FISHTOWN
A Jack Regan/Izzy Ichowitz Novel
NEAL GOLDSTEIN
Copyright © 2015 Neal Goldstein
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1505875978
ISBN 13: 9781505875973
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Epilogue
Glossary
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Preview of the next Jack Regan/Izzy Ichowitz Novel
Part 1. Isadore Ichowitz 1942- 2014
Chapter 1
Prologue
She knew they should never have agreed to go with the ‘John.’ She had seen him cruising Frankford Avenue in his fire engine red caddy from time to time trying to pick up girls on the stroll. When he stopped at their corner she tried to convince her friend it was a bad move. There was something about his eyes that frightened her. But her friend only laughed and told her not to worry because some of the other girls had partied with him and told her he had shown them a good time. Besides, he was a little guy and if he tried anything funny the two of them could handle him.
She wasn’t so sure. His whacked out appearance, wearing a ratty leather jacket with a fur collar in the 98-degree heat of the humid summer night, freaked her out. Before she could stop her friend she had jumped in the front seat of his car. Both of them were jonesing for a fix and he promised to share a pipe with them if they gave him a three way so she went along seduced by the offer to get high.
He drove them to the alley behind a store in Fishtown.
“What is this place?” she asked when he opened the back door and let them in.
“It’s my church.”
“I ain’t never been in a church like this.”
He flashed her a yellow tooth smile but his predator eyes gave him away, “Have a little faith sister.”
She tried to stop her friend, who once again ignored her, when he told them to follow him to the cellar. When he locked the door behind them she knew she should have trusted her intuition and walked away, but it was too late for that now.
For a small man he was unusually strong. He overpowered them and knocked her unconscious. When she came to her hands and legs had been shackled to a table. Her friend, who was bleeding from the beating the man must have given her, had been chained to the wall.
He checked the plastic cords he had used to secure them and laughed, “Now don’t you two go nowhere. I’ll be back real soon.” She waited, listening to his footsteps as he climbed the stairs. When she heard him slam the door she turned back and said, “Look at me! We got to get the fuck out of here!”
Her friend raised her head, “I’m sorry.”
“Bitch, fuck that sorry shit!”
Later-minutes, hours—she had lost all sense of time, she heard him unlock the door and walk down the cellar steps. Exhausted and gasping for breath, she abandoned her useless effort to break free as the pain from her bloodied wrists overpowered her adrenaline rush.
“Let’s party,” he said and took a hit from the pipe.
They were kept in the cold dark room for days-weeks, time had lost all meaning. He would only unchain them when he raped them or made them clean the room. He fed them dog food and beat them if they complained. She thought that if she could satisfy him, he would let them go. But she knew when she looked in his eyes that would never happen.
This time was different. She could sense that someone else was in the room with them. Whoever it was didn’t say or do anything. He, or she, just stood there and watched the abuse. What the fuck?
When the churchman finished with her friend he approached her and said, “Now it’s your turn.”
The fact that he had brought someone to watch made her furious. When he got close enough she said, “Fuck you and whoever the fuck you brought with you,” and spit in his face. He slapped her so hard she could feel her eye starting to swell and taste the blood that seeped from the wound. She strained against the cords ripping open the scabs on her wrists and ankles in a futile attempt to break free. When he was done he laughed as he walked away and left the room. Her friend was sobbing.
“Be still.”
She looked into the dark and listened to the faint sound of someone breathing. “Who’s there?” No response. “I can hear you, please help us. Please.”
Seconds, minutes, hours later she listened to the sound of soft footsteps slowly walking away.
Chapter 1
The Present
Regan waited outside the door to Ichowitz’ room and watched as the physical therapist showed him how to use a cane to get out of a chair. It had been six weeks since his friend had been shot. Jack thought back to the incredible events of that night and how grateful he was that Izzy had survived.
Jack Regan was the First Assistant District Attorney of Philadelphia. Izzy, Homicide Detective Isadore Ichowitz, was his godfather. Izzy and Jack’s father, Police Commissioner John Hogan Regan, had met forty years ago at the Police Academy. Their initial rivalry at the academy grew into a lifetime friendship.
The prime witness in one of Jack’s investigations was found dead in a tony condo in Manayunk, and Izzy was the principal Homicide detective assigned to the case. The investigation took them on a journey with unanticipated international implications that culminated in a shootout that but for the intervention of Michael Flynn, a famous art thief from Northern Ireland, could have been fatal.
Jack watched as Izzy complained to the young man who was putting him through the repetitions of using the cane to stand up and sit down. When the session was about to end Ichowitz noticed him standing in the hall outside his door and waived him in.
“Boychik, thanks for stopping by.”
“How’s the rehab going?” Jack asked.
; Izzy smiled, held up the cane and pointed it at the young man, “Say hello to my personal therapist. He looks like such a sweet and gentle boy, but don’t let his appearance fool you he’s a ruthless taskmaster with a sadistic streak. He has not an ounce of pity for an alter kacher like me.”
“My dad told me you put in your papers. Is that true?”
“Uh-huh, Ida threatened to divorce me if I refused to retire. You know, I’ve been on the force for forty years. So I guess that’s enough.”
Ichowitz smiled, “You look just like your father did when I met him at the Academy. He was tall and slim then. He had the same easy smile, and deep cleft in his chin, and he was always brushing back that errant lock of hair from his forehead. Just like you.”
“Any regrets?”
Ichowitz forced a smile and replied, “Not really. I heard the new governor signed the warrant for Aron Heilman’s execution. You know that was my first case as a homicide detective. I worked the case with your father. Can you believe Heilman’s been sitting on death row all these years?”
Ichowitz talked about the case quite frequently. He had been in charge of the investigation and told Jack he still harbored doubts about Heilman’s conviction.
“That’s part of the reason I stopped by, I wanted to tell you that Heilman’s final appeal will be argued in the next term of the Supreme Court in October. My boss is representing the Commonwealth.”
“What do you think the court’s going to do?”
“If they posted the odds of his winning in Vegas I’d say they were between slim and none, and I’d probably put my money on none.”
“So you’re saying he has no shot?”
“Izz, the new governor used to be the Attorney General and he wants to show everyone he’s as tough as the governor from Texas. I think it’s some kind of republican macho thing. Anyway, there hasn’t been an execution in this state since 1999,” Regan paused. “Did you know there are over 200 inmates on death row, 38 of them, including Heilman, have been there for over twenty years? The governor wants to cull the herd,” he paused again when he saw Izzy’s reaction, “his words, not mine.
Heilman and one hundred and fifty-seven others are on death row at the state correctional facility in Greene County. They keep them in their 7 by 12 foot cells 22 hours a day with the lights on for 24 hours. They only let them out to exercise or to go to the prison library, and even then they’re transported in cages. They’re forbidden to have contact with anyone, even their fellow prisoners.
Aron Heilman has lived for most of the last 25 years of his life under these conditions.”
“I had no idea.”
Jack nodded, “I didn’t either.”
“Don’t you think he’s suffered enough?”
“I don’t know if the Court will see it that way, especially since three of the sitting justices are running for retention in November, and none of them want to appear soft on crime. So it’s not looking good.” Jack could tell from his expression that there was something else on his friend’s mind.
“What’s bothering you Izz?”
“I know you’ll think I’m being overly cautious, but I’m still concerned about Shona Cohen being out there.”
Shona Cohen was the remaining member of the gang Izzy and Jack had encountered in the Manayunk murder investigation who had thus far eluded capture. Regan studied his friend’s face and noticed worry lines that had not been there before. “Do you really think she’d come back here? I bet she’s on a beach somewhere.”
“I guess you’re right. But humor me, and keep your guard up just in case.”
After Jack left Izzy thought about the Heilman case. He couldn’t believe it all had happened over a quarter of a century ago. Ida was right, he was definitely too old to be on the job. Was his concern for Jack’s safety merely another sign of his advanced age? Without even thinking about it he used the cane to get out his chair.
Chapter 2
Shona Cohen had returned to Philly from New York to finish the job. Not for a single moment was she even the least bit concerned that the police would find and arrest her. She had been drilled by her mentor Ari Nooris to always do the unexpected. She knew the last place the police would expect her to be was in Manayunk. After all, no one in their right mind would return to a place where they were wanted for murder. She laughed at herself and wondered if she was indeed in her right mind.
And if the authorities were looking for her, exactly who were they looking for? She no longer looked like Ari Nooris’ quiet, competent assistant. Although there wasn’t much she could do to alter her high cheek bones and perfect features, she had changed the color of her hair, shed the stiletto heels, business suit, no-nonsense hairstyle and horn-rimmed glasses she had affected to play a role and transformed herself into Carrie Sloane, a college student on a break from her studies in New York. Her new persona sported a blond ponytail that stuck out the back of a vintage Mets baseball cap, old school Keds high top sneakers that took several inches off her height, and skintight jeans fashionably frayed at the knees and at other eye-catching places. She had abandoned all of the previous disguises she had used to complete her assignments in Philly. There was no trace of the lesbian butch Goth character, complete with face piercings, she had affected to seduce and then kill Dorothy Wiggins. Nor was there any hint of either the awkward frizzy redheaded nurse or the sexy lawyer personas she used to dispatch Vito Coratelli, Junior, and Mickey Saunders, who had also been on Nooris’ hit list. All of them had disappeared, replaced by the 19-year old college coed.
She watched as Kate O’Malley and Jack Regan kissed when they parted. The woman headed towards the Grape Tavern and Regan returned to their house. For a lingering moment she felt something, a flood of warmth running through her entire body. What the hell was that all about, some kind of empathy for her target? Nooris would have laughed at her. Professionals had no use for emotions, let alone empathy!
She could hear the woman singing some kind of Irish folk song as she walked away. Shona wondered if she could ever be that happy. She must be going soft, or maybe she was coming down with something. She continued to walk down the hill towards the Manayunk Canal. She sat down on one of the benches and watched the eclectic mix of ‘Yunkers’, the loose term applied to residents in the neighborhood, who ranged from second and third generation Manayunk families to the hip newbies, young and old, who walked along the canal path. For reasons she could not fathom, she found herself attracted to the young mothers pushing strollers and the couples walking hand in hand.
The enormity of her present circumstances flashed through her consciousness. For the first time in fifteen years she was completely on her own! When she was twelve years old Ari Nooris found her in the orphanage in Jerusalem where the relief agency that brought her from Moscow had placed her. Shona’s mother was a prostitute who sold her to men to get her drug money. Mommy had overdosed on the heroin Shona’s last ‘uncle’ had given her in exchange for a photo session with her daughter. Having no one to turn to for help, Shona kept the corpse on ice in the bathtub.
When the police could no longer ignore the neighbors’ complaints about the smell of her mother’s rotting body, they found Shona hiding under the bed. She was wearing a Star of David necklace so they took her to the rabbi at the Bucherian Synagogue on Spasaoglinsishevesky Street. Having nowhere else to send her, the rabbi made the arrangements for Shona’s ‘Aliyah to Eretz Israel’. He explained it was Hebrew term meaning the ‘act of going up,’ signifying the Jews return from diaspora to their rightful homeland, and she was going where God intended for her to be.
Like most of her life to that point, Shona’s initial transition to her new homeland did not proceed smoothly. She spoke no Hebrew and the abuse she had endured as a child rendered her incapable of trusting either the staff or any of the other children at the institution. Despite not knowing the language or anything about this strange new en
vironment, she was able to repeatedly run away from the orphanage and wander through the old city. The crowded streets and the sights and smells of a place she had only read about in the Bible fascinated her. Eventually, the police would find her and return her to the facility. In time, the only people she trusted were the police officers with whom she played the game of cat and mouse.
All of this changed when Ari Nooris came into her life. Ari instantly realized the potential of this clever and talented runaway girl. With infinite patience he showed her how she could wreak revenge on those who had mistreated her, or at least their surrogates. He taught her that she could make them feel the hurt and humiliation she had been forced to endure. He became the central figure in her life. Their relationship was not easily defined. She never considered him to be a substitute for the father she never knew. He was more like an older brother, but that did not quite explain the bond between them either.
Nooris molded the child into a lethal weapon. In time he revealed that he was an agent with the Mossad. He introduced her to the rest of his crew and she quickly became a trusted member of the family, a part of something meaningful for the first time in her life. Although he taught her a variety of ways to kill, Shona excelled at the close encounters, surprising her victims and killing them silently. As part of the team, she eliminated the targets Nooris had selected for her without remorse, seeking only her mentor’s approval and the acceptance of her colleagues.
When Shona read the message Nooris had left for her at the drop in the New York Post Office, she instinctively took the first train back to Philadelphia to do his bidding. She had deciphered the message and knew that Ari wanted her to murder Michael Flynn.
Nooris had enlisted Flynn to help him steal the masterpieces from the Barnes Foundation. He suspected that Flynn was the informant who had betrayed him. Flynn had left the U.S., but his son Liam was still living in Manayunk with his mother. The plan was to use the boy as the bait to lure Flynn back.
But Nooris and Nochem Rabinowitz were in the custody of the CIA with no chance of escape, so what then was the point? She had the painting by Braque they had stolen from the Barnes. She was confident she could find a way to sell it. Why not take the money and start a new life? But what kind of a life? She only knew the life she had been trained for, she was an assassin, a cold hearted killer. So why was she having second thoughts about this assignment? Was it because a child was involved? That had never bothered her before.
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