Fred Rosen - Blood Crimes: The Pennsylvania Skinhead Murders

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Blood Crimes

The Pennsylvania Skinhead Murders

Fred Rosen

With the greatest affection, this book is dedicated to my teacher and friend, Prof. John DiGiovanni. John was the first teacher who ever took an interest in me during my first semester at Hunter College. He encouraged me to major in Communications, which is how I come to write these words to honor him. John was one of the six Americans who lost their lives when the World Trade Center was first blown up in 1994.

PROLOGUE

Midnight, February 27, 1995

Bennys heart raced with the excitement of the kill.

Crunching snow under his Doc Martens, Benny, with his soft, doughy, innocent adolescent features, trolled over to wait by the driveway. A minute later, the front door burst open, and David ran from the house.

David looks really scared, like hes seen a ghost, Benny thought.

And hed changed. No more blood on his clothes. Benny looked down at his own jeans for any blood. When Benny looked up again, Bryan was in the doorway.

Confused, Bryan looked around, listening. Save for the distant sound of the whimpering dog inside the house, he heard nothing. Making sure all the lights were out, he pulled the front door shut.

Then he closed the outside screen door gently, so it wouldnt bang.

Well take ours, Bryan told David, his younger brother.

There were three vehicles in the driveway. Bryan and Davids fathers van blocked the first of the two cars. Bryan started up the van. After the engine caught, he turned on the rear windshield wiper to clear the rear window of snow so he could see to back out of the driveway. He double-parked, went back, and started up the first car.

After the car was out on the street, David got in on the passenger side. Bryan then drove the van back up onto the driveway, hopped out, and went back behind the wheel of the car Benny pulled out. Bryan followed him through the silent, snow covered streets of Allentown, Pennsylvania. When they got to his house, Benny parked and got in the back seat of the other car.

You got the money? David asked.

Bryan rattled his pockets. He patted them for a moment, feeling not only a lot of change, but piles of crumpled bills that filled them to bursting.

They slopped for gas and cigarettes at a 7-Eleven, then sped out of Allentown.

Where we gonna go? David asked.

I dont know, Bryan said. Well probably just go up to Michigan and meet those guys.

Who

Frank, Bryan answered. Well go see Frank.

He headed north on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Inside of ninety minutes, they had reached Interstate 80, heading west. Bryan drove carefully, obeying the speed limit.

They made a few pit stops, but by 8:30 A.M . the next morning, they had traveled 388 miles and were across the state line, outside of Youngstown, Ohio. Fearful that the police might be after them, they decided it would be a good idea if they lay low during the day.

How about that place? David asked, pointing at a motel coming up on their right.

Jesse Capece was behind the desk of the Truck World Motor Inn in Hubbard, Ohio, when the three walked in. Each was over six feet tall and weighed well over 200 pounds. They werent men, really, but teenagers in the body of men. They wore combat boots and jackets. And their heads were shaved clean.

When they came over to the counter to register, Jesse noticed the tattoos on their shaved heads.

Two of the boys had the word berserker tattooed near their hairline. The third boy, who was younger but bigger, had his forehead tattooed with the Nazi slogan, Sieg heil.

Who were these weird guys? Just looking at them gave Jesse the willies.

The boy who filled out the registration card signed in as Benny Birdwell. He listed the license plate number as LMN 2291, Pennsylvania.

He left the box for the make of car blank.

What kind of car you driving? Jesse asked.

An Olds, said Benny.

No, its a Buick, said Bryan.

Uh-uh, its a Pontiac, said David, who knew.