Robbing Faith

By Marvin Kouza

Main character, Murphy Wilson who lived a slow moving normal simple yet boring life gets a change of pace on a Friday afternoon as he ends up at the wrong place at the wrong time. As he makes his way in to his financial institute for a quick cash withdrawal he ends up finding himself locked in the bathroom as the Bank gets robbed. His faith starts rolling in as he hears the moaning and whaling of cries through the white painted walls as the robbery becomes a mass murdering horror event. After pleading with God, he becomes the only living survivor and finds himself running and hiding not only from the robbers who are linked to the Mexican Cartel, but also the police who think he was part to the bloody massacre.
He calls on his most trusted family attorney, Ronnie to help him escape the country thinking he would be safe. While driving in darkness in the trunk and rears of multiple vehicles up the coast of California, they make their un-mapped travel up to Vancouver. Later on, he becomes accompanied with his family, uncles, and cousins. The question of Faith continues to arise for Murphy, asking why he was the only survivor and making himself believe it would have been better if he died with the rest, now putting his whole family in jeopardy because the robbers have tracked him down with a bribed leak from the U.S. Department of Homeland Security.
Murphys long tiring adventure up the west coast shows that not even the richest or powerful people on this earth can steal ones faith. As you read Robbing Faith, you will encounter not only Murphys inner intentions and encounter with God, but also with the victims and the sinful Gangsters who later convert. For only the Bank gets robbed in this story, but faith lives to tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499036978

Marvin Kouza

Growing up in Detroit Michigan was not as tough as people and media indicate. I was raised in an upscale community some 20 miles northwest of Detroit. All my childhood memories are there. Once I was ready to explore the world I moved out to San Diego with my older sister at age 20. I worked hard to make ends meet. It was a paycheck to paycheck financial battle. That’s when I missed living at home rent free and a fridge full of food. I became more into Christ when I hit bottom and had less than a dime in my pocket. Shortly after, I had a sports injury and ended up bed rested for some time. After weeks for boredom I turned off the TV and picked up a pencil and started to write for the first time. Within hours I found myself with 10 pages of chicken scratch as my imagination took off. I was amazed because I have never liked reading or writing before. It was than when my family was also amazed of my hidden talent. The writings got shoved under the mattress for year as I returned to work. Three years later I finally decided to make something out of it and converted it into text and shared with friends. They all said I had something and told me to publish it or make a movie out of it. So finally after getting married and finding some time off work I called a publisher and got it done.

Book preview

Robbing Faith

It was the morning of May 1, 2009, and rent was due. I was running late as usual. That’s me, Mr. Late. I was new to California at the time, having relocated from the Motor City to live the dream life. Hot babes, countless beaches, warm weather, palm trees. Also, it’s sunny year round. In turn, I naturally adopted the more leisurely side of things.

I remember taking a longer shower that day. We had terrible water pressure in my apartment complex. To top it off, I had no clean white undershirts I normally wear to stay warm. So not only did I lose the chance to hit up the bank to pick up the cashier’s check for rent, but I was also late to work.

Great!

I was the store manager of the market where my uncle Leon was my boss. With him being the owner and working that morning, I had no choice but to go to the bank during my lunch break. It was the only ideal time since my bank would be closed by six in the evening, and I got off work at seven o’clock. As I ran out my apartment door to rush to work, a tow truck had just begun to pull a car onto its flatbed, blocking my car completely. I remember asking, Why? Of all the days, why today? Why now?

I had to wait five excruciatingly long minutes until I had enough space to squeeze out of my parking spot and head toward the freeway. It definitely was not a great start that day. I sped to work and, finally, clocked in about twelve minutes late. My desk was already piled high with price-change tags that needed to go up for that morning’s increases. To top it off, my morning cashier notified me that someone from the state was here.

Oh, great, that’s all I need right now.

It was a surprise visit from the San Diego County Health Department. He was an inspector, who, oddly enough, had the stereotypical fresh coffee stain on his white shirt and pants that just about went up to his chest. The short fat man waddled up to me. I greeted him politely, trying not to laugh at his cartoonish appearance. He handed me his card and asked me to follow him around the market. I had a hard time hearing this soft-spoken Danny DeVito doppelganger as we walked around the whole market, which took over two long hours.

He finally left after making me sign an infinite amount of documents, telling me about items that needed proper attention. His slow stumbling around the store caused me to fall behind with my normal morning duties, which, in turn, made me take a late lunch. I completed the price changes and caught up to most of my morning duties before clocking out to eat. I inhaled the two cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches and took off for the bank. I told Diana, my second cashier, that I would be right back. I ran out of the market in haste. I was already in my Impala when I realized I had forgotten my cell phone in the break room, but was too much in a hurry to go back inside to get it.

It took me ten long minutes to get to the bank, which was only a mile and a half away from work. Every freaking traffic light possible stopped me, and the pedestrians at each crosswalk took their sweet-ass time strolling through the intersections. I was pretty frustrated by the time I finally parked way in the back lot of the bank. Of course, being the first of the month and all, every old lady and their mother was there cashing their Social Security checks. Too bad I won’t be getting one of those when I get older. Thanks, Uncle Sam!

I had to expel my morning coffee really bad once I got inside the bank. I’d been holding it in all that morning while walking around with the DeVito look-alike. I decided it was best to go to the bathroom before waiting in the long teller line, despite the possibility of longer lines once I got out. Taking that chance, I headed to the bathrooms. From past visits, I knew how clean those restrooms were and exactly where they were located in the new colossal bank. It was a beautiful bank, with vaulted ceilings and a large comfortable seating area for customers needing special assistance with their accounts. They even had a complimentary coffee-station table with a mini mint bowl and a play area for kids in the corner. I passed up the mint bowl and coffee this time and walked directly into the restroom, rushing to relieve my bladder.

My Bank Story

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I heard thunderous gunshots.

What should I do?

As I quickly zipped up my khakis, I heard people screaming and shouting in fear. I started looking for my cell phone to call 911. I panicked. I couldn’t find it. I frantically searched my pockets and patted myself down. I then realized I had forgotten it at work. Acting fast, I jumped up onto a toilet seat and waited, absolutely terrified. It felt more like an hour, still not knowing what to do or when to start breathing again. Curiosity finally took over after five minutes, and I quietly stepped down from the toilet, walked out of the stall, and tip-toed toward the restroom door. My hands shook as I cracked it open to get a peek of what was happening. It was definitely a robbery. I saw about six men with guns. The machine guns looked like props from the Terminator film. I got a very good look at the thieves since none of them wore face masks of any kind. They were dark-skinned, and three of them were pretty tall. One kept yelling, Make sure this is all of them! I noticed that the customers, tellers, and even the useless old security guards were facedown on the floor. The gunmen had them all in a row, side by side like canned sardines. I counted about thirty faceless bodies in all.

With the door still cracked and my eyes wide open, I again heard the same robber shout, Is this all of them?

Yes. The kid replying couldn’t have been over seventeen or eighteen. He was much too young, especially for such a heinous act. As he kept watch, the other four were in the back, near the big safe, stuffing their large bags hand over fist with a whole bunch of cash.

How about the bathrooms? he asked the young one again. Did anyone check the bathrooms yet? I don’t think anyone noticed me enter the restroom when I did. Being so quiet, I could have been missed, though I was uncertain. I was about to close the door and hide in the stall again, thinking that one of the thugs would check the restrooms. Just before pulling myself back, I saw the four men with the money bags spray-paint the surveillance cameras before walking toward the doors with the loot. I stayed hidden behind the restroom door, hoping to remain unnoticed as they left. But two of them stayed behind. It was the younger guy and the older one who had been shouting orders. I closed the bathroom door all the way now and moved next to the sinks. I looked at myself in the mirror and started to ask God for help, not knowing what was going to happen next.

What should I do?

I fell to my knees and started praying to the Lord for his help. I attended Catholic church weekly, so I knew a few prayers to recite. I uttered the popular hymn that is often sung at the beginning of Sunday mass. Suddenly, halfway through the hymn, shots again rang out continuously. Bang! Bang! Bang! Machine-gun fire pierced the still, quiet moment I had with God. The people outside began to scream.

No! No! Not me! Please!

I have kids!

I’m too young to die!

Horrible voices of agony, begging for life.

Voices that still haunt me day and night.

My heart immediately sank, and I collapsed to the floor. I could only imagine the worst of things happening out there. Blood. Murder. Assassination. Evil incarnate. The things normal people never see in real life were unfolding right on the other side of that door. All those people … My eyes began to water as I looked to the ceiling and muttered, Those sons of demons are killing those innocent people. All of them.

As scared and terrified as I was, I got back on my knees and continued to pray for my life. Please, Lord! Jesus, hear my cry! Please save me from this massacre! Let me live! I kept looking up to the ceiling, repeating, The Lord be with me, the Lord be with me, over and over again. The gunfire, moaning, and collective begging of life finally stopped, and all was silent. Not a whisper in the air now. They had all been killed. I heard a voice now say, Did you ever check the restrooms earlier?

No. I think Kiel did.

Well, check it again! I don’t want any witnesses.

Oh no! (I thought to myself). This is it. I’m done. It’s over for me on this earth. I was petrified. I felt strange because I immediately started thinking about my deceased grandpa and my older brother, Neil, that passed away before I was born. I thought about how happy I’d be to see them in heaven—if that is where I was going. And that was when it hit me! I had not confessed all my sins to my priest yet! I mean, confession to a priest was a must!

I continued praying to Jesus, this time asking him to forgive me for my recent sins. The villains would find me in a matter of seconds. The very moment I put my hands together to ask for forgiveness—bam! The door was kicked open. Again my heart sank painfully as I sprung up like a rabbit and screamed like a girl, almost soiling myself. I turned and looked at the door, but no one was there. He was in the ladies restroom next door to me. My god! I turned back around, got back on my knees, and quickly recited my transgressions to Christ. Seconds later, it was my door that got kicked open. No jump or scream though. I had no time. The thug looked right at me and pointed his gun, telling me not to move. He was a really young fellow, but older than I originally thought, with a small build, tan skin, and the same expression of fear on his face that was on mine. His hands were shaking as he pointed that big gun at me. I was still on my knees reciting Psalm 23: The Lord is my Shepherd; there is nothing I shall fear. He glared at me, still pointing his assault rifle. I looked up, right at his eyes, accepting death. He didn’t say anything more to me. He just stared at me.

He couldn’t take the shot.

It was a weird moment. I just closed my eyes and waited to see the light and hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much. Then I heard the other robber yell out to him.

Get out! Get out! The cops are here!

Hallelujah! I heard the sirens approaching as I reopened my eyes. It was the first time that the blaring noise of a squad car was sweet music to my ears. The silent young gunman bolted out and closed the door, leaving me as I was. I heard them running out the rear emergency exit right next to the restroom doors. The younger shouted, There was still a guy in the there! as they escaped. I thought nothing of it, thinking I was saved now that the cops were near. Boy, was I wrong. Seconds later, shots started going off again. Lots of them! They had opened fire on me from the hallway! Having no time to get back into the stall for cover, I curled up into a ball and dug myself under the sinks. God, be with me! God, be with me! I shouted. I shut my eyes, put my hands over my ears, and squeezed myself as tightly as possible. Bullets flew all around.