Snowing in Bali (28 page)

I came back to Bali with no money, just thinking, ‘I want to kill this fool,' but I didn't have the money to follow him. I have a friend who met him in the surf in Brazil. He says, ‘Be careful, Rafael's going to kill you, man. You fuck his family, you fuck him.' He says, ‘No, he can't come here, he doesn't have money to follow me.' It was true.

But Fox was served drug dealer justice. As he stood talking on a public phone in Florianópolis, a car load of men stopped, one man jumped out and pointed a gun in Fox's face, saying, ‘Hello, playboy.' Fox dropped the phone in panic, unclasped his Rolex and held it out, begging, ‘Please don't kill me, please, take my watch.' The armed bandit snatched it, then ordered Fox to get in his new Toyota and take him to his house.

Once there, the men ransacked the place, taking everything from his PlayStation and plasma TV to his precious Nike shoe collection. Then they beat him up badly, stripped him down to his underpants, and dumped him on the highway 100 kilo­metres from his house in the freezing cold, driving off in his new $100,000 Toyota.

Two months later, Fox was attacked again at his house on the lagoon in Florianópolis. Fox saw in his security cameras two big black Chevrolet cars, with blacked-out windows, pulling up and five bandits wearing black balaclavas, brandishing submachine guns and pistols, get out.

He was already paranoid; he put in a special security system, full of cameras, and when they come, he saw in the cameras and was pissing his pants. They came calling, ‘Fox, Fox' and then they shoot, ba-a-a-a-a-a, the door. He ran upstairs, hid in the wardrobe. They go inside, ba-a-a-a-a-a, come to the second floor, shoot everywhere. The bullets go through the wardrobe but don't touch him. Lucky motherfuck. They didn't know he was in the wardrobe – if they know, they shoot him.

– Rafael

As a parting gesture, the bandits spray-painted ‘Rafael $$$' on the front of the house. Then they fled.

Who were these people?

I don't have a clue. Until today I try to find out. I believe somebody I know, who was pissed off with the situation. I was thinking Claudio, the police friend, but I met him and he thinks it's me. Everyone thinks it's me and then Fox calls, ‘Why you do that?' I say, ‘Man, you think it was me? You really think it was me? You've known me a long time . . . If I come to see you, I'm not gonna write my name. You wouldn't be talking anymore. You know what I'm gonna do with you?' ‘You threaten me?' ‘No, I just tell you.'

Rafael's tactic was to be vaguely civil to Fox on the phone, hoping he might return to Bali so he could avenge himself. But Fox fled, suffering from panic syndrome – fearing someone was trying to kill him – to Teahupoo, Tahiti, on his French passport.

Many people want to kill this guy, he's not gonna live long, he fuck everybody to get rich.

– Rafael

The next time Rafael was in Brazil, he met with Fox's lawyer, who by chance was dating one of his friends. She told him the cops had been asking, ‘Who's this guy Rafael?' She asked Rafael, ‘Was it you?'

‘I wish,' he replied. Rafael went to Florianopólis to look at Fox's house, which was up for sale.

I was planning to burn the house, make some Molotov bottles and throw in the house to burn it. But I give up. I say it's too hot now. I'm ready to make some money. Fucking Fox, he's lucky.

*

Although Rafael had lost many of his friends to jail or betrayal, one of his more trusted partners returned. Irrepressible, with a toothy smile on his face and as excited as a kid, Andre flew back to Bali. He'd fast grown tired of wheeling his shopping trolley of books around maximum security and, after 14 months, paid to be transferred to the less secure Complex Penitentiary, the jail where he'd escaped from the containers previously.

The boss from this prison is really funny. He's a fat guy, his name is Shucka. When he sees me, he says, ‘Why are you coming here again? You try escaping, you want to fuck my job, yeah?'

– Andre

Andre's escape was thanks to guards who agreed to leave two doors unlocked for $10,000. The night before, they told Andre he had exactly ten minutes between 6 am and 6.10 am to slip out. Andre didn't sleep that night and in the morning, it went perfectly to plan. He walked out, into a waiting car, and went straight to Laguna Beach. For fifteen days he hid there, waiting for his false passport, then flew out of Brazil to Amsterdam. He planned to lie low for a long while, but it was January – midwinter, freezing and snowing.

I arrive in Amsterdam, it's snowing, cold, nobody on the streets, I don't want to stay. I just go inside one travel agent, buy one ticket and fly to Bali.

– Andre

Now, back on the tropical island, life was again beautiful – full of sunsets, afternoon joints, surfing, dining and dealing. But his lust for whimsical jet-setting would soon flip his life again.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SUA CASA CAI – YOUR HOUSE FALLS

Rafael wasn't in Bali when Andre flew back. He'd had a long streak of bad luck, busts and rip-offs, which had sent him into a financial tailspin, unable to pay basics like his kids' school fees. So when he'd got a call from his friend Lee, in Amsterdam, asking him to come and ‘play a game', Rafael had jumped on a plane, desperately hoping for a win. ‘Everybody wanted to do it with me because I know the game.'

Lee was paying all operational costs, but needed someone he could trust to organise the buying, packing and sending. He'd pay Rafael in cocaine, giving him 2 of the 7 kilos being sent. In Amsterdam, he gave Rafael €45,000 to arrange things in Rio. In a few weeks, Rafael had it all set. A Brazilian girl was running with the 7 kilos of coke in Lee's €3000 suitcase – with a false carbon fibre bottom – which he'd had tailor-made by an elderly Dutch specialist.

She flew to Brussels, avoiding Dutch customs, then was supposed to take a train to Amsterdam. But she failed to show up. She simply vanished and things turned sinister.

‘I'm gonna kill you, motherfucker,' Lee's Dutch investor screamed down the phone at Rafael, accusing him of a double-cross. ‘You don't know who you're dealing with. You can't hide.'

‘Pff, man, she busted,' Rafael retorted, unsure if it were true.

‘You think I'm fucking stupid?' the investor ranted. ‘I know you stole the coke, you did bullshit. I'm gonna kill you, I'm gonna burn your eyes with cigarettes.'

Everybody becomes Al Pacino, Scarface. All the drug dealers, they have this. In the end we think they found it in the X-ray and she bust. It's a lottery.

– Rafael

Rafael was more desperate now. His wife was hassling him to hurry up, because she needed cash. Rafael was tired and cold in Europe's freezing winter and wanting to go home to Bali to see his kids, sit on the beach and surf. But when Lee offered him another game, he knew he had to stay and breathe life into his career.

He flew back to Brazil, met another horse, Otto Koester, loaded him with 1 kilo and sent him off. Otto made it, finally breaking Rafael's spell of bad luck. Rafael got $15,000 commission and reinvested it with Lee in another run. Otto was keen to run again too.

Back in Rio, Rafael loaded a backpack with 4 kilos of coke. As soon as it was ready, Rafael drove Otto to Rio's Galeão International Airport and risked going inside with him to buy a ticket to fly immediately. The flight was full, so they bought a ticket for the following day.

Everything was too crazy, in a hurry. I don't care anymore. I pushed to do it quickly, ‘Let's do, let's do, fast, fast, let's go today, let's go to the airport now.' I think everything go down because my wife was hurrying me.

– Rafael

The next day, as Otto stood in line waiting to board the plane, there was a sudden commotion. A girl just ahead was pulled aside. They'd found 3.5 kilos of cocaine in her hand luggage. In those first moments of chaos, Otto had a chance to flee. But he decided not to; he felt confident that his bag was well packed and safely checked in. He thought they'd take her and let everyone else board the plane, but police suspected the 17-year-old girl from Cape Verde was a decoy for a larger amount. Suddenly, the window to flee slammed shut – every passenger was a suspect. Cops began checking them one by one, taking their bags off the plane for a rigorous search. They found the coke in Otto's backpack and hit their second jackpot for that flight.

A Brazilian, Otto Koester, 26, who also has Swiss nationality, was carrying 4 kg of cocaine in his baggage. Both [he and the 17-year-old girl] were trying to go to Europe on the same flight, although they had no connection with each other.

–
Federal Police Association Press Agency,
11 April 2008

Rafael was waiting in his hotel when he got word from Lee that Otto had been busted. Lee had checked the net when Otto didn't show. Rafael felt exhausted. All he had to show for the past six months of hard work were failed projects, guilt over his jailed horses, and bankruptcy.

I was still in Rio, hiding myself in some hotel. I was already very depressed because I lose a lot of coke, I put three people in jail, everything gone to hell, then my friend calls me and says, ‘You have to get out of the country now, quickly, or they're gonna catch you.' I say, ‘Don't say that! Why?' ‘Man, you were stupid; you went to buy the ticket with the horse. They have cameras everywhere, big surveillance.' I was depressed, desperate, waiting, thinking any minute now somebody's coming to catch me. It was the worst time in my career.

– Rafael

Rafael booked a flight and raced to Rio de Janeiro airport with only hand luggage.

I was on the run. I didn't bring anything to make it easy. I throw away many things, clothes, even the laptop I leave in my friend's house because of all the communication, emails and everything.

– Rafael

At the airport things went perfectly. He checked in, sailed through immigration and sat down in his tail-end economy seat, breathing a sigh of relief. Now, to hit the safety of the skies . . . But his instincts for trouble were sharp and something was wrong; his pulse started racing. Passengers were all seated and the plane wasn't moving. The captain announced, ‘I'm sorry we have a problem . . .' Rafael tuned out; he didn't need to hear any more words. Two Federal police officers were walking towards him – a black guy and a blonde woman, wearing suits with shiny Policia Federal badges slashed across their shoulders. They were checking the seat numbers above the passengers' heads.

Was like slow motion for me . . . they come, they come . . . three seats to come, then the guy looks in my eyes, I look in his eyes. My heart beat te te te te near to heart attack. I think, ‘Fucking done! Okay, take me.' He comes close, looking at me, then doof, he passes, goes to the guy in the seat behind. Was the scariest five seconds of my life.

And then the plane still doesn't take off. I think, now they are going to come back for me. ‘More wine, please, I need wine.' I think, ‘Why don't we take off? Why doesn't this shit go up?' Was fucking bad time. I was praying, making promises: ‘God, I promise if I see my kids again, if I reach Bali safe, I'm gonna stop this shit. Please help me, God, I want to see my kids again. Please, please God.' I didn't realise they were just taking his bag off . . . We waited one hour.

I make it to Bali again. Free. But when I come back everything was falling down . . . I quit the business. No money, oh . . . and then I decide I'm going to sell the house, start to do business, but my brilliant wife doesn't take to losing everything and being normal. She says, ‘No, we're not going to sell the house. I'm gonna go to Sweden and do by myself.' I say, ‘No, don't do.'

A couple of months before, when I was in Brazil, she tried to kill herself. She was alcoholic – drink every day. Cut her wrists in the tower . . . crazy . . . she think I get a girlfriend and left her, but I was looking to fix our money situation. That's the price I pay for all the shit.

– Rafael

*

Rafael had had enough. He'd seen too many friends ruin their lives and he wanted to start a normal life. He also desperately wanted to quit using blow, as he knew that it was his addiction that had kept him in the game for so long, as well as destroying his lungs. ‘One day I say, “Fuck, I'm gonna die. I can't use this shit anymore.' He'd tried to abstain while away, but failed, especially as every time he packed the coke the stuff leached through his skin or he inhaled the dust in the air. Now, he was trying hard, and it was exacerbating dark emotions.

In Brazil I try to stop but I get high from touch, packing, you know. And then when I finish the packing I get depression, aggressive, shaking hands, heart beat dedededede, and then I cai do cavalo – fall from the horse. I'm in a party, I get drunk and then somebody comes, ‘You want a line?' . . . The second I put that shit in my nose I regret it. I feel like shit, paranoid. The day after my nose is totally blocked, bleeding, with asthma for two days. I feel to kill myself. And then I say, ‘Now, I'm not going to take this shit anymore,' and one week passes, two weeks and then I cai do cavalo again. I say, ‘Today I'm gonna take one small line to relax,' – and it's like, I take 2 grams; paranoid, looking out the windows, thinking the police are gonna come and catch me for the bullshit.

Then I come to Bali, totally broke, I get depression . . . oh my god, I'm going to die . . . they're going to catch me . . . I can't do this anymore. Start cry, cry, cry. And fuck, start getting paranoid about everything. They're going to connect me with this guy Otto.

I get this kind of depression from abstinence. Feel like crying. I was shaking, I was aggressive over small things. My kids would do something, ‘Ahhh,' I scream . . . I never do that, I was mellow, nice, but I find some different behaviour. I was not happy about this. I start crying. You know I never cry. What am I gonna do? The world's going to finish.

– Rafael

Rafael sold the land near his house to pay the kids' school fees and some of their debts. But the house was still mortgaged, as Anna had used it as collateral for a bank loan.

We start getting trouble trouble trouble, no money, can't pay kids' school, no money and she tells me, ‘I prefer to go to jail than live like that.' I say, ‘What the fuck you talk about? You live in paradise – you have a house, you have kids, you have everything. Let's stop, let's stop,' and my wife was already getting everything ready for a run. She was organising everything with my friend in Brazil, pushing too, call him, call him . . . ‘No, stop this shit. I cannot do it anymore.'

– Rafael

Anna decided to do a run to Stockholm. She flew to Brazil, where the cop Claudio supplied her with almost a kilo of blow, which she packed into the legs of a tripod and sent by DHL to Sweden, where someone was paid to collect it. Then she flew to Stockholm to sell it. It was a win.

*

Fugitive Andre had also invested and Anna skyped him, asking him to fly in to collect his cash and party with some Swedish girls.

When the shit arrived in Sweden, she calls me, ‘Hey, Andre, can you come here to pick up your money?' I say, ‘Oh, I don't wanna go to Europe now.' Then she puts three blonde girls on skype. ‘Oh, these are my friends. They're dying to know you, Brazilian boy . . . oh yeah, Andre, come here to party.' ‘Oh, why not?' I was in Bali almost one year and a little bit bored, needed civilisation . . . I think, okay, I go to Europe, get my money, do some parties and come back with euros. Not a big deal.

But you were still being hunted?

Yes, stupid, you know.

– Andre

Rafael asked Andre, ‘You sure you can go?'

‘No problem, my passport's so good, no worries.'

But Andre didn't make it to Sweden. En route, he was busted in Amsterdam for flying on a false passport and slammed back in a cell. Bali beaches and sunsets were again a beautiful memory, but he expected to be back soon. He'd ostensibly confessed his real name to authorities – Luke Shakira Martins. It was another alias he'd set up with passport and ID papers. His lawyer sent them from Brazil and ‘Luke' was sentenced to one month's jail.

The day of his release, the police told him he was being sent back to Bali. They took him to Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport, walked him into a room and took off his handcuffs, saying, ‘Right, now you're free.'

‘I turn my back to go and two guys come and say, “You are arrested under Interpol, Andre.” ' Another pair of bracelets was snapped around his wrists. It was a bitter blow.

Andre had checked Interpol's website in Bali, so he knew it had issued a Red Notice for him, but thought he'd outsmarted the Dutch cops with his second false ID. He now guessed they'd taken fingerprints off a prison glass or plate and, through Interpol, discovered he was a Brazilian fugitive. It was in fact his nemesis who'd suspected his real identity. Chief Caieron had sent documents, fingerprints and photographs to the Netherlands' embassy and Interpol to confirm it was Andre. ‘They confirmed that he was our guy – and we brought him back. I did all the papers to assure his coming back to Brazil and chain.' It took another three months of legal red tape to fly him back home to serve out the rest of his sentence. Of course, Andre had other plans.

*

Back in Bali, Anna's Stockholm win was a brief respite, but things were getting worse again. Rafael sold his jewellery to help pay the bills, but the bank was threatening to take the house.

Because when I was in Brazil she make so many bills, she borrow money, she borrow money from the bank and give the house paper to guarantee. And then she knows we're going to lose the house, the bank's gonna take, we have two months, and then she was in a hurry to make the money. I say, ‘I cannot do this anymore. Let's sell the house, stop this shit. Start a normal life; I'm going to get a job.' She says, ‘No, we cannot. Let's do one more to cash in.' I say, ‘No, don't do it,' but I don't have any power over her. She says, ‘I'm going to do this, you pussy, I don't care what you say.' She organises everything. Then she says, ‘I'm gonna do this last one, easy, I go myself.' I say, ‘When are you going?' She says, ‘Tomorrow.' ‘What? Tomorrow?'

– Rafael

Rafael warned her at least not to collect the couriered package – that was a job for a mule.

She was crazy, you know . . . she wanted to do it herself, she wanted to be a mule. I hired the people there to do this job and, after the thing arrives, everything's clear, I fly and get the money. I say, ‘Fuck, you are a boss, you cannot do this job. This job is for a mule – you wanna be a mule?' She says, ‘Yeah . . . you cannot do anything.'

So she went from Bali to Stockholm, and they send the coke from Peru. And she was calling me because it was delayed one day. I say, ‘Abort, abort. Don't take it. Run. Run.' I feel something's wrong. I say, ‘Don't ring me, just in case,' and then she start to call me all the time to talk, ‘Oh, it's delayed again, they send to Finland.' I say, ‘Stop calling. Fuck . . .'