Snowing in Bali (9 page)

It was funny because I was very friendly, people loved me because I was a nice guy, I know how to be nice in restaurant, eat properly, good education, but my English a little bit broke, but I think this is funny – they laugh when I say some words.

At the parties they give me the VIP bracelets, I cannot spend money because people call me, ‘Hey, Rafael, can you come to Warisan tonight, 10 pm, to have a dinner? I invite you.' It was like this . . . ‘Come here, you can bring your friends, and bring some stuff.' I say, ‘Okay.'

They never let me pay. I just do trips to the toilet, give some lines to people, but sometimes when the bill comes I want to show off . . . I hide myself and go pay and when the guy asks for the bill . . . ‘Oh, it's already paid,' because usually nobody lets me pay for anything.

– Rafael

Rafael's fame was growing exponentially. Because the island was small, people knew he was the coke guy. When he walked into a glamorous party, wearing his tight Armani T-shirt, gold chains, with his blond hair and good looks, heads would turn. People would shout, ‘Rafael, Rafael', trying to get his attention. When he went to the toilet, people would race behind him asking to buy some blow.

It was funny because I'm busting to piss, I go to the toilet, everybody boom boom boom on the door: ‘Rafael, please give me 1 gram.' ‘Stop, I want to piss, man,' but they don't give me peace.

– Rafael

The next night he'd do it all over again – swanky dinner, clubs, private parties, orgies at villas, never wearing the same designer clothes on consecutive nights, but always wearing a pair of his favourite Prada shoes, his Rolex, and a splash of his signature, babe-luring, Paco Rabanne XS. ‘Fuck, all the girls like that shit.'

Sometimes he'd be sitting in a restaurant and call for the bill, only to be told another table had fixed it up already. He'd ask the waiter who'd paid, often spotting someone looking slyly at him, trying to establish eye contact. Rafael would avoid it, quickly telling the waiter to give the guy his money back; he'd pay his own bill.

When totally random strangers knew he was a coke dealer, it freaked him out. That was way too dangerous.

At orgies and private villa parties, he'd often pull out 10 grams of coke, warm up a plate and make lines for everyone, showing off; and often creating sales, as tourists on holidays or expats were usually keen to buy more. At parties he'd also meet expats who were buying from one of his own customers, who was cutting and selling. After meeting Rafael, they'd be keen to buy direct and cut out the middleman, to get it purer and cheaper. He'd always keep a stash in the doors of his car outside to sell at night, for top prices, to these people.

When I come to this party, they meet me, they wanna buy straight. ‘Oh great, I wanna buy some, can you give me a big quantity?' And then the business blow, you know. Before I sell 5, 10 grams and then people come, ‘Can I buy 100 grams? You give me a better price.'

– Rafael

Rafael didn't curb his wild partying, despite now living with Anna, an attractive blonde Swede who he wasn't married to but called his wife. They'd met in a bar in Legian, and soon moved in together. Anna liked using coke, and started helping Rafael with business, usually the accounts, as well as pushing him to be tougher. When she'd fallen pregnant with twins, Rafael was thrilled and they'd had another baby soon afterwards. But creating a family hadn't stopped his promiscuous lifestyle and he knew he was still getting away with it because Anna spent a lot of time drinking and being pretty out of it.

His partying was getting so excessive that he'd drink, use coke and have sex with random girls all night, then get home at dawn and sleep until 3 pm. Usually he'd surf two or three waves, too unfit now to stay in longer, his party lifestyle so frenetic and all-consuming that he was sacrificing the reason he'd come to Bali in the first place. In the afternoon, he'd start snorting a bit of coke, then doing his deliveries, or organising his runs, and be ready to party all over again.

That time, I cannot surf, because I have nightlife. I come tired, I sleep all day, I wake up 3 o'clock, jump in the pool, have a shower, massage. Sometimes I put my phone off, say, ‘Today, day off. I don't want to talk to anyone.' And I call to the massage people, they come to my place, massage, I do a little bit of gym. At home I have the equipment to get fit, because when I stop surfing so much, I get skinny, I lose weight, lose weight. I said, ‘Fuck, I always had a nice body', and I was like living the dream life.

Sometimes I party for two days, party without sleep, you know we finish in club, then go to somebody's villa for after party, take all this shit, drugs. And then you see another day, keep partying, sometimes go to the beach, jump in the water without sleeping, surf three or four waves just to put out the toxin, breathe a little bit of oxygen. But finish the session – straight away take a line to keep going. What you going to do tonight? Let's go to the party . . . Always we meet new people. Let's go to that girl's villa . . . It was very crazy.

– Rafael

Every so often, he'd cut the partying and spend 10 days on a yacht for a live-aboard surf trip. He'd take no coke, eat fresh fish, and surf for hours every day, getting fit. It gave him a break from the party scene, especially during the high season, when it was very dangerous to deal drugs, with undercover cops from Jakarta starting to infiltrate and circulate at parties. Sometimes Marco came on these trips, and Rafael's Peruvian partner Poca, who arranged gorgeous hookers from Brazil to come.

A surf trip was like paradise for me, it was my escape. Go to Sumatra. The yacht worth $2 million, with a nice girl, a beautiful model, or sometimes we bring prostitutes from Brazil; import the girls. Pay for their tickets and give them $2000. They do a good job.

A good job?

They fuck very good and don't complain about anything. Very beautiful and fun too.

Do you share the girls?

Yeah, sometimes, not everyone, but the bosses. Poca, he say let's bring two prostitutes I met in Brazil. They stay with us, but we share sometimes. I take his, he takes mine. But we don't share the girls with everybody, only me and Poca.

What would your wife do if she found out you had a prostitute on the boat?

I think she's gonna be pissed off, but she never found out.

And then, come back from the trip, back to Bali . . . beard grow, blond hair burned from the sun, dark skin, fit, ready to rock. Bam. And then, ‘Where is the party tonight?'

Normally Ku De Ta has four parties in August – the best ones, I can't miss those. They had a white party same day we got back, because I remember we arrived in the airport at seven o'clock, and I have time to come home, shave, shower, put my best clothes, take my 10 grams, put in the pocket, go whaaaah, look for girls.

Was amazing, because everybody miss me . . . ‘Where've you been, Rafael? Rafael, Rafael, Rafael . . .'

– Rafael

CHAPTER SEVEN

ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR

Fuck this guy's crazy, like VIP movie star.

– Rafael

Filthy rich Hells Angels boss, Tota, from Rio, regularly flew to Bali to play for months at a time in party paradise with his drug dealer friends, and gamble at illegal casinos and cockfights in the backstreets of up-market Seminyak. He was also a fixture at Fabio's beach bar, an unmissable sight with his sidekicks – two young, beautiful, silicone-breasted girls. He threw cash at them to come to Bali, to accompany him everywhere, have sex on call and be centrepieces in his many hotel-room orgies, which he liked to direct and film.

He's a little bit sexy psycho, this guy. Sometimes I come from surfing in Uluwatu, Tota was already at the bar, sitting with the two beautiful girls, sometimes with five girls, him in the middle.

– Rafael

He was a Hells Angel biker straight out of Hollywood Central Casting's books. He lavished diamonds on the girls, and used them to create a spectacle. It wasn't hard, they were bombshells – a prerequisite to being his travel babes. They dressed to bring men to their knees, bursting out of tiny bikini tops, minis so micro their underwear flashed. Whenever they threw a long bare leg with a 3-inch spiky heel over the back of Tota's bike, tourists, both men and women, stopped and gaped.

He brings those two girls to show off. They have silicone in the tits, big ones, amazing bodies, not one gram of fat, full of tattoos, long hair. Everybody thinks, ‘Wow, beautiful, beautiful girls.' They wear skirts, but so fucking short you can see their underwear easy. They make many orgies, the girls with Tota. He was such a pervert, this guy, he loved to do orgies. But a glamour guy, too. Like, if he has a party at Ku De Ta, he pays for the whole table . . . champagne, dinner. He spends a lot of money. He was addicted to gambling too.

– Rafael

Tota had dark curly hair hanging to his shoulders and tattoos covering his whole body, running up and around his neck, and was contemplating getting a Mike Tyson-style tattoo on his face, even sometimes getting henna swirls around his eyes and temples to test it out. Several times Rafael arrived at Tota's hotel, and found him with henna tattoos all over his face. Rafael would laugh when Tota insisted they were real, but a couple of days later they would be gone, until the next time.

Adding to his dark looks, Tota wore a thick beard and moustache shaved to a sharp point at the corner of his jawbone. And his signature outfit, sacrilege to Armani and Gucci-obsessed Rafael, was a mesh singlet, jeans and bulky sneakers, for his absurdly tiny feet. He accessorised with chunky gold rings and a heavy gold chain that hung to his navel, dangling a gaudy circle pendant with a large number 13 in the centre.

He looks evil, he's the guy you don't want to meet in the night.

– Rafael

The master of spectacle loved turning heads and being in the spotlight. He'd enter a super-chic bar with the two babes, barely clothed, draped on either side of him, turning to passionately kiss one and then the other. People always stopped to look, curious about who this huge, muscular, tattooed guy with small sneakered feet – and two gorgeous goddesses all over him – could be.

Seminyak's coolest beachfront bar, Ku De Ta, was his favourite place to create a scene among the voguish set.

Any nightclub he comes to with these two girls, it's big trouble for girls with boyfriends because the boys get crazy looking at the girls, crazy, because they are a dream for any man. The kind of body, the sex appeal, the way they dance, the way they talk, like professional porno movie stars. Beautiful. Beautiful, young and very well dressed.

Tota was very generous . . . gives nice jewellery, diamonds, he likes to pay everything. They have a kind of deal: you come to Bali with me, I'm gonna give you $10,000, but you have to stay in the hotel with me and you have to fuck with who I point to.

High-class prostitutes?

Exactly. They speak good English. And they get attention wherever they go. His English was very broken but he can communicate, his extravagance makes people want to meet him.

He plays like he has two wives, when people introduce him. ‘Hi, my name is Tota. This is my wife number one, this my wife number two, we live together.' And people, ‘What?' And sometimes he put them out to dance. ‘Go there and make a dance, just to show my friends how hot you are.' And they give a performance.

– Rafael

Years earlier, as a teenager in Brazil, Rafael had seen Tota several times rock up at Rio clubs on his Harley-Davidson with a big group of Hells Angels bikers, so meeting him in Bali was like meeting a legend. But with Tota's sense of humour, and naughty nature, the two quickly bonded. Tota was so impressed with Rafael's tattoos that he went to get more ink at the same Bali tattooist. ‘We became very close friends.'

Tota knew Rafael was also a conduit to the biggest drug bosses on the island, and the pair struck a deal for Rafael to organise tens of thousands of ecstasy pills from Chino for Tota to sell in Brazil. And, he'd sell Tota's cocaine in Bali for a 20 per cent cut. It should have been simple, but the game was dicey and their first deal was a disaster.

Tota soon had a horse running with 3 kilos of cocaine. Rafael told Chino to prepare the cash. The island was dry and prices were hiked up to $50,000 a kilo. When the stuff arrived, Rafael went to the Brazilian girls' room, where it was kept, to test it. It was bad coke, yellowy brown, with a strong kerosene smell and when Rafael used some, his nose bled. He guessed it was mixed with glass shavings to give it a bit of a pearly sheen and fool rookies into thinking it was pure. He scooped a bit onto a spoon, and heated it up, to do a proper quality test by weighing the rock left after burning. The original gram crystallised to only 0.7 gram, proving it was only 70 per cent pure, not 100 per cent, which Chino demanded.

Tota went ballistic, screaming obscenities and threats to kill the guy who'd sent it. Against his instincts, Rafael offered to show it to Chino anyway. Chino was incredulous. ‘What! Come on, man, what's wrong with you? Why do you even bring this shit here? . . . Take it away,' he snapped, with a dismissive wave.

Tota planned to throw the lot in the ocean and organise a revenge hit on the guy in Rio. Rafael suggested that instead they should just cut the price and hunt for a new buyer. Out of the blue, Fabio turned up a mysterious buyer from Jakarta, who'd apparently agreed to pay $45,000 a kilo. He wanted 1 kilo the following day, and two more in a week. Tota asked Rafael to do the exchange for a $10,000 fee, unwilling to risk it himself.

Tota was a big guy, big biceps, fit, goes to the gym, but was just showing off because he was really a chicken. This guy was not afraid to die, he don't give a shit, but sometimes so fucking pussy to do anything.

– Rafael

Rafael would have liked a fast $10,000, but he didn't have time. He was going overnight to Singapore with his family to do a shopping and visa run, something expats did to continue living in Bali by renewing their visas out of the country. So he passed the job to Jando.

And it quickly went to hell.

Rafael sensed something was wrong as soon as he flew back to Bali and spoke to Tota. His words said everything was okay, but his tone didn't. He asked Rafael to come to his hotel. One of Tota's hookers answered the door, stark naked, saying ‘Hi', strutting back and draping herself on an armchair. Tota was sprawled on the couch with his knees spread wide, wearing only a sarong around his waist, covering little, exposing a lot.

Rafael hesitated awkwardly at the door, a little stunned to see this kind of X-rated scene sober, despite having seen a hell of a lot more in this room during Tota's cocaine-fuelled orgies. ‘Come in, Rafael, come in,' Tota sang out. Noticing his discomfort, the lewd biker started toying with him. ‘Come on, Rafael, come in, take your clothes off too, you can fuck her if you want. No problem if you don't want, but please come in.'

Inside, things didn't get any less out of kilter. Scattered across the coffee table were hundreds of $100 notes, some still in bunches bound by rubber bands. Tota stretched over, took a note and rolled it into a tube. Rafael stood watching, slightly bemused; the naked girl was totally uninterested. Tota used a lighter and lit the end of the rolled-up $100 note, then used the flame to light a Marlboro Red. As a finale to this weird little act, he flourished the flaming note in the air and stubbed it out in the ashtray before it burnt his fingers.

Rafael thought the guy had lost his mind.

‘What the fuck are you doing burning money? Now I know you're crazy, man. If you don't want it, you can give it to me.'

Tota sat back smoking his Marlboro. ‘You can take all this shit. Have a look at it.'

Rafael picked up a bunch to flick through and find out the problem. But he didn't have to. It was obvious at first glance. Benjamin Franklin's face looked as if it had melted.

‘Fuck, this is fake, man. Why did you take this shit?' Rafael asked, aghast.

Now, it was clear that Tota was seething. His odd mood had been masking his fury. ‘Ask your friend Jando,' he said darkly. Immediately, Rafael knew that tonight there was going to be big strife. Undoubtedly, somebody was going to pay for this before sunup. It was the second insult to Tota's ego in two days.

Rafael phoned Jando, telling him to come to Tota's hotel room pronto. Tota suspected Jando of deceit. Rafael didn't. They sat and waited; the girl still draped on the chair stark naked. When Jando arrived, they showed him the money. Jando was shocked, but accepted no blame. He explained that the buyer, who'd dressed like an executive, had called the shots; insisting Jando pick him up at Denpasar Airport, drive to Uluwatu and pull over in some dark spot. Then, in the dimly lit privacy of the rental car, they exchanged cash and coke. Jando had flicked through the cash, checking for blanks, while the buyer sniffed a bit of the coke. Then, deal done, Jando took him back to the airport. Job done, Tota was a happy man. Jando left, unaware of the Benjamin's facial problems until Rafael called.

The next person on Tota's blame list was his close friend Fabio. All was fair in love and war, and this was war. He grabbed a vicious-looking scuba diving knife out of a drawer, telling Rafael, ‘This is for Fabio. I'm gonna kill this motherfucker tonight.' Tota was suddenly now sure Fabio was involved.

Again, Rafael didn't think so, but this night wouldn't end until Tota exacted revenge on someone. ‘He fucked me with this shit, let's go there now, come on, Rafael. I want to fix this, do you know where his villa is?' Rafael insisted he didn't, anxious that Tota's years of Rio shootouts and knife fights would make it easy for him to slaughter their friend Fabio.

I say noooo, I don't go anywhere. I have to go home. I don't know where he lives.

– Rafael

Then Tota remembered that his horse had delivered the coke to Fabio's new Canggu villa. Rafael left, desperately trying to call Fabio. But his phone was off.

Tota and the horse soon found Fabio's villa. Tota tried the front door, but got no answer. He decided to jump over the wall, parking close enough to it to use the car as a leg-up. Inside, the lights were on and music was playing, but there was no sign of movement. Tota walked towards the glass doors of the master bedroom. He spotted Fabio asleep on the bed alongside one of his hookers. That didn't worry Tota. He loved to share the girls, but his friend was about to get a trip to hell.

Awake and shocked, Fabio was being dragged out of his bedroom, feet first, then thumping down the marble steps to his swimming pool. Tota hurled him into the water and stood yelling obscenities and flinging fistfuls of the fake $100 notes at him. Then he jumped in, putting Fabio in a headlock and pushing him under. ‘Why did you rip me off, motherfucker?' he yelled. Every so often he let Fabio up, gasping for air and spluttering, then dunked him again, holding him down longer and longer each time.

The horse, also a Hells Angel, was standing on the car peering over the wall. He'd done a lot of bad stuff in Brazil too, many rumoured brutal murders, and he could see that Tota was close to drowning Fabio. He yelled out, ‘Tota, no, don't kill him, that's enough.' But Tota was now so crazed the horse had to jump over the wall and into the pool to drag Tota off.

Fabio was almost unconscious. They left him on the edge of the pool, giving him an ultimatum: ‘You have two days to give me back my stuff or the money, otherwise you're dead.' Tota didn't know if Fabio was in on the scam or not. He wasn't, but Fabio knew it was live or die, depending on whether he got the money or not. He was scared, desperately asking his friends, other drug dealers, for help, pleading, ‘He's gonna kill me, man. Help me please, man.' He thought about selling his villa, but he only had 48 hours. In the nick of time, he borrowed the $45,000 from the rich Indonesian who owned the bar Fabio ran, as well as being a buyer in the game. Fabio promised to pay it back with interest.

Fabio called me and says, ‘Oh fuck, very good, I get the money.'

– Rafael

Before long, Tota and Fabio were friends again, with the gangster throwing an orgy to wipe out any traces of bad blood between them. Ultimately, he believed Fabio had nothing to do with the scam, but had simply been so desperate to get his hands on some coke to snort that he'd been careless and hadn't sussed out the new buyer – who they never saw again.

The day Fabio handed Tota the cash, they shook hands and went out for dinner, with his two babes and a new addition to the clique – a stunning blonde Swede who was keenly participating in Tota's orgies, and also relished helping them hunt the night for more girls. Tota loved using his hot babes to lure more hot babes, and with his penchant for paying the bills, and providing free coke, he and his crew usually snared the sexiest girls holidaying in Bali.

They get so many girls, beautiful girls, because they were all so beautiful, and Tota was kind of exotic-looking. The western girls like, you know, a strong, macho Latin man. He had a good bite with the girls. The Swedish girl talks bullshit too, because they hunt together; because the girls attract the other girls. The prostitutes, the Swedish girl . . . he has a crew to catch the girls and the coke helps.