CHAPTER 1
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...
