Does the courier wash it before giving it to you?
Yeah! Expensive shit!
– Thomas
To safely move his drugs from Bangkok to Indonesia, Thomas used professionals, preferring to use Balinese, African and Nepalese people, who he found could usually swallow large amounts. Thomas built up his drug cartel over five years after his first stint in Hotel K, and climbed to the top of the lucrative drug business in Jakarta, doing incredibly well financially.
Maybe every month I sold five or six kilograms of heroin. I made $90,000, $100,000 a month, so I live well. I had good life. I couldn’t use all the money. I could do whatever I wanted to do and the money still wasn’t finished. You can eat what you want, you can buy what you want but still you have money left for savings.
– Thomas
Thomas decided to plan for his future and invested his vast amounts of cash. He flew to Singapore with $100,000 in his money belt, mostly in Singapore’s top $10,000 notes to avoid a bulky stash. The first bank, wary of laundering dirty cash, knocked him back, but he easily opened an account in a Chinese bank, using his false passport. Then every few months his girlfriend would fly to Singapore to top up their savings and enjoy a bit of luxuryshopping. By the time Thomas was arrested next, he had saved nearly half a million dollars and was well on his way to securing his financial future.
I was thinking, okay, I want to put one million dollars in overseas saving account in pound sterling – this time was about four per cent interest, $2300 interesta month for my security. I never wanted to buy car and house. To stay in one place, for me wasn’t good. Two or three months, I change. So I was thinking it’s better to put money in the bank – one million. This is my security. I thought, maybe if they don’t catch me I work only five, six months more. And after that I thought, maybe I start to make anotherbusiness – maybe driving a taxi.
– Thomas
Thomas was always careful not to be too flashy, but had bought himself a gold Cartier watch worth $30,000. When this watch was stolen, it could well have been an omen that the good life was about to come to an end for him.
My $30,000 Cartier watch was stolen in Bangkok by a Pakistani friend who I’d known for seven or eight years, who came to my home nearly every day. I take a shower in the hotel, I put the watch on the bed, one gold ring on the bed, and when I come out he was gone.
– Thomas
Thomas was wealthy, but he was living off his wits. The dice were always rolling. He had become accustomed to living on the run, always looking over his shoulder, using his instincts to evade police and moving fast when he felt the need. When his cartel was at itspeak, he sensed it was necessary to get out of Indonesia and lie low in Bangkok for a bit. It was nothing specific, just a sense that things were a bit hot. But he didn’t act on it. Hehesitated. He was waiting on a delivery from his Nepalese courier, Buddhi, who had just flown in from Bangkok to Jakarta with a kilogram of heroin inside him.
It was a routine delivery. Buddhi breezed through customs, checked into a random cheap hotel and phoned its name through to Bangkok, doing everything by the book for his usual $500 fee. Thomas called Bangkok for the hotel name and then phoned Buddhi. He still hadn’t expelled all the capsules, so Thomas arranged to pick them up around midday the next day, to give him time to pass the capsules of heroin and wash off the shit.
Pretty disgusting job, isn’t it? Yeah, but money doesn’t smell.
– Thomas
Meanwhile, a Chinese drug customer, David, was impatiently waiting for his smack order. Thomas broke a cardinal rule. He told him that at that moment his boy was in the hotel waiting to excrete the heroin and, in a costly slip of the tongue, named the hotel. His timing couldn’t have been worse. Later that night, David was arrested with fifty grams of heroin. In trying to save himself, he gave up Thomas, supplying his home address and, most crucially, the sitting duck – the Nepalese boy waiting in the hotel. Police raided the hotel and arrested Buddhi, who instantly admitted that the heroin was for his boss, Thomas, not for himself.
At 6 am the next day, several Jakarta drug police went to Thomas’s house, and set up a sting to get inside. Another one of his customers had been caught with a small amount of heroin and she had also told police that Thomas was her dealer. Police used her to knock on his door to lure him out. The moment he opened the door, police pounced. They charged in and tore his house apart. But, as usual, Thomas kept very little stuff near him. Police uncovered only twelve grams of heroin, but also seized an incriminating $80,000 in cash. Thomas tried to negotiate. ‘How about we split the cash? And don’t write any investigation.’ They cops weren’t interested. ‘Okay, you take it all, take the 130 million but don’t write it,’ he urged. ‘No, not possible,’ they said. Thomas knew he needed to cut a deal fast or he’d have big problems. ‘Okay, I give you 200 million.’ ‘No, not possible.’ ‘Okay, how much you need?’ ‘Not possible.’
Thomas was unaware that Buddhi was in custody and had pointed the finger at him. The Jakarta police boss had ordered his arrest. The case was already too big for these low-ranking officers to take his money, no matter how much they wanted to. But a knock-back in the first instance didn’t necessarily end negotiations. In fact, it was just the start. It simply meant that Thomas would need to deal with the police superiors – and splash a lot more cash.
He hired the most expensive and the best lawyer around, whose non-negotiable start-up fee was $60,000. He was former president Suharto’s family lawyer, and was used by Bali’s former governor ‘Mr OK’ to exonerate him of corruption charges. This lawyer was known as a magician who could create life-saving magic, coming up with masterful ways to get his clients off the hook. He would always find some slippery little loophole for them to slide through. He found one for Thomas.
The Nepalese boy, the Chinese man and the lady all knew him as ‘Thomas’. But he was not ‘Thomas’. By this time he had switched from using his German passport to using a false English passport and having a new stolen identity. He was now Richard Edward Crawley. In one masterstroke, the lawyer had come up with the perfect way for the judge to drop the charges against Thomas for Buddhi’s one kilogram of heroin, and the other two customers’ grams, without red-flagging a bribe. The judge convicted and sentenced Thomas, or Richard Edward Crawley, to only eight months for the twelve grams they found at his home. Cash had saved Thomas from a life sentence, or even the death penalty. But the lawyer’s fees and bribe money blew out his million-dollar dream.
If you have big problem, you need big money. I had to pay about $240,000 but I got only eight months for over a kilogram of heroin. I paid it to [my lawyer] and he paid it to the judge, the prosecutors and the police. He was a middleman. But by myself I can’t contact the same way a good lawyer can do it. I never could have done it by myself, even with money. I couldn’t have done it.
If it’s too exposed, the judges and prosecutors are afraid. You can’t talk too much. Newspaper and TV people came, but I sat in court hunched over with my head down. I didn’t want them to take photos of me; I didn’t want to talk to them, so the judge will not be afraid to deal. I knew if I had money I could pay, no problem, but only if you shut up, you’re quiet and in court you’re nice, polite to them. And hopefully they will receive your money, and they will help you, hopefully no problems. In the process, less you talk, less risk, more possibilities.
– Thomas
His Nepalese courier, Buddhi, wasn’t so fortunate. He was sentenced to thirteen years jail, but riskily appealed and got life. He started his sentence in the notorious Cipinang Jail, where Thomas was also incarcerated. But Buddhi was then moved to Nusakambangan Island, and shared his days with hundreds of international drug bosses and drug couriers, including one of the most notorious: a black African man nicknamed ‘Doctor’, who got caught at an airport carrying a dead baby stuffed with heroin.
The Cartier gold watch was long gone as Thomas sat crammed into one of Cipinang Jail’s isolation cells for the first three m
onths of his eight-month sentence. It was smaller in length than a bathtub and he couldn’t straighten his legs out properly. There were no breaks outside and no facilities to wash himself, only a guard occasionally spraying a hose through the door. After twelve weeks, he was moved out of isolation and into a small cell tightly packed with fourteen prisoners.
For the entire eight months, Thomas slept on concrete, which turned the skin on his hips and shoulders black. His body was also covered in weeping sores, a problem shared by all fourteen cellmates, and he scratched at a painfully itchy rash twenty-four hours a day. Several times the guards had viciously bashed him for as little as giving an insolent glance in their direction. With 3000 skinny and often heroin-addicted inmates loitering aimlessly around, the Cipinang yards resembled a concentration camp. Fortunately for him, Thomas was only doing eight months.
After his stint in Cipinang, Thomas was again expelled from Indonesia to Bangkok, where he spent a few months before returning to Jakarta on a new false passport. The heroin market was now dominated by a Nepalese friend of Thomas’s, Man Singh, who would later be shot dead and named by Jakarta police as the boss of the Bali Nine. Thomas and Man Singh were working together, splitting deliveries of heroin to sell to their customers. The underworld grapevine hummed with the news that Thomas was back and it didn’t take long for it to filter back to the police. Thomas was again spending his days looking over his shoulder, constantly moving around to stay under the police radar. Out of the blue one day, he received a telephone call from a drug squad police officer – one who had helped to put him away the last time. He was touting for business, offering immunity in exchange for cash.
He didn’t want to catch me this time, he wanted to get my money. But this only works for some time. If you are friends with a policeman, he can’t catch you directly. But other police will catch you. You pay and afterwards you still get caught. I didn’t want to meet him.
The first time he rang I didn’t know who it was, so I picked it up. ‘Oh, this motherfucker.’ Afterwards he called again, but I had his name in my telephone, so I gave the phone to my girlfriend. I tell her to say that I’ve gone back to my country. Then we moved quickly to Sukabungan, a village maybe three, four hours from Jakarta. So I stayed there, hiding. But it was very far away and also boring in this fucking village, so after, I changed to Bali again.
First I stayed in Seminyak. I feel no good, so I stay in Ubud. After I feel no good, I change far, far, far. Keep changing. Police were looking for me a long time, but always they see me and I get lost again. When police catch me, the police say, ‘I follow you, I lost you again, I saw you, I lost you again’. I was a headache for them. I kept changing the place I lived. Also, when I go out on my motorbike I always use full helmet. I don’t go to Kuta, Legian; I never go to busy places like that. Also, I go on the small streets. I knew police were looking for me.
– Thomas
It was yet another dealer’s betrayal that eventually led police to his door again and to his second stint in Hotel K. One of Thomas’s former Nepalese couriers, Kiran – brother of Bali Nine boss, Man Singh – exposed his location. The catalyst was an emergency phone call to Kiran from his wife, telling him that police were raiding their Jakarta house and warning him not to come home. So, Kiran flew from Jakarta to Bali and dropped in on his old boss, Thomas, who was instantly a little nervous.
I said to him, ‘It’s better if you don’t stay in Bali, you bring problem. If you want, I have a friend in immigration who can check if you’re in the computer yet, if not, you better leave now.’ But he didn’t want to listen. He came to my house, using my swimming pool.
– Thomas
Just as Thomas feared, Kiran brought the Jakarta Police to Bali – they tracked Kiran by tapping his phone and arrested him when he went to pick up three hundred grams of heroin from a hotel room. Typically, he spilled information in a desperate attempt to save himself, giving up Thomas’s home address. But Kiran’s betrayal didn’t save him. He got twenty years and took his friend Thomas down too.
I was stupid, actually. For ten days I didn’t know they’d caught him, and then my friend in Bangkok called me and say, ‘Does Kiran know where you stay?’. ‘Yeah, he came to my house.’ ‘He is no good, you better move,’ he told me. I asked, ‘How long have they held him already?’. ‘Ten days.’ I thought they must have finished the investigation and he didn’t talk about me. If it was two or three days, okay. But ten days? I thought, no problem. So I didn’t leave. On the eleventh day, they caught me – because he did talk.
– Thomas
It was dusk as Thomas turned his motorbike into his driveway on his way back from grocery shopping at Hero Supermarket in Denpasar. He switched off the bike, pulled off his helmet and in the next second, he was gone. Two officers sprang from the shadows and handcuffed him. More police quickly converged from every direction. They’d all been sitting in cars and nearby cafés, waiting for the notoriously slippery drug boss to show up. Inside Thomas’s bungalow, police uncovered thirteen grams of pure heroin in a black-striped brown bag. One of the officers smugly asked Thomas if he recognised him.
He was the same fucking policeman who catch me in ’92. It was the same fucking guy. I didn’t realise until he says, ‘You still remember me, Thomas?’ … Fuck.
I only got caught with a small amount, but they say I’m part of an international syndicate, I’m the second in charge in Asia, and number one boss in Indonesia. But we are not mafia, we are not criminals, we are not anything, we are only friends. Okay, maybe we work together. We do business. He send, I sell. He make money, I make money. But no organisation or anything.
At this time I still had money, not too much anymore, but some. But the problem was, a woman who I was [with] for three years ran away as soon as I got arrested and took everything; she took the money, she took all my clothes. Everything. My prosecutor was Urip Tri Gunawan,* he said he’s a Christian so he won’t make it too difficult. ‘You pay eighty million rupiah and you get less than one year.’ But the court gives me three years because I didn’t have any more money.
What was it like going back to Kerobokan again?
For me, easy to go inside, because I already know the guards. And I already know that after a little bit of time you can sell, you can have a lady. I knew a little bit already. When you first come, you don’t know anything. The second time it’s easier.
– Thomas
* Thomas’s prosecutor in the Bali courtroom, Urip Tri Gunawan, was later sentenced to twenty years jail for taking a US$660,000 bribe. He was also the prosecutor in the drug cases of Mexicans Vincente and Clara and former Bali governor ‘Mr OK’. The prosecutor’s new nickname was ‘The six billion rupiah man’.
The Corruption Court sentenced disgraced prosecutor Urip Tri Gunawan to 20 years in jail Thursday for taking a US$660,000 bribe to drop a major embezzlement case against fugitive tycoon Sjamsul Nursalim.
– Jakarta Post, 5 September 2008
CHAPTER 14
ANIMAL FARM
Jail is a place that drives you nuts. You go crazy. Can you imagine being locked in a room every day at 5 pm, when people are watching the sunset, locked in a fucking shit cell. You have to be locked up for thirteen hours day after day. It’s not easy … it’s very easy for sane people to lose their minds. Some people kill themselves, some people who don’t use drugs, start using drugs in jail, many people. Many people get fucked up in jail.
– Ruggiero
You can’t think too much or you go insane. If I think too much, I’m not happy.
– Thomas
Surviving Hotel K was not just about surviving the violence, the drugs, or the guards and inmates – it was also about trying to create a life in a small world that was constantly on edge. Every day, inmates were surrounded by some of Indonesia’s worst psychopaths, who roamed the grounds of the jail looking for any opportunity to stave off the madness and boredom that life in Hotel K brought on them. Westerners were not only thrown into a
violent environment, but into a culture that they often didn’t understand. But they had to adjust – and many did this by trying to make their world a little more civilised, more comfortable and more like home. Bali Nine member Scott’s parents gave him a vacuum cleaner. Schapelle’s sister Mercedes brought her a small, fluffy dog named Stanley that she dressed in pink ribbons and walked around the jail. Argentinean Frederico installed a jacuzzi out the back of his cell. Brazilian Ruggiero built a pond with a Buddha statue sitting at its edge to meditate beside. Italian Juri had a wedding.
I rot my brain with computer games and TV and play tennis. I just feel stupid with what I’m doing. It’s no way to live a life, really, but it’s what I have to do. Same as any 10-year-old kid … eat, sleep, play sport and play games; that’s all I do – it’s ridiculous.
– Scott, Australian inmate
Many prisoners didn’t judge others by their crimes. They were all in the same place and had to live together. A daily routine could include dashing from one cell to another for a smoke of shabu or a card game, organising drug deals or plotting to sabotage someone else’s. Other ways to pass the time were blue room visits, sex, reading, a weekly yoga class, or, exclusively for the men, playing tennis, cricket or volleyball. Despite these activities life was a constant grind, but Hotel K – like any other pocket of society – had its characters with strange habits and hobbies that could make life more dangerous but also more tolerable and interesting, for themselves and other inmates.
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