Devotion Apart

by Davin Bradley

  "Supplier?"

  "The heroin," Dimples said. "It came from somewhere. That skank you passed it to has clients all over the city. Who's been looking out for her while she's in here?"

  "Watch the visiting footage, and you'll see you're wasting your time." I looked from one to the other. "I was here to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to Kirby Nichols. That's all."

  "But you know May Boyle?" Baldy asked. "You got a thing for diseased rag dolls?"

  They both chuckled.

  "Am I under arrest?" I asked. "If so, I want a phone call."

  Baldy smiled, his smirk growing.

  "You give us nothing, you get nothing."

  "Am I supposed to get arraigned or something?"

  "Today's Saturday." Dimples checked his watch. "You won't get arraigned until Tuesday at the earliest. Unless we want to hold you longer."

  "Do either of you have your cell phone?" I asked. "I'm just curious."

  Dimples moved his arm slightly, as if to feel the phone inside his blazer pocket. That was all I needed to know. Craig may not have had a visual on me from the camera in the corner, but he'd be listening through their cell phones.

  "You're not getting a call until you tell us where you get the heroin."

  I was silent, and Dimples swore.

  "We're locking you up, Dalton. How long is up to you."

  Several trivial thoughts bothered me as they took me down the corridor, strip-searched me, and gave me a blue jumpsuit. My satchel had been taken, along with my Bible and phone. My phone was already locked, but my Bible had been with me for years, and losing it was like losing a piece of my heart.

  Upstairs, I was given a bed roll, which consisted of one sheet, one towel, one blanket, one bar of soap, and one roll of toilet paper. They may have thought they were giving me the bare minimum, but in the bush toilet paper was a luxury!

  Finally, I was led to a Plexiglas cell block, where inmates in blue jumpsuits stared at me from the dayroom. Cell doors stood ajar behind them. The door to the dorm buzzed and opened wide.

  "Have fun with this one, boys," Baldy announced to the nearly forty criminals I now faced. His partner shoved me through the door. "He runs with sex traffickers."

  The door slammed behind me, and I knew I was in trouble. I'd never been arrested, but I knew the stories. Some crimes weren't acceptable in jail. Baldy had just given me a reputation that would make me the most hated in the cell block.

  I clutched the bed roll more tightly in my arms, wondering how I could use a blanket and a roll of toilet paper to my advantage if I was attacked. The men stood there, some of them at the card tables, studying me. Most were tattooed Hispanic and white youths, but several black men leaned on the railing of the second tier.

  "I'm not looking for problems," I said loudly. "The cops are mad I couldn't tell them something they wanted to know."

  The inmates said nothing, and remained at the table. They seemed to put me aside as they returned to domino games, or continued watching television on the benches. I counted thirty-six men and most of them were larger than I.

  I had no doubt that Baldy and Dimples had set me up, implicating me with a sex offender. At that moment, I prayed not to live, but to die well. I imagined no possible way to survive if these thugs started on me. Every one of them had the look of a killer; I had gazed into the faces of enough killers to know. Their eyes were empty.

  Two large men wandered toward me. Maybe they saw my darting gaze and thought I was afraid. No. I had been in the villages of cannibals and preached the gospel. For the Lord, I had braved snakes, piranhas, floods, and poison. My trust was in Him.

  "Hey!" a gruff voice boomed from above.

  I half-expected it to be God's voice interceding on my behalf, but it was a man leaning on the second-tier railing who had called to me. He had olive skin, wavy black hair, and the word "Greek" in Old English letters was tattooed on his chest. He was no shorter than six-three, and wore his jumpsuit rolled down to his waist. He was shirtless, revealing dragon tattoos.

  Everyone on the floor turned and peered up at the Greek.

  "You Cord Dalton?" the Greek asked.

  Having seen God supernaturally arrange events before, I wasn't paralyzed by amazement—but I was absolutely amazed that God had somehow stooped to preserve me yet again.

  "Yeah. I'm Cord Dalton."

  "Come up here." The Greek turned from the railing and entered a cell door.

  The men in the dayroom returned to their activities. Three near the stairs moved aside for me to pass.

  Midway down the upper tier, I peeked into the open cell. The Greek lounged on the lower bunk, a vape pen between his lips and a magazine on his lap.

  "Sit down." He gestured to the steel toilet in the corner next to the door. "You got a phone call. Keep your head behind the wall so the cops don't see you."

  "Okay." I seated myself on the toilet, which was barely out of sight of the Plexiglas wall that encased the block. Cameras and deputies were visible out in the annex. From my seat, I looked to the left, and a smartphone lay at the end of the man's bunk, next to his bare feet. Smiling at who had to be on the line, I held the phone to my ear. "Nice timing, Craig."

  "Not Craig. This is Naul. Craig called me. The Greek is one of mine. You good? Your boy Craig is working on getting you out."

  "Tell him to wait on that." I glanced at the Greek, whose eyes were on his magazine, but I knew he was listening. "I want to see how God will use this."

  "How's He supposed to use a false arrest?" Naul's firm voice raised an octave. I imagined him in the Airport District, surrounded by money and his hired guns. "Just because I run that joint doesn’t mean you're in good hands. Some of those cops are the city's worst, Cord, and those convicts aren't no better."

  "Still, God must have me in here for something. Or someone. Tell Craig to get me out on Tuesday, when I'm arraigned. Until then, I'll be fine."

  "It's your call, bro, but the longer you're in there, the deeper they bury you. Not everyone's on my payroll. Know what I mean?"

  "I follow you. Thanks, Naul." I chuckled, despite all my wounds. "Never thought you'd be helping me this soon to do God's work."

  "I'm helping you, but God has nothing to do with it. Watch your back, bro."

  I set the phone on the end of the bunk and looked into the Greek's eyes. He was hard to read, but I'd known other hard men. He was still just a man in need of the gospel.

  "So, you'll be here until Tuesday," he said with amusement. "That God-talk won't fly in here, even if you are famous."

  "Famous?"

  "I saw your slap challenge." He glared at me. "Real cute. But we don't do much slapping in here."

  "No slapping. I'll remember that."

  "So what if you know Naul?" The Greek didn't raise his voice, but his disdain was obvious. "That might keep you safe, but it doesn't mean you're anybody."

  "I'll remember that, too. Thanks for the phone."

  "Naul dropped a thousand on my books to let you use the phone while you're here. Otherwise, stay away from me." He gestured to the cell door, where I suddenly noticed several of the men had arrived. "Go find your house. It's almost lockdown."

  I eyed the men who leaned against the door frame. They were each tattooed, muscled, and posturing. By their tattoos, they identified with different gangs in the city and in prison. Since I was the new guy on the block, they certainly wanted me to know their status.

  "Who's my cellmate?"

  "There's only one open bunk on this tier, and that's in Uso's cell." The Greek smirked and turned a page in his magazine. "Have fun with that. He snores like a lawnmower."

  The men at the door moved back to let me step out of the cell and onto the tier.

  "Which way to my cell?" I asked a man with a shaved head and a hoop in his ear. "Uso's cell?"

  He jutted his chin to my right.

  Two cells from the end of the tier, the largest Samoan man I'd ever seen stepped out of a cell. I stopped a few feet in
front of him and glanced into the cell. The upper bunk was empty, and didn't have a mattress, but the lower bunk had two.

  "Are you Uso?" I asked, offering my hand. "I'm bunking with you for a few days."

  He shook my hand. He outweighed me by at least one hundred pounds. His black hair was pulled back into a man-bun, and his tattoos were typical islander, checkered, geometric shaped. His fists were meaty and his face broad and flat.

  "Too bad for you." His voice was softer than I expected. "I got no tv."

  "We'll make do."

  I moved into the cell and set my bed roll on top of the bare metal of the upper bunk. Years earlier, while traveling in the Amazon, fire ants had devoured a forest, and I'd been forced to sleep on the ground on a rocky island in the middle of the river. Sleeping on a smooth sheet of metal didn't particularly alarm me, although I did prefer my hammock.

  Out in the dayroom, a chime sounded on a set of hidden speakers, and I heard men outside grumbling. Shortly after, cell doors started to slam. Lockdown. Uso stepped across the threshold of the door and slid the door closed. He sat his bulk on his bunk, kicked off his slip-on, jailhouse shoes, and reclined against the back wall.

  "So, what's your story?" He plucked a candy bar from his locker space, unwrapped half, and held it out. "Want some?"

  "Sure." I took a piece.

  "You doing much time, Cord?"

  "Just a few days." I stood against the narrow desk bolted to the outer wall of the cell. "I was visiting a guy downstairs, talking to him about the gospel. The cops thought I passed someone some heroin. I didn't, so it'll be squared away soon."

  "So, what, you're like a preacher or something?"

  "Something like that. Do you know about Jesus? I've found that He has a way of helping us when we're at our worst point."

  "There might not be any helping me." He took another bite. "I've killed too many people."

  "History is full of people who have murdered, but God still showed them grace."

  "I robbed fourteen liquor stores, and I didn't stop shooting until they tased my brains out. I've only heard of God helping good people, not people like me."

  I looked around the cell at the metal shelves and cement walls. Uso had hung a couple posters of women, and the shelves were empty except for a stack of worn novels.

  "Did you know the Bible says the opposite? Jesus spent His entire time on earth explaining to people who knew they were worthless—that He came for them. It's people like you and me, with a dark past, who need Jesus' forgiveness the most. It's possible for someone like you to get right with God. I should know. I was a straight-up fool growing up."

  Uso stopped chewing and stared at me. After a few seconds, he blinked and looked away. He continued chewing, but set the remainder of his candy bar on the folded sheet on his bunk.

  "Why would you say those things to me?" He was looking away from me, at the door. "Forgiveness? I told you I've murdered people, and you think I'm going to beg God for forgiveness?"

  "You don't need to beg, Uso, only trust in Him for it. I came for one reason." My bumps and bruises from that afternoon hardly seemed significant as I sensed the heaviness of this man's inner wounds. "You've used your hands for all kinds of evil, my friend, but God is offering you an opportunity to live for good, even if it's behind these walls."

  "If I do that, I'll be right with God?" He glanced at me. "Is that what you're saying?"

  "No, I'm saying God already cares for you, not based on who you are or what you've done—but on who He is and what He's done for you. He's not a trickster, Uso. He's holding out mercy to you that can't be returned on some condition. But do you accept His mercy?"

  "Mercy from what? You saying God will help me out of my life sentences?"

  "That's not God's priority in your life. He's offering you mercy from the weight of sin, shame, and a burdened conscience. Mercy from eternal separation from God, where you will spend eternity in hell otherwise. I know you're miserable, just like I was without God. Multiple life sentences? Right now, you need to accept the only real hope anyone can ever receive, and He doesn't care if you've killed ten liquor store clerks or drove through a red light. Jesus died on the cross because any and all sin needed to be paid for. Sin is ugly and causes death. What you have to face on earth can now be endured by the hope you can have for heaven, because you've accepted His forgiveness."

  He grunted.

  "You use words like hope and heaven, but I'm a long way from those things."

  "Then it's time to learn something about them. Trust God, Uso, and He'll give you a new life."

  He was silent for a moment, still not looking at me.

  "I can't become religious," he stated. "I'll be a joke in prison."

  "Better to be a joke on earth before men than condemned to hell before God. That's the choice before us all. Let God know you're ready for His salvation, Uso, and He'll show you how to live with Him. Let God know you believe in His forgiveness. How people in prison receive you won't matter to you as much."

  He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Then, he leaned forward and wept, his tears falling on the cement floor.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That night, I had one of the strangest conversations I've ever had in my life. Uso and I didn't converse in the traditional sense, but it seemed that much was shared as we remained awake all night. While I lay on the upper bunk on the hard metal, Uso lay on the lower bunk on two mattresses. After his initial emotional response to the gospel, he asked only one question over and over again, the same question, sometimes twenty or thirty minutes apart.

  "Hey, you know for sure that God loves me?" was his question.

  And I would answer: "I know that He does. The Bible tells me so. You are loved and forgiven by God."

  Every time I was close to sleep, he would ask the same question, and in this way, I passed my first night in jail.

  In the morning, Uso was quiet as we both washed up and tugged on our jumpsuits for morning chow. When our cell door buzzed open, Uso held up one of his sizeable palms to me.

  "Don't tell anyone about last night. Christians are a joke in here."

  "I'll follow your lead." I nodded.

  He seemed to approve, and stepped onto the tier.

  "I feel like a totally different person now," Uso whispered out of the side of his mouth as we moved down the tier. "How'm I supposed to act now?"

  "God'll take care of that. Just trust Him."

  We filed off the tier and down to the dayroom. One at a time, we were handed a meal tray at the front door. I followed Uso off to a metal bench, which was bolted to the concrete floor, and sat down with my back to the room. For years I'd bowed my head and privately thanked the Lord for my meals, and I did so again right then. It was dried cereal, hash browns, scrambled eggs, an apple, and a child-sized carton of milk. When I lifted my head, I noticed Uso was staring past me.

  "What's happening behind me?" I asked, trying to read the worry on his face.

  "Everyone's watching us." Uso wasn't touching his tray. "I usually eat alone. Maybe they're wondering why you and I are all chummy."

  "It's just your imagination," I said. "Why would they care if you're eating with me?"

  "Nah. Something's going down." Uso leaned closer. "Use your tray. Here they come!"

  I turned, ready to use my tray as a shield. Five men were moving toward us. Uso rose to his feet and joined my side, his fists clenched. The five men stopped.

  "Hey, you did that slap challenge on ReVo, didn't you?" one young man asked. He had a marijuana leaf tattoo on his cheek. "That punk cop couldn't make you blink, but everyone else who tries it—they all blink."

  "Others are doing it?" I smiled. "I wasn't expecting that."

  "So? What's the trick?"

  I lifted my eyes to look past the five, and noticed everyone, even the Greek, were listening.

  "How about a little demonstration?" I offered. "Who challenges Uso to a slap challenge?"

  They immediately laughe
d and shoved each other to volunteer. I patted Uso on his shoulder, encouraging him to loosen up. More of the others gathered around. The Greek sat on the stairs, watching us while he picked at his tray.

  "Why don't you challenge Uso?" Leaf proposed to me. "Show us how it's done."

  "Are you kidding?" I touched my cheek. "I'm not picking the biggest guy on the block. My cheek is still burning from the last guy!"

  Again, they laughed. For a few minutes, I used Leaf to show them a slow-motion replay of how to avoid blinking, by taking the slap of a rigid hand on the brow.

  "But you're all forgetting one thing," I said to the group. "The challenge you know me from—I didn't win. I never slapped the other guy, remember? If you're man enough, sometimes taking a little abuse achieves something greater than winning a bet. There are other victories to be won, too."

  "Whoa," Leaf said, elbowing his friend. "That's some heavy Confucius wisdom or something, bro!"

  "No, it's some heavy Jesus Christ wisdom," I said. "Grace trumps aggression. Listen, I used to run these streets with Naul Bueno, but I've never known the kind of change that was possible until I discovered the power of God. The slap challenge was nothing. The Bible has the answers to all of life's challenges, for every challenge you'll ever need to find victory."

  "Like what?" Leaf asked, crossing his arms.

  The others waited with him for my answer. Even Uso, who still stood at my side, gazed intently at me.

  "I'll show you some things." I shrugged. "Anyone got a Bible in here?"

  "Bibles are banned," the Greek voiced from the stairs. "They're contraband in here. It's an ADX crime."

  "Well, how about some pens and paper?" I asked. "I know some principles from memory to share a little to get us started."

  As I went to the benches to sit, the crowd dispersed, and Uso set his hand on my shoulder.

  "I hope you weren't too excited." He indicated the only two men who wanted to hear more. "I told you that Christian stuff isn't taken seriously in here."

  "If two's all who want to hear, then two will be all we work with. For now."

  Uso introduced the other two men to me, both Hispanics. Leaf was one of them. Uso explained both men were facing life sentences without parole for murder. Leaf was about to be transferred to state prison, and the other was heading to a trial—and certain to lose with all the evidence against him.