Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

Hagen ignored the condescension. He explained. "You've got some labor trouble coming up (у вас назревает неприятность с профсоюзами). My friend can absolutely guarantee to make that trouble disappear. You have a top male star (у вас есть «главная мужская звезда») who makes a lot of money for your studio but he just graduated from marijuana to heroin (перешел; to graduate [‘grædju∂t] – прогрессировать, продвигаться вперед; переходить в другое состояние). My friend will guarantee that your male star won't be able to get any more heroin (не сможет больше достать). And if some other little things come up over the years (и если какие-либо другие мелочи возникнут с течением времени) a phone call to me can solve your problems (разрешить)."

Jack Woltz listened to this as if he were hearing the boasting of a child (словно он слушал похвальбу ребенка). Then he said harshly (резко, грубо), his voice deliberately all East Side (специально, нарочно с /крутым/ истсайдским акцентом /East Side – the eastern section of Manhattan, in New York City, lying to the east of Fifth Avenue/), "You trying to put muscle on me (пытаетесь = вздумали надавить на меня)?"

Hagen said coolly, "Absolutely not. I've come to ask a service for a friend. I've tried to explain that you won't lose anything by it (попытался объяснить, что вы ничего не потеряете на этом)."

Almost as if he willed it («почти как если бы он хотел этого» = с едва ли не напускным /гневом/), Woltz made his face a mask of anger. The mouth curled (губы скривились), his heavy brows (брови), dyed black (подкрашенные в черный цвет; to dye – красить, окрашивать), contracted (сдвинулись: «сократились») to form a thick line over his glinting eyes (чтобы образовать, образовав толстую /непрерывную/ линию над его засверкавшими глазами). He leaned over the desk toward Hagen. "All right, you smooth son of a bitch (гладенький, скользкий сукин сын; smooth [smu:ð] – гладкий, ровный; скользкий; вежливый, приятный), let me lay it on the line for you and your boss (позволь мне кое-что четко объяснить: «выложить на линию»), whoever he is. Johnny Fontane never gets that movie. I don't care how many guinea Mafia goombahs come out of the woodwork (сколько итальянских дружков появляются, возникают; woodwork – деревянные изделия; to come out of the woodwork – появляться, возникать; guinea – /сленг, презрит./ итальяшка; goombah – дружок, приятель /сленг, из итальянского/)." He leaned back. "A word of advice to you, my friend. J. Edgar Hoover, I assume (полагаю) you've heard of him" – Woltz smiled sardonically – "is a personal friend of mine. If I let him know I'm being pressured (что на меня оказывают давление, что меня шантажируют), you guys will never know what hit you (вам парням крышка: «никогда так и не узнаете, даже и не узнаете, что вас стукнуло»)."

Hagen came directly to the point. That he was an emissary from a friend of Johnny Fontane. That this friend was a very powerful man who would pledge his gratitude and undying friendship to Mr. Woltz if Mr. Woltz would grant a small favor. The small favor would be the casting of Johnny Fontane in the new war movie the studio planned to start next week.

The seamed face was impassive, polite. "What favors can your friend do me?" Woltz asked. There was just a trace of condescension in his voice.

Hagen ignored the condescension. He explained. "You've got some labor trouble coming up. My friend can absolutely guarantee to make that trouble disappear. You have a top male star who makes a lot of money for your studio but he just graduated from marijuana to heroin. My friend will guarantee that your male star won't be able to get any more heroin. And if some other little things come up over the years a phone call to me can solve your problems."

Jack Woltz listened to this as if he were hearing the boasting of a child. Then he said harshly, his voice deliberately all East Side, "You trying to put muscle on me?"

Hagen said coolly, "Absolutely not. I've come to ask a service for a friend. I've tried to explain that you won't lose anything by it."

Almost as if he willed it, Woltz made his face a mask of anger. The mouth curled, his heavy brows, dyed black, contracted to form a thick line over his glinting eyes. He leaned over the desk toward Hagen. "All right, you smooth son of a bitch, let me lay it on the line for you and your boss, whoever he is. Johnny Fontane never gets that movie. I don't care how many guinea Mafia goombahs come out of the woodwork." He leaned back. "A word of advice to you, my friend. J. Edgar Hoover, I assume you've heard of him" – Woltz smiled sardonically – "is a personal friend of mine. If I let him know I'm being pressured, you guys will never know what hit you."