather of the most powerful New York crime family, was at his desk, spinning round and round in the swivel chair, when his consigliere, Tom Hagan, entered.

"You wanted to see me?" Hagan said.

"Yeah I did," Fredo replied. "Hey, Tom, where did you go?"

"Over here," Tom said.

Fredo's chair had come to rest facing away from Tom. Tom walked over and swiveled Fredo towards him to save the few minutes this process usually took.

"Oh, good, you're back," Fredo said. "Tom, I'm a little upset. Rocco told me you called off that thing I asked him to do."

"That's right," said Tom.

"Why?"

"Look, Fredo," Tom explained, "I'm sorry you lost another college football bet. But you cannot put out a contract on the state of Georgia."

Fredo looked around to make sure no one was listening, then pulled Tom close and said excitedly, "I think we could get away with it, Tom. We send Rocco in, he does the job, then we bury Georgia under New Jersey. I don't think anyone would even miss it for a while."

"Fredo, you don't knock off an entire state," Tom said, a little more impatiently than he meant to. "The local police, the state, the feds would all come after us with everything they got."

"Maybe not. Tom, this Georgia isn't just any state. They're a southern state, they're a racist state, they're a state with a humid, subtropical climate. It'd make a helluva story. We have newspaper people on the payroll, don't we, Tom?"

"Yes, we do," Tom said.

"They might like a story like this."

"No, they wouldn't," Tom replied.

"Okay, fine" Fredo said, irritated. "Forget Georgia. I have another idea."

Tom worked hard to maintain a straight face.

"Here it is," Fredo said, growing excited again. "We convert to Judaism. We change our name from Corleone to Kornbluth."

"Fredo," Tom interrupted.

"Hear me out, Tom," Fredo said. "We invite the heads of the five families over for Purim dinner. Before they get here, we have Rocco plant a bomb under the hamantashen. After a few minutes of small talk about Esther and King Ahasuerus, we excuse ourselves to do something Jewish--I don't know, say get ourselves circumcised. When we're safely out of the building, we blow them to smithereens."

"Fredo," Tom said patiently.

"It's a good plan, Tom," Fredo said, almost cocky. "I'm telling you, once we recover from the circumcisions, we'll own this meshuganah town!"

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Johnny Fontaine walked in. Fredo and Tom greeted him warmly.

"So, Johnny," Tom asked, "when do you start filming that new movie you're starring in?"

"That's why I'm here, Tom. The movie's off," Johnny said, disappointed.

"I don't understand, Johnny," Tom said.

"The director's dead," Johnny replied, adding pointedly, "Some fool chopped off his head and put it in his horse's stall."

They both looked at Fredo, who was back in his chair, swiveling in circles, oblivious.