With the money from the banks he robbed, Rasheed Jamal purchased a small, vacant, broken-down old church on the outskirts of Tulsa. That’s where Jamal began his career as a minister of the Muslim faith. Sunday services were minuscule to start but slowly built in size and exuberance. The money Imam Jamal collected during those services helped finance a growing drug trade in the cities close to Tulsa, like Broken Arrow, Stillwater, Bartlesville, Ponca City, Guthrie, and Shawnee. The imam ventured as far southeast as Pocola, Poteau, and Fanshawe.

Soon Jamal moved to a bigger, more impressive church in Tulsa. Though he never touched the stuff, his drug business grew to cartel proportions. But the good imam wasn’t satisfied with the success he nurtured in the great Southwest.

He wanted more. So he moved again, this time to Miami Beach, Florida, a thriving drug market and the part of the United States with the largest-growing Muslim population.

Rasheed Jamal became a zillionaire.

“Yes,” said the cripple, “my lawyers tried valiantly to stop me from doing The Death Game pilot. Of course they tried to stop me. But I ignored them.”

“I find that hard to believe. I find it incomprehensible that none of your lawyers prohibited you from committing murder, that they weren’t insistent. Didn’t lay their jobs on the line if they had to.”

“Well, for one thing, all the contestants on my pilot were, as I explained before, terminally ill. They couldn’t have cared less if they died. In fact, most of them preferred it. If I’m not mistaken, all of them would have had someone help them take their own lives if they could, but they couldn’t. In those days assisted suicide wasn’t legal. Also the families, either secretly or not so secretly, would have preferred their poor family member to pass on. The sooner the better. Then they’d all get some relief from their personal agonies and financial stress. Though they would never admit it, I guarantee you the family members wanted a respite from those burdens. I made that happen for one of those poor souls,” said the cripple. “I was actually doing the contestant and his family a favor. And as far as my lawyers putting their jobs on the line was concerned, they wouldn’t have given that idea any thought at all. They were all being paid too much money to put their jobs on the line.”

“So what happened? How did you get away with never being arrested for doing what you did?”

“How did I get away with it? I never showed The Death Game to anyone. I buried the show. That’s how I got away with it.”

“What about a studio audience?”

“I didn’t have a studio audience. I used laugh and applause tracks.”

“How did you do financially?”

“Financially? Financially the project obviously sent me directly to the poorhouse without stopping at Go. I’ve never recovered financially. Not even mentally, for that matter. Not really. I think the entire experience did something to my head, made me become physically sick.”