Brett laughed, “I know it’s my table mate, and I will do whatever I want with it.” He carried his pool cue over to where I sat. He pulled out a chair, leant on the back-rest and looked down at me. “You’re afraid you can’t beat me.”
I took a good look at Brett. He was about my height and weight and of a similar age. “Look mate, I didn’t really come here to play pool, I’m happy just to sit here and have a beer.” I turned away hoping that that would be the end of the conversation.
Brett swung the cue over and tapped the table leg to get my attention. When I turned to look at him, he said: “That’s just bullshit. You’re afraid, aren’t you?
I clenched my jaw and gritted my teeth. “Yeah, well, it is what it is,” I said, and turned away again.
Brett stopped tapping, got up from the chair and mocked me. “I’m just happy to have won a beer from you,” he said, and laughed. “Shit, don’t you even want to win your beer back?”
I rose to the jibe, I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t like it that Brett was mocking me. “OK, you want to play? Let’s play.” I growled. I stood up from the table and reached for the pool cue. “Let me guess, you want to play for a beer, right?”
Brett pulled the cue away. “That’s the first rule,” he said, “the second rule is the loser sets up the table.”
I snatched the cue out of Brett’s hand. “This is the last game,” I said. I walked to the table and started setting up for a game.
Brett joined me. He checked my set and moved the triangle a millimetre. “This will be the last game because you will lose,” he said. I pulled the triangle off the table, placed it on the overhead light, and went round to break the pack.
As I was about to shoot, Brett pulled the triangle off the light with his cue. “It doesn’t go there,” he spat, and gave a smug look. I ignored him, broke the pack and walked back to my table.
I did my best to beat him but I lost. Halfway through the game I sunk the white and the black at the same time.
I looked for Brett and saw that he was at the bar talking to a couple of Indonesians. “Hey, mate, you won,” I called over.
I pulled out my wallet and placed enough cash for a beer on the pool table. “Your money is here,” I said loud enough for him to hear, and went back to my seat.
Brett left the bar and stormed over to the pool table. “What the fuck is this?” he said, looking down at the notes.
I was just about to have a drink so I put my glass down and turned around. “There’s enough for a beer,” I said.
Brett picked the notes up and waved them at me. “You’re fucking joking, right?”
I wasn’t sure what Brett was getting at. “You won, and there is enough money there to buy a beer. What’s the problem?”
Brett laughed and threw the notes down on the pool table. “Get to the bar and buy me a beer,” he demanded.
Brett’s demand annoyed me. I took a deep breath and managed to remain calm. “The money is on the table, mate, take it and buy yourself a beer.”
Brett scooped up the money and shoved it in his pocket. “You’re a fucking sore loser mate,” he said.
I turned my back on him and raised my eyebrows at Dave. “This fucking guy,” I whispered.
Dave smiled. “Fuck him, he’s an idiot, just ignore him.” He tapped the base of my beer glass. “Drink up.”
I picked up the beer and took a mouthful, “Yeah, you’re right, he’s just another Bali idiot.”
“You want a game, there’s no competition here!” Brett called loudly to one of his Indonesian mates. I knew the comment was aimed at me but I ignored it and eventually heard the crack of pool balls and guessed a game had started.
Brett played a few games but every now and again he would call over to me with comments like “did you see that shot?” or “bet you couldn’t make a shot like that”.
I wasn’t watching and I had my back to Brett, but the remarks were started to wear thin. I didn’t understand why he would want to push me unless he wanted to fight.
I’m not the biggest guy but I do have a shaved head, a bad goatee and a number of tattoos. I wouldn’t flippantly pick a fight with a guy who looked like me unless I had something up my sleeve.
Brett was about my size but he seemed too confident. There was something about his attitude that didn’t add up and it made me wary. I was about to learn what that something was.
Brett finished a game with the Indonesian and began setting up the table. “You want a game, loser? Come on, I’ll go easy on you,” he called over.
It was enough to push me over the edge. I turned around to face Brett, “Hey, mate, I don’t want to play and if you don’t mind, I’m trying to have a conversation with my friend.”
Brett laughed. He leaned back on the pool table, mimicked what I had just said. “Oh, I’m having a conversation with my friend,” he made a limp-wristed action, “what are you, fucking gay?” He laughed and turned back to his set.
I was seething, I’d done my best to be polite and I had put up with Brett’s behaviour for a long time. I looked over at Dave, “This might kick off, watch my back.” I slid my chair back and stood up. “That’s fucking it,” I whispered.
I stormed towards the table. Brett had his back to me and didn’t realise I was coming. I noticed Brett’s pool queue was leaning close to where he was setting up so I made a beeline for the cue and wrenched it off the table. I didn’t intend to use it as a weapon, I just didn’t want Brett to go for it.
Brett turned to face me. He took a step back but smiled, he must have seen the anger on my face. “You going play me or hit me with that?” he sneered. I didn’t answer. I stood facing Brett with the pool cue in my hand. I wanted to size him up. I wanted to look into his eyes and gauge his strength.
Brett must have taken my silence for fear. He regained his confidence, smiled and swaggered towards me. He stopped when we stood face to face. “Yeah, because you can’t play. You’re a fucking loser,” he said, his voice thick and mocking.
I smiled at Brett and lifted the cue. I let it roll back and forth in my hand and I waited for him to look down. “You can’t beat me with this,” I said.
Brett watched the cue as it rolled back and forth. He sniggered, stepped back and sized me up. “You won’t beat me in pool,” he said.
I looked into Brett’s eyes, “I’m not talking about pool.”
Brett looked confused and gestured towards the cue. “What do you mean?” he asked.
I continued to roll the cue in my hand. “I will give you the cue and you can have one free hit,” I said.
Brett still didn’t get my meaning. “And then?” he asked.
I smiled. “And then I will take you outside and beat the crap out of you.”
Brett looked around anxiously. He fidgeted as he tried to work out if I was serious. “You want me to hit you with a pool cue?” I threw the cue onto the table. “Pick it up loser.”
Brett looked incensed. “What?” he grumbled angrily “What did you call me?”
I grinned. “I called you a loser,” I replied, “now pick up the cue and hit me. You get one shot.”
Brett stood and stared I could see him try and work out if I was being sincere, “You want me to hit you?” he muttered.
I pointed at the cue. “Go on, mate, it’s a good offer. I’d take it if I was you.”
Brett remained motionless. He looked perplexed, his eyes flickered, he looked towards the queue and I saw his hand flex. “You will let me hit you?” he asked.
I stared at Brett. “Yep, and then it’s my turn.” I pointed at the cue.
“Pick it up.”
Brett thought about it for a moment then he took a step back and raised his hands. “I’m not going to hit you with a pool cue,” he said and shook his head.
I took a step forward. I was happy I had called Brett’s bluff but I didn’t intend to let him off lightly. “You have pushed me all afternoon mate but it seems you are the loser and the coward.”
/> Brett moved around and put the table between us. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said.
I turned to Dave. “Do me a favour mate and get the bill. I’ll fix you up later.” I turned back to Brett. “Last chance. I’m going to leave, do you want to use the cue or not?” Brett shook his head. I could see he was angry but also nervous.
I was glad the confrontation was over. “You should be more careful who you call a loser, mate,” I said, and then walked out of the bar and went and sat on my motorbike. Dave walked out of the bar a moment later, jumped on the back of the bike, and we rode away.
Fate is a funny thing. When Dave jumped on the back of the bike I had ample time to get out of the area. I was also pointed in the direction I wanted to go, but for some reason I turned the bike and went the wrong way towards a dead end. I had no intention of doing this. I had said my piece and I wanted to get as far away from Brett as possible. I can only put the mistake down to an overload of adrenalin.
I travelled about fifty metres up the road and came to the dead end. I turned the bike around and drove back towards the pub. I planned to ride past and head to a bar where I felt welcome. What happened next surprised me as much as any experience I’ve had while living in Bali.
When I approached the pub, Brett stepped out onto the road with four Indonesians, two either side of him. I suddenly realised why he had been so confident. He had been setting me up. Brett and his new-found friends fanned out across the road and blocked my path.
I may have been able to drive around them but I had Dave on the back and I doubted I would get through without being kicked from the bike. Dave and I were heavily outnumbered.
Dave is a staunch guy but he is not a fighter. I couldn’t put much stock in him and he didn’t deserve to get hurt for something I had got myself involved in. I did the only thing I could do: I parked the bike about ten metres back from Brett and his posse.
I stepped off the bike, passed my helmet to Dave and told him not to get involved. I then marched towards Brett and his henchmen.
As I walked towards the group, Brett said something to his bodyguards and they all laughed. I didn’t care, the time for words was over. I was trapped and ready to fight my way out. I kicked off my thongs and focused on Brett.
The Indonesians at Brett’s side were the danger. I knew if they got involved I stood no chance. I had to scare them off and I had to use Brett to do it. I planned to hurt Brett as hard and as fast as possible, and I planned to be brutal.
Brett and I came together with a punch—my punch connected, his did not. I felt a crack as my fist exploded into Brett’s face. Brett swung wide and his punch grazed my chin.
Brett stumbled backwards and I followed. I placed my left hand behind Brett’s head and I drove my right fist into his face.
Brett toppled over and I rode him down, his head striking the concrete. I rose up and slammed my right fist into Brett’s nose and I was rewarded with a crunch when it broke. I showed no mercy. I lifted myself up and hammered another punch into Brett’s mouth. Blood spurted all over me and my hand shattered with the impact.
As Brett’s head lolled to the side, I heard Dave behind me shout, “Stay back! Stay back!” I looked up and saw the four Indonesians looming over me. I kept my eyes on the Indonesians as I checked my hand—it was broken and useless. I got to my knees and smashed my elbow into Brett’s face. Brett exhaled sharply then moaned and went quiet. I knew he was finished and I stood up to face the Indonesians.
The fight had only lasted a few seconds, not long enough for the Indonesians to react, but my hand was broken and I was surrounded by Brett’s henchmen. They fanned out and faced me. I spread my arms wide and looked them in the eye. “Motherfuckers!” I screamed, and waited for them to move.
The Indonesians took a step back and I stepped forward. I tried to make a fist and screeching pain shot up my forearm. I looked down at Brett and saw him fighting for consciousness. I had done what I had needed to do. I had taken him out of the fight.
Brett was finished but I was far from done. I looked at the Indonesians and could see they were nervous. “Come on, you fuckers,” I shrieked, but no one moved.
I noticed one of the Indonesians was standing on my flip flops so I strode towards him yelling, “Are you trying to steal my fucking shoes?” The Indonesian stared at me wide eyed and then he stepped away from my thongs.
The Indonesians saw a crazy man—it was what I wanted them to see. I was scared they would attack me and I knew I could no longer fight. My broken hand pulsated and I needed them to back off.
I noticed movement from the corner of my eye, turned slightly and saw Brett stand. I watched as he stumbled backwards trying to hold onto a wall. He then slid to the ground like a battered drunk.
The Indonesians watched Brett fall and they turned as one and fled.
I stood my ground and watched the Indonesians run but then I heard somebody scream “call the police!” and I knew it was time for me leave.
I ran to my motorbike. Dave stood next to it with his mouth open. He gaped at me, stunned.
“Are you alright?” I asked. Dave didn’t answer, he looked horrified. Shocked, he stared at my chest.
I followed Dave’s eyes and glanced down at my shirt. It was covered in blood. I jumped onto the bike and screamed at Dave to get on the back. He hesitated for a moment and then joined me. I revved the bike—my hand hurt on the throttle but I ignored it—then raced the engine and sped away.
I rode to an out-of-the-way pub, gave Dave some money and asked him to go and buy me a singlet, then I went to the toilet to wash up. I looked in the mirror and saw my face and arms were covered in blood. I cleaned myself up then ripped the un-bloodied part of my shirt into strips and bandaged my broken hand. I dumped the rest of the material. When Dave returned with a singlet, I put it on and we went to the bar for a beer.
Only when we sat down to drink did Dave finally manage to speak. He looked at me amazed and shook his head. “That was the most violent thing I have ever witnessed,” he said.
I felt embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to close my hand and it hurt. I felt I had got off lightly and I could imagine Brett hurt a lot more than I did.
“Yeah, well,” I replied, “I’m not real proud of myself right now.” I felt awful. Brett had made an error, he’d picked the wrong guy at the wrong time. I was upset about being away from my children and all I wanted was to be left alone so I could talk to a friend.
I’m not a violent man but I know how to get there. I grew up in a rough part of town with three brothers and everyone wanted to fight us. When we weren’t fighting each other we were defending ourselves.
Brett couldn’t have known this. He just happened to choose the wrong person. This is not a boast—what I’m trying to say is that Bali is like that, you never know who you are going to meet or what their history or circumstances are.
Maybe I should have been more patient with Brett. But he had blocked my path and threatened me five on one. Had Brett faced me alone I would have knocked him down and been done with it. Unfortunately he left me with little choice and he paid the price.
Bali is like a frontier town in an old Western movie. It attracts the scum of the earth and the truth is you never know who will have the fastest or biggest gun.
I got lucky that day and I think it was because I was so scared. I have no doubt that had I not acted so fast and in such brutal fashion that it would have been me left on the side of the road in a heap.
This happened quite a few years ago. I don’t know how badly I hurt Brett but I have not seen him in Bali since.
Thumbs up
For Hamish’s buck’s party—his bachelor party or stag night for non-Antipodeans—I wanted to hire sexy dancers because strip shows are illegal in Indonesia.
The Indonesian Government is very strict on pornography and recently an anti-pornography bill was passed that threatened Bali’s very existence as a holiday island: under the new law bikinis are sup
posed to be outlawed.
This anti-porn bill has also led to the internet-download speed being reduced to prevent porn from being downloaded, and resulted in the publisher of Playboy Indonesia being sent to jail, even though the magazine contained no nudity.
A funny footnote to this is that one of the proponents of this law, and an important Member of Parliament, was recently photographed looking at porn on his tablet during a parliamentary sitting. I found this incredibly funny in an it-can-only-happen-in-Indonesia kind of way.
During my time in Bali two strip clubs opened and both places lasted about six months before they were shut down resulting in the foreign owners of both establishments losing a lot of money. I do not know the circumstances regarding the closure of the first place, but the second strip club was shut down because it became overran by Indonesian gangs.
One practice employed by foreigners owning nightclubs in Bali is to impose cover charges for Indonesians to enter a club—something that is often condemned as being racist. The reasons club owners give for this practice are a) Indonesians do not drink much, b) foreigners do not like to go to clubs and be surrounded by Indonesian men, and c) Indonesian gangs take over the clubs, extort the staff and start trouble with the foreign clientele. The latter is apparently what happened to the second strip club.
The owner thought he had done the right thing by paying the right people, unfortunately he neglected to charge a door fee and within months a gang set up shop in his club. The owner was soon forced out and the gang tried to run the club with little success.
Indonesia’s solution to its lack of strip clubs is sexy dancers—this phenomenon came to Bali about five years ago and now sexy dancers can be found in the more popular and upmarket clubs.
The lack of strippers in Bali can be a real headache for anybody asked to organise a buck’s party. I have been asked to organise two in the past—for Hamish’s party, I arranged sexy dancers, but, unfortunately, the buck passed out an hour before they arrived.
For the other buck’s party, I tried something a little different. It was an impromptu affair. The day started out like any other and finished with a wild party. It’s funny how many Bali days are like this, you just don’t know what will happen by day’s end. On this occasion, there were four of us sitting in a pub when Chris blurted out that he was heading to Java the following day to meet his girlfriend’s family before tying the knot the day after that. He gave me very little time to work with.
Bali Raw Page 11
