Murder and Mayhem in Manayunk

by Neal Goldstein

  “They probably flew the coop; but just in case, I thought I’d give it a shot.”“Izz, don’t do anything crazy. I mean, these people are extremely dangerous.”

  “Jack, you sound just like Ida. Don’t worry. I’m too old to go after the bad guys. I’m just gonna schmooze with Vito and see if he’ll give up his source.”

  “OK, promise me you’ll call me tonight and let me know how you made out,” Regan said.

  Ichowitz sighed and replied, “Yes, Mother.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  9:30 PM

  The valet drove Dorothy Wiggins’ Mercedes to the front of the 12th Air Command where Wiggins and Shona/Brittany were waiting. Shona/ Brittany lightly ran her fingers down Wiggins back and across her buttocks. She brushed her lips across Wiggins’ ear and whispered, “I think that’s your car.”

  Wiggins nodded and reluctantly stepped away as Shona/ Brittany laughed. They rode in silence as the young woman lightly stroked the older woman’s arm. Wiggins was completely under her control. Wiggins pulled into her parking space in the underground lot of her condo building, The Residences at the Ritz-Carlton. At forty-eight stories the Ritz was the tallest residential tower in the in the city. It had been built on the site of the former One Meridian Tower that had been seriously damaged in a fatal fire in 1991. Ironically, Wiggins’ penthouse unit cost $10 million, roughly the amount of her fee in the class action settlement of the litigation she had brought on behalf of the victims in the One Meridian Tower case.

  Wiggins turned to her passenger. She smiled and as she was about to speak, the young woman shook her head, put her fingers on Wiggins’ lips and placed her middle finger in Wiggins’ mouth. Wiggins sucked on Shona/Brittany’s finger and the young woman laughed again.

  Shona/Brittany leaned closer and whispered, “Let’s go up to your place,” and she lightly bit Wiggins’ earlobe. Wiggins exhaled heavily and nodded. As they waited for the elevator the young woman positioned herself so that Wiggins blocked her face from the security camera above the elevator door. When Wiggins turned to speak, Shona/Brittany shook her head and pressed her finger to Wiggins’ lips and whispered, “We can talk later.”

  They stepped into the elevator and rode up to the forty-seventh floor in silence. Once again Shona/Brittany used the older woman to shield her from the camera in the elevator car. The young woman stood directly behind Wiggins thrusting her body at the older woman’s buttocks, fondling her breasts and licking the back of her neck as they rode up to the penthouse apartment. Wiggins was wet with anticipation when the elevator doors opened. Shona gently pushed Wiggins out of the elevator.

  As they stepped directly into the foyer of Wiggins’ apartment, Shona removed her hands from Wiggins’ breasts and took the older woman’s head in both her hands violently snapping Wiggins’ neck to the left and right, instantly killing her. She gently dropped Wiggins’ body to the marble floor in front of the Louis XIV gold filigreed credenza.

  She removed a cloth treated with a chemical fabric cleaner that she had placed in a plastic bag from her back pocket and wiped Wiggins’ body. After she removed the key fob and access card from Wiggins’ pocket she checked herself in the mirror.

  She removed the piercings from her nose and above her right eyebrow and pulled a blond wig out of her jacket pocket and put it on. She wiped the lipstick and make-up from her face with a wet and dry she had brought with her and put on a pair of rimless eye glasses, changing her appearance to that of a much younger person. She took off the leather jacket and smiled at her reflection one last time before turning back to the elevator. Using the specially-treated cloth she pressed the button to recall the elevator. Before the elevator door opened, she pulled the hoodie over her head. She never once looked at the body of the dead woman that lay less than three feet from the elevator.

  She kept her head down and away from the camera and rode the elevator down to the underground garage. She drove Wiggins’ Mercedes out of the garage onto Penn Square and turned right on Broad Street. She drove three blocks south and made a left into the multi-story self-parking lot adjacent to the Hersey Hotel at Broad and Locust Streets. She parked the vehicle in a space near the rear of the fourth level and left the lot by the back stairway. Shona stepped out on to Locust Street and blended in with students from the Academy of The Arts who were parading up and down Broad and Locust Streets.

  Shona slowly made her way to the Broad Street Subway station at Broad and Walnut Streets. She boarded the southbound train to Pattison Avenue and lost herself in the crowd leaving the Citizens’ Bank Park, where the Phillies had just completed a sweep of the Pittsburgh Pirates. Shona never gave a second’s thought to her actions in the preceding hour and a half. She had completed her mission and would check in the morning to see if Ari had left her any further instructions. If not, she would leave the city and the country.

  10 PM

  Ichowitz and Coratelli were sitting at the small table in Coratelli’s kitchen reminiscing over their many courtroom encounters. The kitchens in South Philadelphia row houses, despite thousands of dollars in upgrades, still looked much the same as they had when the parents and grandparents of the current occupants owned the homes. The linoleum floors and white appliances may have been replaced with imported Italian tile, granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, but in the end there is only so much you can do with the limited space available. The Coratellis’ kitchen, although tastefully remodeled, was no exception.

  Coratelli’s wife Loretta was spending the week with their daughter in North Wildwood, New Jersey, or “down the shore” as the locals refer to the South Jersey beaches, so the two men had the rare occasion to hang out in her domain.

  “Izz, more Limoncello? I made it myself,” Coratelli asked as he poured himself another shot.

  “Vito, I have to drive home. I’m not the best driver when I’m sober. Another shot of your hooch and I’d probably get pulled over for a DUI,” Ichowitz replied.

  Coratelli downed the shot of the chilled sweet liquor and sighed. “Izzy, my friend. While it is always a pleasure to sit and talk with you, I assume you’re here for more than an old-fashioned bull session.”

  Ichowitz nodded.

  “Let me guess,” Coratelli continued. “Since the feds somehow managed to let Nooris and his associate escape from custody and you know that one of my clients provided the tip that led to their arrest, you probably think my source may have in his possession information that could lead to their recapture. Is that right?”

  “Counselor, do I have to answer with a yes or no, or can I elaborate?” Ichowitz replied.

  Coratelli smiled. “Well?”

  “Vito, these are really bad guys. They need to be put away. If you can help in any way, you would be doing a great service to the community.”

  “Izzy, you know I can’t divulge my client’s identity without his authorization. Besides, I haven’t heard from my client for several days. For all I know he’s no longer in the city, or even in the country. Tell me something. How did those jibones get loose?”

  Ichowitz filled him in on the details of how Nooris and Rabibowitz had escaped.

  “Are you kidding me? You mean the two FBI agents stopped at a Wawa to get coffee and the prisoners just walked away? That’s the emess?”

  Ichowitz nodded. “Vito, I know you’re bound by attorney-client privilege. But can I ask you some hypothetical questions?”

  The lawyer nodded.

  “Hypothetically speaking, did your source have anything to do with the robbery at the Barnes Foundation?”

  He nodded.

  “Once again, hypothetically, did your source claim that he had nothing to do with the attack at the Mall?”

  Coratelli nodded again.

  “Did you believe him?”

  “Do you mean hypothetically?”

  Ichowitz nodded.

  “Yes I did.”

  “Can you think of any hypothetical reason why your source wanted Nooris and his gang arrested?”


  “I suppose he was convinced that these individuals were reckless and dangerous and that their crimes should not go unpunished, hypothetically.”

  Ichowitz nodded, agreeing with the lawyer’s conclusion. “Vito, I know that your source is Michael Flynn. Avi Nooris implicated him in the Barnes heist. He more or less told us that neither he nor Flynn had anything to do with the fake terrorist attack. My guess is that your assumption that Flynn was genuinely upset with Nooris’ reckless disregard for the safety and wellbeing of innocent people was the reason he stepped forward, so to speak.”

  Ichowitz stopped and asked, “Did you hear that?”

  Before he could say another word the back door was kicked in. Nooris and Rabinowitz were standing in the kitchen pointing Glock 45 caliber automatic pistols at them.

  FIFTY-TWO

  10:15PM

  “What’s wrong?” Kate asked Regan who was once again looking at his watch and checking his cell phone. At her count this was the sixth time he had done that in the last hour.

  “I’m sure there’s nothing wrong, it’s just that I asked Izzy to call me and let me know how his meeting with Coratelli went,” Jack answered.

  “He’ll probably call ya in the morning,” she said.

  He nodded.

  For the past hour or so they had been discussing their future life together. Both of them were looking forward to telling Liam that they would soon become a real family. “Are you sure Liam will be OK with all of this?” Jack asked.

  “Oh Jack, Liam idolizes you.”

  “How about your uncle?”

  “O’Malley will gladly walk me down the aisle. He’ll figure I’ll finally be out of his hair and let the old codger return the Grape Tavern to its former state of bad food and ill repair; fat chance of that happenin. What about your folks? D’ya think they’ll want the likes of me in such ‘la de da’ society?”

  Regan laughed. “You know my father told me that the Maxwells weren’t very keen on the idea of their daughter marrying a lowly policeman from Manayunk. They did everything in their power to break them up. They sent my mother away on a trip around the world. They even threatened to disinherit my mother if she went through with the marriage.”

  “So what happened?”

  “My parents ran away to Elkton, Maryland and got married.”

  “But I thought they had a grand party at some large estate your grandparents owned. Your mother showed me the wedding pictures.”

  “They did, after my mother told them she was pregnant. So I don’t think my parents will have any objection. Besides, you heard my mother when we called her this evening. She’s genuinely thrilled.”

  Jack looked at his watch again. It was 10:30.

  “Why don’t you call his cell phone? He’s probably on his way home.”

  “I left him a message less than an hour ago. He hasn’t returned my call,” Regan replied.

  10:25 PM

  Michael Flynn had decided to drop in on Vito Coratelli and ask him to pass on another tip to the police. Flynn knew the location of two of the houses Nooris had used when they were preparing for the Barnes robbery. If Nooris or any of his gang were still in the area, they might be using one of those locations to hide out until the manhunt cooled off.

  Flynn noticed the two men standing outside Coratelli’s house as he walked south on 8th Street. There was something familiar about the men that made him slow his pace. He bent over as if to tie his shoelace and watched as the taller man, whose bald head shone in the light from the street lamp, walked towards the back of the house. Flynn noticed his limp and immediately realized that the bald man was Nochem Rabinowitz. He assumed his companion was Ari Nooris. He was amazed at how the two men had altered their appearance. Rabinowitz had shaved his head and trimmed his beard to a goatee; Nooris had somehow managed to look much older. While Nooris and Rabinowitz were preoccupied with their scrutiny of the Coratelli property, Flynn, the accomplished art thief that he was, silently moved into the shadows in a space between two parked cars and continued to observe the two men.

  From his vantage point he could see Rabinowitz signal Nooris to join him at the rear of Coratelli’s house. Flynn checked his surroundings to see if anyone else was in the vicinity; there were no vehicles on either 8th or Christian Streets and no pedestrians anywhere in sight. He heard a loud crashing sound from the rear of Coratelli’s house and he quickly and silently made his way to the back of the building, always making sure to remain in the shadows.

  He crouched behind the large plastic trash container that stood fifteen feet from the back door. The shattered glass and splintered wood from the door-jam was scattered across the small concrete landing and down the three steps to the bricked-over yard. He would have to be careful not to step on the debris if he attempted to get any closer. The noise would alert Nooris and Rabinowitz that someone was approaching.

  He inched closer to the partially-opened door. He saw the two men standing with their backs to the door, pointing guns at Coratelli and another man who was sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Rabi. How convenient,” Nooris said. “Mr. Coratelli and Detective Ichowitz, the very two gentlemen we wanted to see, are both here. Rabi, please relieve the Detective of any firearms he may have in his possession. As to our host Mr. Coratelli, he’s a lawyer. I assume the only dangerous weapon he’s packing is his mouth.”

  Coratelli nodded and smiled, “Mr. Nooris, Detective Ichowitz just finished telling me all about your daring escape from the FBI.” Coratelli looked at the broken door-jam and said, “You know if you wanted to retain me, all you had to do was call. I gladly would have made time to see you without all the theatrics.”

  Rabinowitz gestured for the Detective to stand. He removed the Smith &Wesson 40 caliber M&P Shield from Ichowitz’s shoulder holster and quickly patted him down, finding no other weapons on the detective.

  “Gentlemen,” Nooris said, motioning with the Glock. “Why don’t we move to the living room where we can more comfortably discuss our business? Mr. Coratelli, if you’d be so kind as to lead the way,” Nooris smiled, still pointing the weapon at them.

  “Rabi, why don’t you check around the property to make sure there’s no one around to interrupt our discussion?”

  Flynn silently withdrew from the back yard before Rabinowitz had exited the building. He watched as the gunman limped from the back yard to the perimeter of the house and returned after making certain no one was there. Flynn decided that his best course of action was to leave and try to find a pay phone and make an anonymous call to the police.

  As Flynn crossed Christian Street he saw Jack Regan getting out of his car. What the hell was he doing here? If Regan barged in, there could be disastrous – possibly fatal – consequences. Flynn grabbed Regan’s arm, preventing him from slamming the car door shut. Regan’s eyes widened with surprise when he realized it was Flynn who had stopped him. Flynn held his hand to his lips, pointed towards Coratelli’s house and pulled Regan down so that the car blocked them from anyone in the building’s line of sight.

  “Your partner the big detective and Coratelli are being held at gunpoint by Nooris and Rabinowitz,” he whispered. “I think ya’d be makin a big mistake if ya were to barge in there and make a fuss.”

  Regan had still not fully recovered from the shock of Flynn’s sudden appearance.

  “What…”

  Flynn signaled Regan to lower his voice, once again gesturing towards the house across the street.

  “What are you doing here?” Regan whispered.

  “Not important. Can ya summon the police? I think your friend’s in danger,” Flynn said.

  Regan nodded but before he could pull out his cell phone there was a loud crashing sound and shouting from inside Coratelli’s house.

  “Too late,” Flynn said. “Call the police and wait here.” He silently ran towards the house, crouching low and remaining in the shadow of the vehicles parked in front of the house.

  Regan thought he saw Flyn
n holding a pistol as he ran.

  FIFTY-THREE

  10:28PM

  “Gentlemen, if you would kindly be seated,” Nooris said and pointed at the plastic covered sofa in front of the picture window in Coratelli’s living room.

  Ichowitz and Coratelli sat side by side and stared at the gunman. “What do you want?” Ichowitz asked.

  “Information,” Nooris responded.

  “Mr. Nooris wants to know who told the police that they were on Sheik Nazeur’s yacht. Isn’t that right?” Coratelli said.

  Nooris nodded.

  “Why?” Ichowitz asked.

  “I assume he would like to extract some form of revenge from whomever it was that betrayed him. Isn’t that right, Mr. Nooris?”

  Nooris nodded again.

  Ichowitz shook his head.

  “Detective Ichowitz, you seem disappointed, or is it disdain you are exhibiting?” Nooris commented in response to the detective’s reaction.

  “It’s neither disappointment nor disdain. I just think you’re meshugheh.”

  “Mr. Coratelli, can you explain to your friend the significance of revenge?” Nooris asked.

  “Izzy, it may seem, how do your people put it, like nonsense?”

  “Narishkeitt.”

  “Yes narishkeitt to you, but avenging a wrong, say for example, the killing of a loved one, or giving the police information that leads to one’s apprehension, can serve many purposes. It can signal to the world that you are not a person who can be taken lightly. It also can cleanse the soul by relieving a person of the burden of unrequited hatred,” Coratelli explained.

  “Precisely,” Nooris observed.

  Ichowitz looked at both men and shook his head.

  “And your companion agrees?” Ichowitz asked nodding in the direction of Rabinowitz, who stood silently taking in the scene with no apparent reaction.

  “Enough small talk, I need to know who betrayed us.” Nooris said.

  There was no response.