by John Greet
I had to steady my breath to control my anger. What Satchimoto was revealing to me was a detailed and clever drug-smuggling operation, but it seemed to mean nothing more to him than another business deal. He showed no remorse at all about using the Sandika as his base or about using our innocent clients as drug couriers, nor concern about the innocent Anak being locked up in prison.
‘So, the men who travelled with the whisky bottles, didn’t they know that they were full of cocaine?’ I asked, keeping my voice even.
He paused and touched his swollen lip before he spoke. ‘At first, yes, and we paid them in product. But as time went on, we couldn’t tell them, or too many people would have known. You know, two bottles for the price of one kept them happy.’
Satchimoto’s lip had stopped bleeding but had turned blue. He kept dabbing at it with a tissue. I felt revolted, betrayed by this man. He had made the Bali Blue Tours a front for a large-scale cocaine smuggling operation and kept it running right under our noses for such a long time. I wanted to drag him back into the sea and drown him this time.
A local beach-seller, mistaking us for tourists, approached us with a basket of woodcarvings on his head. But when he saw our faces, he backed away. We walked back to the hotel slowly. My wrist had begun to ache. I caught Satchimoto glancing at me. I noted his calculating look. I realised that I didn’t know this man, but I did know that his main concern right now was how he was going to get out of this mess.
‘We have to get Anak free, and you have to help. You owe us that much.’
‘Of course, I will do everything I can,’ he said, as we parted ways on the pathway leading to his room.
* * *
At Anak’s compound, I told Dewi about all that had happened. The news had reached her already, but she didn’t know the full story.
‘I’m sorry to hear of your troubles, Adam,’ Janna said as she opened her door.
‘How are you feeling?’ I hadn’t seen her for a while.
‘I am going to stay with Dewi because I feel it’s too early to go home. I miss my boys but I know you’re looking after them.’
‘Your boys are good. Don’t worry about them.’
‘Adam, can I ask you a question?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Why? Why did you do this? Why did you bring me here? Why do you care what happens to me?’
‘I wanted to help,’ I fumbled.
‘That is not what I’m asking.’ Her eyes were moist.
She laid her head against my chest, and I held her close in a silent embrace. Then she gazed into my eyes, searching for her answer. Her skin glowed, and her eyes were as blue as the sea. I wanted to kiss her but held back. Dewi was at the doorway with a parcel of food.
‘Take these to Anak,’ she said as she put a hand on Janna’s shoulder, ‘And she needs to stay here, so don’t get any ideas about taking her away yet.’ Janna’s laugh was like the ringing of a temple bell. I left the compound feeling light and breathless.
21
‘Satchimoto has left,’ said Wayan as I pulled up at the coffee shop. ‘He clean his room and go to airport. Don’t know where he go. Ketut is hurt his friend didn’t say goodbye.’
‘Tell Ketut that Satchimoto is not our friend.’
Wayan told me that I missed two calls from my daughter. It bothered me that I hadn’t spoken to her for some time. I didn’t want to call her at Elisabeth’s house. I didn’t want to lay my troubles on Grace.
Ketut returned from the airport the next morning with an empty minivan. There were eight Japanese divers due to arrive, and he’d found no sign of them. ‘There won’t be any more diving business. That’s over,’ I said as he slumped into a coffee-shop chair beside me.
‘And Satchimoto?’
‘He’s gone, Ketut. He won’t be coming back.’
I wanted to tell him the whole story but decided against it. I assured Ketut and Wayan that we’d be okay; we still had some walk-in guests, enough to keep us going until I could figure out what to do.
Then I drove to the police barracks. The gate guard was happy to see me and quickly palmed the fifty dollars I gave him. I followed the rattle of his keys down a dark corridor to the cells. Anak sat in meditation, his face serene. I waited. After a long moment, he became aware of my presence. I told him everything I’d learned from Satchimoto.
‘Pity you let him go. We could have used his money to buy my way out of here,’ he said. Anak was finally showing an interest in getting out of his predicament.
‘But Geno will confess to the cocaine being his …’
‘That has nothing to do with it. That means nothing in Indonesia, as you should know by now. The only way out of here is by paying the prosecutor. And he’ll want big money.’
‘How much do you think?’
‘We’d need about three hundred thousand dollars in cash.’
‘That is huge. We’ll have to mortgage the hotel.’
‘I’m afraid the Sandika is mortgaged to the maximum the banks will allow. You see, I had a very bad run at the cockfights lately,’ he said, holding my gaze.
‘So that is why you wagered the hotel.’
‘Of course, now you understand. I couldn’t lose. The banks were going to take the hotel off me anyway. If Bas had won, he would have had to assume that debt, and if I’d won, well, who knows?’
‘I thought the cockfight was a matter of honour, not a gamble to get out of debt!’
‘It was both of those things,’ he said, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
* * *
Geno was in a shocking state. His face was a bloody mess of cuts and bruises. The wounds from his beatings made it almost impossible for him to speak. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, tell him what I thought about his cocaine smuggling with Satchimoto, but his terrible condition made me hesitant. Besides Geno knew about my false identity and more. Now wasn’t the time to risk antagonising him, so I merely reported what I knew.
‘No problem,’ said Geno, his speech slurred by his fat lips and broken teeth. ‘You call Paolo. I give you the number. He gonna send money, and we get Anak free, and then we do my case. Anak’s case is easy, man, easy, if we pay the money.’
He pulled me close and had me memorise a Tokyo phone number. After several tries, I broke it into small groups of digits and had it in my head.
‘Go, call now,’ said Geno. Further conversation became painful for him. He was struggling to eat the soft flesh of a banana. I left the cells, repeating the number in my mind.
I dialled the number all day to no reply. I returned to Geno. All he could say was, ‘Keep trying, man. It’s all we got.’ I dialled many times, day and night, but still no answer.
I visited the police cells daily. Anak seemed unfazed by his imprisonment. He said he appreciated all the time he was getting to meditate. Geno’s state was worsening. Every time I saw him, they’d beaten him more. ‘Fuck them, man!’ he hissed through broken teeth, ‘Those pussies can’t hurt me.’
* * *
Before my daily visit to the police barracks, I drove to Janna’s compound and fed the orangutans. I had them down to ten milligrams of Valium mixed with half a bottle of arrack. I was astounded at the amount of fruit they now ate. They were lively and animated as I pushed the food in through the bars. I’d decided that on the next feed, I would further reduce their dose of arrack and Valium. I wanted the animals fully detoxed before Janna returned home.
I drove to Anak’s place after to see Janna and pick up Anak’s food parcel. Dewi was out. She had placed the food parcel on the bench before she had left. I tapped lightly on the door to Janna’s room. Excited and agitated, Janna pulled me inside.
‘Adam, thank god you’re here. I nearly … I nearly lost it.’ She pointed to a full bottle of arrack on the dresser.
‘How did that get here?’
‘I feel so foolish. Dewi went out this morning, so I walked to the kiosk outside the compound. It was like I couldn’t stop myself. I had no control over what I was doi
ng. I had no money so I gave the vendor my gold ring. I walked back here and was going to drink it, but then I stopped myself. I realised what I was doing and how stupid I was acting. Oh my god, I’ve been sitting here and staring at this full bottle and feeling very silly.’
I didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t drunk the arrack and that was good.
‘Let’s go out,’ I suggested. ‘Would you come with me? I want to show you where I work.’
At the warung I gave the man his bottle and asked for her ring back. He handed it over without a fuss.
Back at the Sandika, we sat at a sea-wall table. Janna was still very fragile, and she held her iced tea in both hands to stop them from trembling. Wayan watched us closely, her face questioning. There were no customers in the coffee shop nor guests in the hotel. The lady-grass roof had darkened as the new grass had aged, but it still looked magnificent. A tangle of colour lined the sandy pathway: the soft pastel of bougainvillea blossoms, the vibrant red of hibiscus and the delicate yellow of frangipani. The tide was in, and waves peeled over the reef with a distant hiss and roar.
‘It is so beautiful, Adam. I love the roof. It looks like something from a Grimm’s fairy tale.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Confused, excited, worried, angry, happy, all of those.’ She caught sight of a surfer barrelling down the face of a wave, ‘Look! Look at him!’ The surfer disappeared into the pipeline then he reappeared, weaving and diving until the wave died. We watched him retrieve his board and paddle back out.
‘You didn’t answer my question last night,’ she whispered.
‘I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say,’ I said. Then I saw a cloud of confusion on her face. I had to say more. Tell her the truth, that’s enough, came a small voice in the back of my mind. I took a deep breath.
‘I’ve never felt so strongly about someone, and it’s scaring the hell out of me.’ I kept my eyes on her. She reached across the table and took my hand.
‘I’m scared too. Terrified, actually,’ she said softly.
* * *
A couple of days later, the Sandika had a visit. It was a representative from the bank where Anak had taken the mortgage. He made it clear that unless payments were made, he would have no option but to foreclose it. I talked it over with Wayan and Ketut. Using what little money I had, plus Ketut and Wayan’s savings, we managed to put down the first instalment of the mortgage payments. It bought us a small amount of time.
Eddi showed up. He wanted to know Paolo’s last name.
‘It’s Roberto,’ I said. ‘Paolo Roberto.’
‘He’s dead,’ said Eddi flatly. ‘Assassinated by Yakuza in Tokyo, a few days ago.’
My legs went weak, and I could feel the colour drain from my face.
‘If there is something you need to tell me, something you’re hiding from me, now is the time, Adam.’
‘Do you know for sure it’s Paolo?’
‘Yep, an old police colleague attached to the Aussie Embassy in Tokyo called me because Paolo’s passport was full of Indonesian entry and exit stamps. He faxed me a copy of it too, thought I might know something. The case has all the hallmarks of a contract hit, according to him. Someone had paid a Yakuza hitman to have Paolo killed. They cut his throat with a carpet knife – standard stuff in the Tokyo underworld, I’m told.’
I was feeling unsteady on my feet.
‘The air’s getting a little thick around here. You need to tell me what the fuck’s going on.’
‘I can’t.’
Eddi threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Okay, but remember that I’m on your side, mate.’
* * *
Tired and weak, I walked out onto the sand. I stopped at the water’s edge. I knew in my heart who had Paolo murdered. It was Satchimoto. He had killed Paolo, a gentle and decent scoundrel, a soft-hearted surfer, who would’ve followed his brother over the coal fires of Jimbaran if he had asked him.
Wayan and Ketut were inconsolable over Paolo’s death. My most pressing concern was about telling Geno. I decided not to hesitate. I would go immediately to the police barracks and get it done. On my way there, I stopped at Eddi’s office. I looked at the fax photo; as I held the black-and-white image, I had to force my hand to stop trembling. It was definitely Paolo. His eyes were peeled back, his lips stretched taut, and there was a gaping black gash where his throat had been cut.
In meditation, Anak didn’t notice me pass. I reached Geno’s cell and stood in front of him for a moment, unable to speak. He lay slumped against his cell wall. He’d been beaten again, and this time they’d broken his nose and for some unknown reason had shaved his head. He had bleeding razor cuts all over his scalp. I hesitated to show Geno the image of his dead brother, but felt that without the photographic evidence he’d never believe Paolo was really dead. No words passed between us as his hand reached out and took the rolled up paper from me. He looked at it, then at me. His face drained white. His palms turned out limply, and the image fell, landing face up on the floor between us. Paolo’s face stared up at me like a ghost.
‘Is this true?’ I couldn’t speak. ‘Tell me, motherfucker!’
‘Yes, Paolo has been killed.’
Geno held onto the bars of his cell and howled. The demented bellow from him brought the guards running, but they simply stood around laughing for a minute then left. I watched as Geno heaved with sobs, banging his head against the cell wall. Blood oozed from the cracked skin on his forehead, mixing with the tears and snot that streamed down his face. He smacked his head against the cell wall harder and harder until he collapsed onto the floor, where he lay curled up, moaning. Paolo’s picture was balled tight in his fist.
‘What the fuck have I done, what the fuck have I done …’ he groaned.
I stayed until the guards led me away.
* * *
I spent a lot of time at the sea wall, looking out at the reef. I felt helpless. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I visited the prison daily. I took food to Anak and Geno. Anak ate and meditated. He had little to say. Geno had become a changed man. The guards had come to realise they would get no information from him and had given up on the beatings. He didn’t talk and rarely ate. I would find the food I’d left for him the day before still sitting in its bowl, covered in fruit flies. He spent most of the day slumped against his cell wall, head hanging low. A couple of times he made eye contact. The depth of his pain and grief made me shudder. Anak informed me that the police prosecutor had set the date for their first hearing. They would be formally charged with drug trafficking. The charge carried the death penalty.
Eddi came to see me. ‘You’ve got to do something, Adam, and you have to move quickly. We’re running out of time here.’
‘I know. I think about it day and night. I hardly sleep. What can I do?’
‘Find cash, and a lot of it. It’s his only way out.’
I told Eddi that Anak already had the hotel mortgaged to the hilt, and we were only just keeping up with the mortgage payments.
‘I went to the Polda yesterday,’ said Eddi. ‘An unrelated matter, and I asked a contact if I could view Geno’s passport. I looked at his date of birth, and then at the faxed copy of Paolo’s, and it hit me. The two brothers were born on the same day. They were twins.’ Eddi’s information spoke volumes.
‘What do you think will happen to Geno?’
‘Well, he’s going to do a lot of time. But that’s not really the question. It’s going to be the luck of the draw. If he gets a hard-nosed right-wing prosecutor, he’s fucked. It’ll be the firing squad. But if gets someone a little more lenient, he’s got a chance of life imprisonment, and in Indonesia life really means life. He’d be a very old man by the time he gets out.’ Eddi looked out at the reef as he spoke. Keening sea birds flocked around an incoming fishing boat, diving for scraps. The smell of freshly caught tuna hovered in the air. Wayan brought a couple of cold beers to our table. Eddi skulled his and left.
I walked down the pathway to
wards the Bali Haj Hotel. Hadn’t Bas asked me to keep him informed? I would do that and more.
‘I need three hundred thousand dollars, possibly four,’ I said as we got seated in his office.
Mahmood didn’t flinch, just tilted his head sideways a little. ‘I think I can guess why,’ he replied, and I told him everything that had happened until now, including the impending arraignment. I told him that the prosecutor would need to be paid in the very near future. I omitted telling him about the heavy mortgage taken on Sandika Hotel.
Mahmood paced as he thought. ‘You will need to pay more than the prosecutor,’ he said. ‘We’re probably looking at paying the police, from the arresting officer down. The judges will want money as well. I’d guess we’d have to pay the Governor of Bali something as well, and believe me, he won’t be cheap,’ he paused. ‘What’s in it for me, should I decide to find this amount?’
‘Redemption.’ The word was out of my mouth before I’d realised I said it.
‘Come again?’
‘Save Anak, and you save yourself as well.’
‘Redemption is a big word, Adam.’ Mahmood continued pacing. He ran his hand along the edge of the glass table. ‘The moment for redemption passed a long time ago,’ he said in a vague voice. ‘I think the word you’re looking for might be atonement. But you’re clutching at straws here. When I ask you what’s in it for me, I think you should speak the truth. “Nothing” is the correct answer.’ Mahmood had seen through my desperate words. He was right. There would be nothing in it for him.
‘But I’m still going to do it, on one condition,’ he said.
I held my breath. I expected the condition would be a financial lean on the Sandika Hotel, so when he spelled it out, I felt the poignancy of his words.
‘Anak must never know where the money came from. That is my condition …’ He raised a finger. ‘Because if he knew I was putting up the money to buy his freedom, he would rather face the firing squad.’
