Washington State PenitentiaryWalla WallaTuesday, August 1, 201111:30 a.m.

For the first time in ten years, four months, and thirteendays, thirty-two year old Gabe Norton gazed at themorning sun and the Blue Mountain foothills as afree man.

Jail time hadn't changed his appearance much from thelanky, blonde, lady's man, with an ever-present engagingsmile. He was seated in the front seat of an unmarked prisonvan on the way to the Greyhound bus station, gripping a one-way ticket to Spokane.

Besides the brand-new casual clothes he was wearing, hisbelongings consisted of an heirloom pocket watch with goldchain, an Idaho star garnet ring, a small suitcase containingunderwear, socks, Seattle Seahawks sweatshirt, Levi's, cottonjacket, toiletries, and a cashier's check for one thousand sixhundred seventy-nine dollars that he'd saved from his job inthe prison's license plate shop. Ten brand-new twenty dollarbills were folded up in his shirt pocket.

It wasn't much of a stake, but he wasn't concerned. By week'send, he expected to receive his four-way split of thirteen milliondollars that was stolen from a Spokane, Washington bank in2001, then buried. All he had to do was to find out where.

Odds for a four way split were favorable, because one ofthe five gang members had been murdered, allegedly by oneof them, shortly after the heist. Three, besides him, remainedalive, including Eddie Mercury, who planned to rendezvouswith him that very evening at the Northern Quest Casino& Resort near Spokane in Airway Heights. Subterfuge wasrequired, since the warden's underlings read all of Gabe'smail, commencing the first day of his incarceration—andjailers before that during his trial.

During the previous three months, Eddie wrote perfume-scentedlove letters with female flourishes that disclosed indouble-entendre language the meeting place. He signed themas Edie Lovelace, although he would have ripped the face offof anyone who called him gay. The ruse was necessary to getpast the eavesdroppers.

Every day of Gabe's imprisonment was dominated bya single euphoric thought—money! Lots of it! His twenty-five percent share amounted to three million, two hundredfifty thousand dollars—$325,000 for each of his ten yearsof confinement. $6250 per week! What license plate makeranywhere in the world ever earned that much? He shared hisjubilation with nobody except his cellmate, Vincent Pagnotta,whom he'd come to trust over the previous three years.Vince was a lifer, convicted for murdering his fiancé, herboyfriend and two dogs, with no chance at all for parole, sothere were no worries about him wrangling a share. WhenGabe promised to send him a carton of cigarettes everyweek forever to keep silent, he was overcome with tears ofgratitude.

Gabe's release date was no secret. Newspapers throughoutthe state played it up with banner headlines, remindingreaders about the years before, brazen, yet unsolved,thirteen million dollar bank robbery in broad daylight, theneditorializing disgustedly that the only captured perpetratorwas being released.

"Where's the money? ... who are the robbers? ... whyshould we believe he doesn't know?" it asked rhetorically.

Parole Board members certainly weren't aware ofGabe's knowledge about buried loot, or else they would nothave awarded him with early release from his fifteen-yearsentence, until he revealed its location. On the other hand,if he did know, and spilled the beans, that would prove hewas more complicit than he'd claimed at trial. That could begrounds for increasing his sentence—not early release. Suchwere the vagaries of cooperating with the law.

His court trial only proved that he was one of the getawaycar drivers, not a mastermind, or one of the inside-the-bankperpetrators, wielding guns. Good behavior and feignedignorance earned him points.

The State of Washington was going through a budget crisisand had trimmed the penitentiary's budget substantially.Thus, hundreds of prisoners were being released fromprisons throughout the state to save money—and make roomfor other dangerous criminals.

Although Gabe had hoped to do some sightseeing fromthe bus while traveling through Waitsburg, Dayton, Dusty,and Colfax, he slept most of the way to Spokane, then tooka fifteen minute cab ride to the Northern Quest Casino &Resort in Airway Heights. He certainly was not aware of themaroon 2003 Pontiac Grand Am following a discreet distancebehind the Greyhound bus from Walla Walla. Or the beige2013 Buick Regal far behind the Pontiac.

* * *

Vincent Pagnotta's uncle, Luther, knew how to tail vehiclesand remain anonymous. The Greyhound bus from WallaWalla never drove out of his sight. During a restroom andcoffee stop in Dusty, he gassed up his Pontiac at the pay-outsidepump, and watched bus passengers—but not Gabe—emergeand buy snacks inside the small mercantile. His bluechambray shirt, Levi's, cowboy boots, and Stetson hat, gavehim the appearance of a local rancher/cowboy.

Other vehicles came and went, including the 2013 BuickRegal, driven by a thin, balding man wearing thick glassesand a summer-weight business suit.

Gray-haired, fifty-eight year old, Luther Pagnotta hadbeen a driver and hit man for a mob family in New Jersey, andwas provided the safety net of the Federal Witness ProtectionProgram for testifying against his boss and cronies yearsearlier. His alias became Busby (Buzz) Miller.

He resided in Deer Park—twenty miles north of Spokane—wherehe was the resident manager of a trailer park andowned a tattoo shop on Randolph Street. He'd gotten well-acquaintedwith various law enforcement officers in EasternWashington and Northern Idaho over the years.

His cohort, Tommy Sackmaster, knew nothing specificabout Luther's background, other than that he'd rubbedelbows with the highest ranking members of organized crimeon the East Coast, was on a first name basis with regionallawmen, and was being protected by the Feds. What bettermentor could there be?

Luther's fashion advice to him advised short hair, tight-fitting white t-shirts to accent his muscular build, tan Levi's,and Florsheim penny loafers.

They'd met in a downtown Spokane pool hall, whereTommy, aged twenty-four, defended himself with a knifeagainst an opponent, who'd accused him of being a hustler,and refused to pay the two hundred dollar bet for a several-gamematch of 9-ball, then pulled out a gun. Everyone butTommy and Luther ducked for cover. During the scuffle,shots rang out. Tommy stabbed the shooter—almost killedhim. When police arrived and interviewed witnesses, theshooter was arrested, then rushed to the emergency roomof Deaconess Hospital in critical condition. Luther's detailedand compelling statement about the circumstances, that heclaimed prevented a number of people from being killed,cleared Tommy right away. Friendship between themblossomed afterward.

After Uncle Luther (Buzz) learned from his nephew,Vincent Pagnotta, during two enlightening and invigoratingprison visitations in recent weeks, about Gabe Norton's buriedfortune—including details of the bank heist, gang members,and Gabe's imminent release—he informed Tommy aboutpotential riches, offered him a 75/25 partnership, then quit histrailer park management job.

The twosome arrived together in Walla Walla the previousnight, and stayed in a posh, two-bedroom, suite at the MarcusWhitman Hotel. Luther paid. Dinner talk contemplated thepurchase of new automobiles— a Bentley Flying Spur Sedanfor Luther, and a previously-owned Corvette for Tommy.

At 8:45 p.m., as the Greyhound bus made its final stop atthe depot in downtown Spokane, Luther parked across thestreet. Gabe hurried off the bus with his suitcase to a waitingcab. Twenty-five minutes later Luther and Tommy followedhim into the Northern Quest Casino.

Becky Allison loved her job as a blackjack dealer.She'd been employed there for more than two years,following her graduation from Gonzaga Universitywith an MBA degree.

She was born and raised in Omak, Washington. The wideassortment of people she got to play with and talk to meshedwith her extrovert personality and caring nature; plus, thecasino gave her flexible work hours to coincide with herfiancé's ever-changing schedule at Spokane's Sacred HeartHospital.

Dr. David Baxter was a staff physician there—just sixyears out of medical school and two years out of the U.S.Army Medical Corps—and was completing a three month-longstint in the Emergency Room.

His long-range goal was to open his own full-servicemedical clinic in a small, low-income community inNortheast or North Central Washington. Medical specialtieswere fine, as were rich-patient practices—they led to big-bucksincomes—but he and Becky weren't motivated by thehigh-life and an enormous stock portfolio after a few shortyears. The fictional television doctors, Marcus Welby and Dr.Kildare, were David's role-models, and Becky loved him forit. They'd known each other since grade school in Omak.

David had no debts. He'd worked campus jobs as anundergraduate, and as a railroad gandy dancer duringsummer breaks. Financial assistance from his parentswas nonexistent; they were both dead. He hadn't appliedfor student loans, but accepted academic and athleticscholarships during his decade-long education regimen.

He and Becky desired to become the Dr. and Mrs. MarcusWelby prototypes in Nowheresville, USA, who got to knoweverybody in town by their first names, made house calls,and were willing to tolerate financial losses per patient,caused by the constant Medicare and Medicare cuts by theObama Administration. He'd doctor the patients; she'd runthe business end of the clinic. But, even that would require asmall fortune to set up.

When the thirty-something blond man with a suitcase satdown at her crowded table and began a friendly chat withthe player beside him, who, during the previous hour hadintroduced himself to her as Eddie, she had no idea aboutthe perils she would soon be fleeing from—and, ironically,pursuing.

"You're right on time, Gabe," Eddie Mercury said. Hesat in the first seat on Becky's left. "I've been playing twopositions on the table, so we could sit beside each other."

He handed Gabe a thick envelope.

Becky watched him open it and remove one of severalfive hundred dollar bills, amidst a slew of hundreds.

"Chips, please," he said, as he laid it atop the table. "Allfifties."

"I don't see many of these," Becky replied, as sheexamined the large bill, then placed a stack of chips in frontof him. "Good luck."

The pit boss approached and observed. Gabe bet twochips. All at the table had already placed their bets. She dealtcards all around.

"Be careful," Eddie said with a quieter voice. "The cardsbeen going her way ... you look good, Gabe."

"So do you, Eddie," he replied. "Thanks for the advance."

"Sorry I never visited ... prisons depress me."

Becky gave them a quick glance, as did some of the otherplayers.

"Card?" she asked Eddie.

He waved her off. Her up card was a six. Just one playeraccepted another, after doubling down. Becky hit twenty-onewith three more cards. Amidst a chorus of groans aroundthe table, and Becky lamenting her good luck with practicedempathy, one player departed, while the others placed betson the next hand. Becky dealt cards around the table.

Gabe removed a one hundred dollar bill from theenvelope, wrote something on the back, then slid it to Eddie.

"Here's my clue," Gabe said. "What about Frank's? Didhis mother tell you his yet?"

"Card?" Becky asked Eddie.

He requested two cards; Gabe waved her off; sheacknowledged and dealt cards to the other players. Her up cardwas a nine. Eddie handed a folded hundred dollar bill to Gabe.

"This is my clue, Gabe," Eddie said. "Monica is paranoid!She doesn't trust anybody. Hard to believe she's Frank'smother! It was me asking ... Eddie Mercury ... her son'spartner! She said she'd wait for you."

"Makes sense," Gabe replied. "She knows what her son'sclue is, doesn't she? ... and no one, including you and Monica,can proceed without mine."

"Ten years is a long time to wait," Eddie said.

"I sent Monica a Christmas card from the lockup everyyear," Gabe whispered. "None ever got returned."

"You never sent me a Christmas card," Eddie replied.

Becky restrained a smile. "Dealer pays eighteen," shesaid, as she paid winners around the table, including Gabeand Eddie.

"Not a peep from you, either," Gabe said. "Until myrelease began to look promising."

"The state ran out of money," Eddie said.

"Thank God ... why not several years earlier, though?"

"Your picture's been in all the papers, can you imagine?"

"I prefer my right side profile." He laughed.

Every player placed bets, and Becky dealt the next hand.Her up card was a five.

"The beginning of a hot streak for all of you, I hope,"she said.

"A gorgeous optimist, isn't she?" Eddie said. "Listen toher, Gabe! She's gonna lose this one."

"It's about time," another player moaned.

"Let's plan to visit Monica first thing in the morning,"Gabe whispered.

"Then Harry ... then Hernando," Eddie replied.

"I got the list of their whereabouts that you sent me lastyear. Has anyone moved?"

"Card?" Becky asked Eddie.

He waved her off. He had two tens. Gabe shook his head.She worked the other players, then turned over her secondcard—a queen. Everyone looked elated until she dealt herselfa five.

"Twenty-one ... how do I deserve this?" she said, witha tone of lamentation, as she removed all the bet chips fromeach player.

"Your luck is more than I can take, Becky Allison,"Eddie said.

"It's contagious, you know," she replied.

"Not soon enough for me, gorgeous lady," he replied."Gotta go. There's other ways to get rich. This is an earlywedding present for you."

He stood up, leaned across the table, and tucked the onehundred dollar bill he'd received from Gabe into her shirtpocket. Becky glanced at the pit boss, who nodded his assentthat she accept it. Her replacement approached the table frombehind, and she began her preparations to depart.

"I got us a room upstairs, Gabe," Eddie said. "417. Here'syour key ... we got a busy day tomorrow ... don't overdo.What kind of clue is Leftenant William Darby, for gawdssakes?"

"I've wondered about that for ten years," Gabe replied.

As he watched Eddie stroll past a long row of busyblackjack and roulette tables toward the lobby elevators, hecaught a glimpse of a gray-haired man wearing blue denimsand a cowboy hat pointing directly at Eddie, then nudgingthe young man in a white t-shirt, standing beside him, tofollow. The cowboy glanced toward Gabe, made fleeting eyecontact with him, then vanished.

Gabe was stunned. Where did those two cretins comefrom, he wondered? How many others were there that hehadn't yet spotted? Did they know about the buried money?Could they locate the other gang members? Did they realizethe significance of the clues?

After ten years of incarceration, and now being only aday or two away from his substantial payday, he needed todo whatever was necessary to eliminate roadblocks. First,discard the list. He had it memorized. Second, warn Eddie.And, he must accomplish both in a matter of seconds.

He reached into his pocket and hurriedly removed the listand one of the large bills from the envelope that Eddie hadgiven to him. With a pencil that he borrowed from the playerbeside him, he wrote more info onto the list, then wrappedit inside the folded large bill, while Becky introduced thereplacement dealer.

"My shift is over," she said. "Meet Ron, everyone ... he'lltake good care of you ... good luck."

"This is for you," Gabe said.

He stood up and carefully placed the tip into her shirtpocket, picked up his suitcase, then hurried toward thelobby elevators. Becky strode in the opposite direction to theemployees' lounge and locker room.

* * *Eddie boarded one of four empty elevators. As the doorsbegan to close he spotted Gabe hurrying in his direction fromthe gambling area, and held his arm out too late to preventthe doors from closing on it. Just then a leg appeared in thegap. The doors re-opened. Tommy Sackmaster entered andpushed the elevator close button.

"I've got important business," he said. "It can't wait." Hepushed the button for the tenth floor, and the elevator beganits ascent."

"I'm on four," Eddie said.

"That can wait," Tommy replied.

He snapped open a switchblade, pressed it against Eddie'sstomach, and pushed him against the wall with his forearm.

"What's your clue?" he demanded.

"What?" Eddie gasped.