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Copyright 2013 John R. Downes.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,🤑 or transmitted, in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written
prior permission🤑 of the author.
ISBN: 978-1-4907-1791-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4907-1793-7
(hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4907-1792-0 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013919334
Because
of the dynamic nature of the🤑 Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this
book may have changed since publication and may no longer be🤑 valid. The views expressed
in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views🤑 of
the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Any
people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock🤑 are models,
and such 
are
being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Trafford
rev. 10/24/2013
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CONTENTS
THE FIRST DAY
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER
TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
THE SECOND DAY
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER🤑 SIX
CHAPTER
SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE THIRD DAY
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
MacGuffen
The term coined by
Alfred Hitchcock
for a necessary
element
in his movies.
It’s defined as
the object🤑 of everybody’s search.
To the
reader:
The Blackjack List was initially written as a screenplay. Locations included
Las Vegas and Tijuana. The🤑 script went through several drafts in the hands of two
Hollywood producers and a literary agent during ten option periods🤑 over a five-year
time span.
Subsequently, Kim Beatty, a producer affiliated with North by Northwest
Productions in Spokane, suggested moving the🤑 principal locations to a tribe-owned
casino and Eastern Washington/Northern Idaho.
The Blackjack List remained
un-produced.
Ernest Hemingway wrote in his only non-fiction🤑 book about writing that
producing a feature film required an army; one only needed to look at the closing
credits🤑 of any movie to agree. He emphasized that it took three people to publish a
book—the author, literary agent, and🤑 publisher.
Hence, I adapted the oft-rewritten
movie manuscript into a novel. The story is set in Spokane, Washington. Following it in
🤑 this book is the final draft of the screenplay. It may be the first time a novel and
screenplay with🤑 the same title have been published together.
The reader will note some
differences. The Becky Allison character narrates the movie version,🤑 but not the novel;
the bank heist is characterized differently in each; Gabe Norton is middle-aged and
crippled in one,🤑 but a healthy 32 year-old in the other; the getting-out-of-jail
sequence is an addition to the novel. Those are just🤑 a few.
John R. Downes
November
2013
Seek thee out some other chase.
—SHAKESPEARE
What follows I flee; what flees I
ever pursue.
—OVID
If it gets🤑 in the wrong hands . . . all bets are off.
—DOWNES
Cast
of Characters
Becky Allison—Blackjack dealer
Dr. David Baxter—Becky’s fiancé
Gabe
Norton—Bank robber
Eddie🤑 Mercury—Bank robber
Monica d’Angelo—Bank robber’s
mother
Hernando Villanueve—Bank robber
Harry—Bank robber
Alex Pinkham—The man in the
beige Buick
Officer Phil Talley—State Trooper
Lt. Bert McElroy—Deputy Sheriff
Luther
🤑 Pagnotta—Father of Gabe’s cellmate
Tommy Sackmaster—Luther’s protégé
Rico—Nightclub
bouncer
Nick—Nightclub bouncer
THE FIRST DAY
CHAPTER ONE
Washington State
Penitentiary
Walla Walla
Tuesday, August 1, 2011
11:30 a.m.
F or the🤑 first time in ten
years, four months, and thirteen days, thirty-two year old Gabe Norton gazed at the
morning sun🤑 and the Blue Mountain foothills as a free man.
Jail time hadn’t changed his
appearance much from the lanky, blonde, lady’s🤑 man, with an ever-present engaging
smile. He was seated in the front seat of an unmarked prison van on the🤑 way to the
Greyhound bus station, gripping a one-way ticket to Spokane.
Besides the brand-new
casual clothes he was wearing, his🤑 belongings consisted of an heirloom pocket watch
with gold chain, an Idaho star garnet ring, a small suitcase containing underwear,
🤑 socks, Seattle Seahawks sweatshirt, Levi’s, cotton jacket, toiletries, and a cashier’s
check for one thousand six hundred seventy-nine dollars that🤑 he’d saved from his job in
the prison’s license plate shop. Ten brand-new twenty dollar bills were folded up in
🤑 his shirt pocket.
It wasn’t much of a stake, but he wasn’t concerned. By week’s end, he
expected to receive his🤑 four-way split of thirteen million dollars that was stolen from
a Spokane, Washington bank in 2001, then buried. All he🤑 had to do was to find out
where.
Odds for a four way split were favorable, because one of the five🤑 gang members
had been murdered, allegedly by one of them, shortly after the heist. Three, besides
him, remained alive, including🤑 Eddie Mercury, who planned to rendezvous with him that
very evening at the Northern Quest Casino & Resort near Spokane🤑 in Airway Heights.
Subterfuge was required, since the warden’s underlings read all of Gabe’s mail,
commencing the first day of🤑 his incarceration—and jailers before that during his
trial.
During the previous three months, Eddie wrote perfume-scented love letters with
female flourishes🤑 that disclosed in double-entendre language the meeting place. He
signed them as Edie Lovelace, although he would have ripped the🤑 face off of anyone who
called him gay. The ruse was necessary to get past the eavesdroppers.
Every day of
Gabe’s🤑 imprisonment was dominated by a single euphoric thought—money! Lots of it! His
twenty-five percent share amounted to three million, two🤑 hundred fifty thousand
dollars—$325,000 for each of his ten years of confinement.R$6250 per week! What license
plate maker anywhere in🤑 the world ever earned that much? He shared his jubilation 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, her boyfriend and
two🤑 dogs, with no chance at all for parole, so there were no worries about him
wrangling a share. When Gabe🤑 promised to send him a carton of cigarettes every week
forever to keep silent, he was overcome with tears of🤑 gratitude.
Gabe’s release date
was no secret. Newspapers throughout the state played it up with banner headlines,
reminding readers about the🤑 years before, brazen, yet unsolved, thirteen million dollar
bank robbery in broad daylight, then editorializing disgustedly that the only captured
🤑 perpetrator was being released.
Where’s the money? . . . who are the robbers? . . . why
should we believe🤑 he doesn’t know? it asked rhetorically.
Parole Board members
certainly weren’t aware of Gabe’s knowledge about buried loot, or else they🤑 would not
have awarded him with early release from his fifteen-year sentence, until he revealed
its location. On the other🤑 hand, if he did know, and spilled the beans, that would
prove he was more complicit than he’d claimed at🤑 trial. That could be grounds for
increasing his sentence—not early release. Such were the vagaries of cooperating with
the law.
His🤑 court trial only proved that he was one of the getaway car drivers, not a
mastermind, or one of the🤑 inside-the-bank perpetrators, wielding guns. Good behavior
and feigned ignorance earned him points.
The State of Washington was going through a
budget🤑 crisis and had trimmed the penitentiary’s budget substantially. Thus, hundreds
of prisoners were being released from prisons throughout the state🤑 to save money—and
make room for other dangerous criminals.
Although Gabe had hoped to do some sightseeing
from the bus while🤑 traveling through Waitsburg, Dayton, Dusty, and Colfax, he slept
most of the way to Spokane, then took a fifteen minute🤑 cab ride to the Northern Quest
Casino & Resort in Airway Heights. He certainly was not aware of the maroon🤑 2003
Pontiac Grand Am following a discreet distance behind the Greyhound bus from Walla
Walla. Or the beige 2013 Buick🤑 Regal far behind the Pontiac.
* * *
Vincent Pagnotta’s
uncle, Luther, knew how to tail vehicles and remain anonymous. The Greyhound🤑 bus from
Walla Walla never drove out of his sight. During a restroom and coffee stop in Dusty,
he gassed🤑 up his Pontiac at the pay-outside pump, and watched bus passengers—but not
Gabe—emerge and buy snacks inside the small mercantile.🤑 His blue chambray shirt,
Levi’s, cowboy boots, and Stetson hat, gave him the appearance of a local
rancher/cowboy.
Other vehicles came🤑 and went, including the 2013 Buick Regal, driven by
a thin, balding man wearing thick glasses and a summer-weight business
🤑 suit.
Gray-haired, fifty-eight year old, Luther Pagnotta had been a driver and hit man
for a mob family in New Jersey,🤑 and was provided the safety net of the Federal Witness
Protection Program for testifying against his boss and cronies years🤑 earlier. His alias
became Busby (Buzz) Miller.
He resided in Deer Park—twenty miles north of Spokane—where
he was the resident manager🤑 of a trailer park and owned a tattoo shop on Randolph
Street. He’d gotten well-acquainted with various law enforcement officers🤑 in Eastern
Washington and Northern Idaho over the years.
His cohort, Tommy Sackmaster, knew
nothing specific about Luther’s background, other than🤑 that he’d rubbed elbows with the
highest ranking members of organized crime on the East Coast, was on a first🤑 name basis
with regional lawmen, and was being protected by the Feds. What better mentor 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, where Tommy, aged twenty-four, defended himself
with a knife against an opponent, who’d accused🤑 him of being a hustler, and refused to
pay the two hundred dollar bet for a several-game match of 9-ball,🤑 then pulled out a
gun. Everyone but Tommy and Luther ducked for cover. During the scuffle, shots rang
out. Tommy🤑 stabbed the shooter—almost killed him. When police arrived and interviewed
witnesses, the shooter was arrested, then rushed to the emergency🤑 room of Deaconess
Hospital in critical condition. Luther’s detailed and compelling statement about the
circumstances, that he claimed prevented a🤑 number of people from being killed, cleared
Tommy right away. Friendship between them blossomed afterward.
After Uncle Luther
(Buzz) learned from🤑 his nephew, Vincent Pagnotta, during two enlightening and
invigorating prison visitations in recent weeks, about Gabe Norton’s buried
fortune—including details🤑 of the bank heist, gang members, and Gabe’s imminent
release—he informed Tommy about potential riches, offered him a 75/25 partnership,🤑 then
quit his trailer park management job.
The twosome arrived together in Walla Walla the
previous night, and stayed in a🤑 posh, two-bedroom, suite at the Marcus Whitman Hotel.
Luther paid. Dinner talk contemplated the purchase of new automobiles— a Bentley🤑 Flying
Spur Sedan for Luther, and a previously-owned Corvette for Tommy.
At 8:45 p.m., as the
Greyhound bus made its final🤑 stop at the depot in downtown Spokane, Luther parked
across the street. Gabe hurried off the bus with his suitcase🤑 to a waiting cab.
Twenty-five minutes later Luther and Tommy followed him into the Northern Quest
Casino.
CHAPTER TWO
B ecky Allison🤑 loved her job as a blackjack dealer. She’d been
employed there for more than two years, following her graduation from🤑 Gonzaga
University with an MBA degree.
She was born and raised in Omak, Washington. The wide
assortment of people she got🤑 to play with and talk to meshed with her extrovert
personality and caring nature; plus, the casino gave her flexible🤑 work hours to
coincide with her fiancé’s ever-changing schedule at Spokane’s Sacred Heart
Hospital.
Dr. David Baxter was a staff physician🤑 there—just six years out of medical
school and two years out of the U.S. Army Medical Corps—and was completing a🤑 three
month-long stint in the Emergency Room.
His long-range goal was to open his own
full-service medical clinic in a small,🤑 low-income community in Northeast or North
Central Washington. Medical specialties were fine, as were rich-patient practices—they
led to big-bucks incomes—but🤑 he and Becky weren’t motivated by the high-life and an
enormous stock portfolio after a few short years. The fictional🤑 television doctors,
Marcus Welby and Dr. Kildare, were David’s role-models, and Becky loved him for it.
They’d known each other🤑 since grade school in Omak.
David had no debts. He’d worked
campus jobs as an undergraduate, and as a railroad gandy🤑 dancer during summer breaks.
Financial assistance from his parents was nonexistent; they were both dead. He hadn’t
applied for student🤑 loans, but accepted academic and athletic scholarships during his
decade-long education regimen.
He and Becky desired to become the Dr. and🤑 Mrs. Marcus
Welby prototypes in Nowheresville, USA, who got to know everybody 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 the🤑 Obama Administration.
He’d doctor the patients; she’d run the business end of the clinic. But, even that
would require a🤑 small fortune to set up.
When the thirty-something blond man with a
suitcase sat down at her crowded table and began🤑 a friendly chat with the player beside
him, who, during the previous hour had introduced himself to her as Eddie,🤑 she had no
idea about the perils she would soon be fleeing from—and, ironically, pursuing.
You’re
right on time, Gabe, Eddie🤑 Mercury said. He sat in the first seat on Becky’s left. I’ve
been playing two positions 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 several
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