by Wid Bastian
“Peter, you know what stands out most to me when I think back on those days?” Saul said, reflecting on his former life.
“What?”
“How incredibly selfish I was. Didn’t give a damn if my folks suffered, which they did. Women were nothing but disposable objects of pleasure to me. I got mine and thought the hell with everyone else.”
“Been there, done that, Saul.”
“But prison didn’t even slow me down, man. I just learned a new trade.”
During his sixteen month stay at a New York State prison (three years minus good time), Saul Cohen earned an advanced degree in the art of bank robbery, courtesy of Mr. Dan Weber, a.k.a. the “Happy Bandit.”
Weber gained limited fame in the Northeast during the late seventies for his ability to walk into a bank with a big grin on his face, wave a gun around almost nonchalantly, and demand cash in such a polite manner that Emily Post would have been proud. Many people robbed by Weber described him as a “nice guy” or a “gentleman.” He always left the bank laughing, hence the nickname the “Happy Bandit.”
Dan Weber was doing state time for a bad check scheme he had also “happily” run when Saul became his cellmate.
“Danny taught me to be truly amoral,” Saul explained. “The world to him was nothing more than an opportunity for gain, at whose expense it mattered not. Laws, he always said, were written by fools and obeyed by suckers. “Get some while you can” was his philosophy on life. It became mine.”
So Saul Cohen gave up growing reefer to pursue a career in armed robbery. He managed to hold up some fifty plus banks in the mid-eighties before getting caught. He told Peter that he “pissed away” all of this money, well over a million dollars. The FBI was able to tie Saul to ten bank heists. He was sentenced to twelve years. He did the better part of ten.
“You might think,” Saul testified, “that after getting caught and being punished for dealing dope and robbing banks I might have slowed down. Wrong.”
The very day he was released from federal prison in 1997, Saul Cohen robbed another bank. Amazingly, and as a testament to his considerable talents at disguise and target selection, the feds didn’t catch up with Saul again for years.
Who finally busted Saul? An FBI agent who was a white man, about thirty, with light brown, curly hair.
“This agent, Gabriel, of course, appears out of the blue in a parking garage at my car door and says, ‘You’re under arrest.’ I swear he popped up out of nowhere. Believe me, I know what I’m doing, Peter. I wasn’t followed from the scene. There was no doubt that I’d gotten away clean.”
Saul said that he had never been arrested so “gently.” In fact, once he got to jail and was booked he thought back and couldn’t remember if “Agent” Gabriel had brandished a gun or even handcuffed him.
“I never thought to run or resist,” Saul told Peter. “For some reason I just obeyed. Bizarre, to say the least. I knew that if I got caught again it was over for me. But now it all makes sense.”
Gabriel made the arrest solo, which should have made Saul Cohen suspicious. FBI agents don’t go out for coffee unless their partner is with them, much less make an arrest.
“On the way to the jail, he said the strangest things to me,” Saul recalled. “I thought I’d been popped by a preacher or something.”
“Gabriel starts off by telling me that God loves me despite my sins, and that He has given me a ‘sound mind,’ which I have seen fit to ‘misuse.’ What kind of cop talks like that? Then he starts chanting in Hebrew. I knew it was Hebrew because I remember hearing the language as a kid.”
At this point in his narrative Saul pulled up. The expression on his face changed from someone who was matter-of-factly describing events to a boxer who was getting ready for a fight. Peter read equal doses of fear and intensity.
“Well, don’t leave me hanging. What happened after Gabriel spoke to you in Hebrew?”
“He gave me a gift.”
“Sounds wonderful, what was it?”
“An ability.”
Peter wondered why getting Saul Cohen to offer complete thoughts was like pulling teeth. Rather than ask him “what ability?” Peter flashed Saul a “get on with it” look.
“I can see demons.”
“Come again?”
“I can see demons. They are everywhere, Peter. Believe me, you have no idea how much I hate the little bastards and how much they hate me.”
“Is there one on me, Saul?”
“No. They’re afraid of you, man.”
“What about Malik?”
“Nope. Clean as a whistle.”
“What about that guy over there. Sam Harris. Decent enough person, got caught embezzling from his boss. As criminals go, he’s bush league. Gets released next week.”
Saul shifted his focus on to Mr. Harris. He was fifty feet away, busily engaged in an animated discussion with another inmate about last weekend’s stock car race. He seemed oblivious to the world. However, after a few seconds of Saul’s attentions, Sam Harris stopped talking, glared over at Saul and Peter and flipped them off.
“If you were to go ask Sam why he just gave us the bird he’d look at you like you’re crazy,” Saul explained. “He was very likely unaware that he did it.”
“Wow. He has a demon on him then?”
“Three, no wait. Four.”
“Lord have mercy!”
“Exactly.”
Saul Cohen then explained what life had been like for him since receiving Gabriel’s “gift.” It hadn’t been easy.
He told Peter what happened the first time he washed his face in his jail cell after Gabriel arrested him.
“It was hideous. In the mirror I saw some nasty devil creature and twenty odd of his imps. They were all over me, taunting me.”
“To think for all those years I was stupid and prideful enough to believe that I was in control of my life, robbing and lying and blaspheming at will. The truth is it was me who was being played for the sucker. The evil one was controlling me through my weaknesses like a puppet on a string.”
“What did you do, Saul?”
“I dropped to my knees and said God, my God, save me! Have mercy on me Lord! By His grace I remembered the twenty-third psalm from my childhood. You know, Peter, the one with “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil,” in it? I focused my conscious mind on the psalm all the while another part of me, my soul, was praying for deliverance.”
Saul stopped. Tears cascaded down his cheeks; he turned pale and began to shake. Clearly any recollection of the events in that jail terrified him.
“Steady, brother, I’m here. You have nothing to fear now.”
“Peter, you are so smart, yet still so green. Of course, I have something to fear. So do you. Let me tell you what those rotten sons of hell did to me.”
“For the next three days they kept at it, trying to get me to curse God. If I would do that, they promised, they’d go away and leave me alone. Somehow I held on, but it was the most difficult and horrible thing I’ve ever been through.”
“When they could see that I wasn’t going to break, then they really turned up the heat. For awhile they threw me around my cell like a ping pong ball. Then they made me scream and foam at the mouth. It took eight guards to get me strapped down. One of them is minus an ear, another a finger. I bit them off.”
Peter tried to visualize this battle, to experience it through Saul. He knew as an absolute spiritual principle that his only enemy was Satan, but like a genius who believes he can read a blueprint once and then be able to build a house, he really can’t, because there is simply no substitute for learning how to use a hammer to drive in a nail. Peter would have to learn how to beat the devil simply by doing it, but Saul’s insights added much to his already considerable knowledge and strength.
“My strap down chair, you ever see one? They put people all strung out on dope or poor sots suffering through the Delirium Tremens in them. You’re
sitting there slightly tilted back and tied down tight enough to where Samson himself couldn’t break free.”
“Well, my strap down chair floated four feet off the ground, Peter. People freaked. I’m sure they considered shooting me. Thanks to that little demonstration, many of those guards are God fearing men today, let me assure you.”
“But you won, Saul. You’re here now, alive and well and free of them.”
“True, by the grace of God. But know this, Peter, they are relentless. You see how they are from the Bible, and nothing has changed since those times. Demons delight in torturing humans, because Satan hates man. He will never understand why God loves us primitive, imperfect mortals more than he does His angels. The evil one fears he’s ultimately doomed, but he’s going to get his by hurting us before he’s through.”
“Can you get demons off of people, Saul? Exorcise them I guess is the right term.”
“Sometimes.”
“How often is sometimes?”
“Maybe just over half the time. But some of them, Peter … let me say this. I’m glad I’m here with you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because some demons are much, much stronger than others, and while none of them are more powerful than our Lord, it’s faith and grace that beats them, drives them away.”
“You have faith, Saul. I know you do.”
“True, but not like you do. The Holy Spirit is exceptionally strong in you, Peter.”
“Well, Saul, if you see one of these super strong devils headed my way, be sure to give me a heads up, okay?” Peter said, chuckling, trying to lighten things up a bit.
“How much notice do you want?” Saul replied.
“How much can I get?” Peter asked, still smirking.
“In this case about thirty seconds. See that guy coming toward us from across the yard? It’s the same son-of-perdition who beat me up in jail, and he looks like he’s ready to try you.”
Five
Peter shut his eyes and silently prayed for strength. When he opened them he was looking right into the face of evil.
It was a very pleasant face, actually.
The unfamiliar man wore a utility workman’s uniform and appeared benign. At five foot ten inches, and maybe one hundred and sixty pounds, his stature inspired no fear. Styled hair, a slight build, and small, round gold-rimmed glasses gave him the look of a banker, not Beelzebub.
This was the ultimate proof that looks can be deceiving.
“Been dying to meet you, Mr. Kallistos,” the man said, extending his hand. “You’re a very special person. Between my buddy Saul over there and that meddling Gabriel, I’ll bet you’ve heard enough lies about me and my kind to where you’re sh***ing your pants about now.”
Peter kept his arms at his side. He looked his enemy straight in the eye, did not flinch, and did not waiver.
“I’m not afraid of you. As for lies, your master is the father of them all.”
“Come on, Pete! Who are you kidding? You’re scared to death. Afraid I might hurt you. But you’ve always been a coward, haven’t you, Panos. Afraid your precious Julie wouldn’t love you if you didn’t get her that big house you couldn’t afford, afraid of being a loser, scared of being locked up. We both know that short list is just for starters. Truth is your nothing but a bundle of fear. It drives you, it’s what you really are.”
“I’m not in the least bit interested in what you think about me. What do you want here? Say what you will before I toss you aside like a piece of garbage.”
Saul shot Peter a look that screamed, “Are you out of your mind?” Peter squeezed Saul’s arm to reassure him.
“Brave man, brave man, well done!” The demon taunted, clapping his hands sarcastically. “You don’t have a clue, do you? Your precious God has put you in danger, Mr. Kallistos. Don’t believe all of His public relations. You’re the one who is helpless before the superior power. Don’t become another useless martyr for the Nazarene. He lets you all die such horrible and needless deaths. I mean think about it, Panos, what kind of God allows himself to be nailed to a tree and spat on? Weak, pathetic. Humility my a**, your marvelous Christ was just a wimp.”
No sooner had this blasphemy come out of his mouth than Malik Graham’s fist entered it. Five more blows delivered in rapid succession sent the “utility man” to the ground, face first.
“Malik, no!” Peter shouted.
“What? Why? C’mon, Mr. Pete, he’s a bad man. Hell, he ain’t even a man. Let me send him back to the devil! No one calls my Lord and Savior a wimp.”
“Listen to me, Malik. You just played right into his hands. We are not men of violence, we belong to God. You will never attack anyone again unless I tell you to. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir. Sorry, Mr. Pete. Damn! I did wrong, but I was tryin’ to be right. I got angry hearing all that foul talk and lies, that’s all.”
“You’ve got to chill, brother. I understand your feelings, but you must control your passions. Satan will use your anger against you.”
“Got that right.”
When they turned to put a face with the voice, they saw Charley O standing behind them. He was an inmate well known for two things, his ability to score heroin at will and to pay for his habit with homosexual favors. He was loathed by all, except for those reprobates who kept punks.
Only he wasn’t Charley O anymore, at least not for the moment.
“That’s impressive,” Peter said, as calmly as he could manage. “What happened to … ” In mid-sentence Peter looked over to where the “utility man” was laid out. Only now he wasn’t there, he had vanished.
“Nice trick.”
“I’ve got more.”
“Bet you do.”
“You’re on the wrong side, Panos. You’ve been fooled by propaganda and spiritual arrogance. Let me show you the real power on this earth. Come with me.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? Who do you think you are anyway? Do you imagine that you and your friends are anything but a waste of space? You’re a useless, weak little bag of bones and water. Piece of s*** is the phrase that best describes you.”
“Thought you said I was a special person.”
Saul laughed. He shouldn’t have.
Charlie O reached out and touched him. As soon as he did Saul began screaming in agony. He appeared to be having a heart attack.
All of this commotion was drawing a crowd. By this point, about twenty men were gathered around watching the spectacle.
Peter reached down and helped his friend to his feet. When he did, Saul’s torture ended.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Charley. But you aren’t Charley. What is your name anyway? Or do you sons of hell even merit a name?”
The demon was not expecting this level of resistance and confidence. Peter’s faith and power was stronger than any human’s he had encountered since the time of the Apostles.
“What did I tell your Lord back in Judea? Yes, I remember. My name is Legion, for we are many. Want to see if you can do what Christ did? Don’t see any pigs around here, but give it a try monkey boy, come on!”
“He doesn’t have to, I will.”
Out from among the growing group of curious onlookers stepped an old friend. He was a white man, about thirty, with light brown, curly hair.
“Nice to see you, Gabriel. Come to save the day? Afraid that your little friends here might get hurt?”
“No, I don’t want them to hurt you. It’s not time yet. Now leave that poor soul alone and be on your way.”
As Gabriel spoke, Charley O fell to the ground and flopped around for a minute like a beached fish. He looked up at Peter, smiled and then puked all over Saul’s feet. Legion left Charley O writhing hysterically in pools of his own vomit.
By this time the guards had been alerted to a disturbance on the compound. Two of them rushed in expecting to break up a fight, hopefully before it became a riot.
All they found was a gay jun
kie who had gotten sick in front of an audience. Gabriel was gone. Peter, Malik, and Saul had quietly slipped away.
When asked, all that the inmates in the crowd could remember was that Charley O had run onto the porch ranting and raving about being “attacked by spiders.” The only people who knew what really happened weren’t talking, they were busy walking the yard together trying to figure out what might be coming at them next.
During the weeks after “Charley’s meltdown”, as the inmates called it, Peter focused his attention on the preparation and education of Malik and Saul.
Peter Carson knew that each of the seven (with four still to come) would bring with them their own unique spiritual gifts. Saul’s was all too obvious, the discernment of evil. This talent had already come in handy in dealing with Legion. Peter now worked on Saul’s ability to refine and control his gift.
Through prayer, fasting, and faith, Saul Cohen was able to self-install an “off button.” No longer would he be subjected, twenty-four seven, to seeing demons all around him.
This did wonders for Saul’s attitude. He was happy, truly happy for the first time in his life. He was maturing rapidly and given his extraordinary raw intelligence, soon he was quoting Scripture almost as quickly and accurately as Peter.
Malik too was moving forward. His gift, his most obvious gift that is, was his physical strength. Peter worked on Malik’s “inner man” to build his self-control. Properly harnessed, Malik Graham’s ability to physically defend the disciples could prove invaluable, perhaps lifesaving.
But Malik Graham had another far more powerful spiritual gift, the ability to evangelize, especially with black inmates.
Young black men at Parkersboro thought Malik was a god. His reputation as being one of the toughest men around carried over with him to his new prison home. There was a group of about forty or so young African-American inmates at the camp. Most of them had less than five years left to go before release; all were in for drug related charges. None had graduated high school. Most were barely literate.
With a degree of respect that they granted no one else, these young men daily lined up to gape in awe as Malik Graham smoothly bench pressed four hundred pounds, performed hundreds of one handed push-ups, and made a heavy bag whimper from the force of his fists. However, demonstrations of Malik’s physical prowess came with a price; if you wanted to see the show you had to stay for the sermon.
