Bali Raw

by Malcolm Scott

  Josh paused and thought about his answer. “No,” he said eventually, “I ditched them already. I emptied them in one of the drains, they’re gone.”

  “Don’t fucking bullshit me,” I said.

  Josh leaned away, he raised his hands. “I’m not bullshitting, Mal. I threw them away, I dumped ’em in a drain up at the villas.”

  I lowered my voice, “OK, well done, no one will find them right?”

  Josh still had his hands up, “Mal, I swear they’re gone mate,” he ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, I wouldn’t lie.”

  I gave Josh a smile to reassure him, “Okay, I had to ask. Now we have to worry about your mates.”

  Josh looked at me surprised, “They’re staunch man, you don’t have to worry about them.”

  “Josh let me finish, for all we know the doctors have already been in touch with the police.”

  Josh grabbed my arm and stopped me, he gestured at his friends. “They’re firm man.”

  I looked into his eyes; I could see he trusted them. “I believe you, we just have to be sure you all have the same story.”

  Josh smiled at me, “Yeah man, it’s not the first time I’ve been in trouble. Shit, I feel like I’m talking to my dad.”

  I ignored the comment. “I have to make a few phone calls. I have to let someone know and we may need a lawyer,” I pointed over to Josh’s friends. “Clear it with them. Let them know that I know about the drugs.”

  Josh looked over at his friends, “Mal, I know you are trying to help but I don’t want to say anything, we made a pact before we came to the hospital.”

  “Mate, you have to be with me, nothing bad, just forward planning. The person I am going to call is my brother. You can trust him. I need your friends to be honest and tell me the facts.”

  Josh stubbed out his cigarette and finished off his beer. I could see him using the moment to decide whether to let his friends know and could sense the choice was difficult.

  I opened a beer and offered one to Josh. “My brother has legal contacts and we may need their help. I’m sorry mate, I know you don’t need this shit right now but if this becomes a police matter you guys will need to know what to say.”

  Josh grimaced, took the beer, and came to a decision. “I’ll tell my mates to trust you,” he said.

  I called Nick and told him what had happened. I explained Rick’s situation and Mary’s involvement, I told him about the drugs and how I had gathered the information by promising a lawyer. Nick gave me the number of a lawyer and information on how the boys should handle the situation if things went wrong.

  I relayed this information to the group and assured them I would be at their side if things got messy, it made me fell slightly better about manipulating the drug confession from Josh. When we had the boys’ story settled I asked Josh and his friends for the real story of what had happened.

  Josh, Rick and the three friends had been out clubbing in Kuta before returning to the villa about at four in the morning where they continued drinking into the daylight hours. They had a packet of Es on them which were handed around while they sat by the pool.

  At about seven o’clock Mary and her nurse friend came down to the pool carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels. They had also spent the night partying. They joined the boys by the pool and everyone proceeded to get drunk and stoned.

  At about ten that morning it was decided amongst the boys that they would have a competition to see who could hold their breath the longest while swimming the length of the pool. The pool at the complex is long and deep, and there is no lifeguard on hand although this is not compulsory under Indonesian law as far as I know. The boys had a few tries and then one of the group decided with stoned logic that the competition would be better if they wore a diver’s weight belt.

  Josh went first, then his friends and then it was Rick’s turn. Unfortunately, nobody took much notice when Rick dove into the water. The party sat a few metres away from the pool and could not see the bottom.

  Josh told me that he was unsure how long Rick had spent underwater but he suddenly noticed he had not surfaced. Josh screamed to his friends then jumped in the pool and swam down to the bottom where he found Rick unconscious.

  Rick was pulled out of the pool dead but, working together, the nurses managed to bring him back to life. Rick would die another four or five times that morning.

  Josh didn’t stop there, as soon as the nurses began working on Rick he ran to the security box at the villa complex and demanded they call an ambulance. He spent the next two hours running back and forth, about three hundred metres up steep steps, and demanding the security call the ambulance over and over. Josh would wait to hear the phone call then run back to the pool to check on Rick.

  When the ambulance arrived Josh saw his friend into the back then got on a motorbike and followed it to the hospital.

  Josh was a switched on guy and I believe he would be a great person to have by your side in a crisis. He was twenty-one when this happened and it is no surprise that he was exhausted by the time I met up with him.

  Josh’s father sent him away because he stole a car, he came half way around the world and saved a life. Josh’s father deserves to know the calibre of his son’s personality and it is for this reason that I have used his real name. I hope one day Josh shows this story to his father as I’m sure he would be justifiably proud of his son.

  Rick was incredibly lucky to have a friend like Josh and to have so many people in his corner; he would later abuse that luck by doing a runner on the hospital and the ambulance bill. Before Rick did the runner he complained that the ambulance took two hours to arrive and one hour to get to the hospital, also that it was ill-equipped to save his life. Had I been armed with the knowledge that Rick would do a runner, I would have liked to ask how it was possible for a hospital to fully equip their ambulances if people did not pay their bills. I have not used Rick’s real name in this book although I would have liked to.

  Rick came out of the medically induced coma about three hours later, and, despite what everyone expected, he was fine.

  I spoke to Rick a week after the incident and he told me that he had taken Mary and her friend out to dinner to thank them for saving his life. Then he told me that he thought Mary was a bitch and he didn’t like her. Despite my personal feelings for Mary I could not help but think that Rick was ungrateful.

  Josh and I became friends after this event; we would catch up for a beer once in a while if he was in Kuta, we would have a few drinks then go our separate ways. It was during one of these meetings that I grilled Josh about the Es they had taken on the night of the drowning.

  I wasn’t happy that he would risk his future by scoring drugs in Indonesia, in my eyes the kid had so much going for him that it would have been a waste. I am no angel but the one thing I steer clear of in Indonesia is the drug scene.

  Josh told me he had scored his Es in a seedy café. Rick and Josh were taken to a private booth where they made their order, the drugs were brought into the room, money was handed over and they left.

  This was incredibly dangerous. There is a lot of money to be made by dobbing in a couple of rich kids looking to score. The current price for a get-out-of-jail-free card, as I understand it, is AUD$10,000 for every year you might spend in custody. You are expected to plead guilty and to keep the arrest out of the press. Any press involvement and all bets are off. You will do time and the price for a reduction in that time will skyrocket.

  The Divide and Conquer Method

  (or How to Take a Villa from a Westerner)

  1. Gain trust

  Gain your victim’s trust by being their friend, invite them to your home and to a few of your ceremonies. Always claim to be poor but never ask for money in the early stages. After a few months your victim will be sufficiently softened and ready to manipulate. You will know when the time is right when your victim constantly says to friends in your presence: “We are family. He/she has never once asked me for money.”
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  2. Eliminate the competition

  Discredit whomever your target is getting advice from by telling your target that every piece of advice they have received is incorrect and back it up with: “I am Indonesian and I know the rules of my country.”

  3. Exert your power

  When you have discredited the competition, instil as much fear as possible in the situation by using the aforementioned advice giver (or property consultant) as a scapegoat. Explain to the target that they got things wrong and there is a high chance they will lose their villa/land/investment/other. Tell them that because you are Balinese/Indonesian you can help but they will have to pay bribes to the right people and mention, of course, that you know the right people. Let them know that you can facilitate these transactions.

  4. False contract

  Employ the services of a notary or some other legal person that you are related to or you know. If you don’t happen to know such a person a bribe will suffice. Tell the legal representation that they may charge whatever fees they wish and that they will receive a slice of the pie when the final deal goes through. Then have the target place their property in your name so they can avoid further problems.

  Note: You may have to sleep with your victim to expedite this strategy but it is a small price to pay for the riches you will receive.

  It surprises me how many people fall for this simple ploy and how many are clients of our company. These customers have been done for different amounts and the scams do not always get to stage four, but the initial stages of this scam do a staggering amount of damage to the creditability of a legitimate company trying to protect the best interests of its clients.

  Unfortunately, the targeted Westerners have so much trust in their Balinese friend/brother/sister/boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife that they are unwilling to listen to sensible advice. They will even enlist other Westerners to their cause and suddenly the initial lies of the scam artist become a universal truth.

  Monkey Tail and the Legend of The Grey Sardine

  It was mid-afternoon on a Friday and I was at work when I received the text from Aaron: “Yo Mal, I am in Bali for two weeks. Could use your help, need to catch up. Aaron”.

  That the text came on a Friday was a good thing. I had a feeling that Aaron would want to immerse himself in the Kuta nightlife and that could mean anything from clawing my way into bed at three thirty in the morning to nursing a massive hangover for the next two weeks.

  I arranged to meet Aaron at a small pub on Legian Street later that afternoon; I hoped we could have a beer and catch up then formulate a plan of attack for the evening. When I arrived at the pub I saw that Aaron was sitting with someone I vaguely recognised, I hadn’t seen the guy for about ten years and life hadn’t been kind.

  Gary was in his late thirties but he could have passed for sixty. He wore his thick steel-grey hair mullet-style; he was short, skinny and sat hunched over, his face was weather-beaten and his complexion pale and flaky. He reminded me of Mr Burns from “The Simpsons”.

  Gary could have been somebody’s grandpa except for his dress sense—he wore an open flannelette shirt over a Bintang singlet, a pair of dirty cheap board shorts and double-plugger thongs. He looked like an Eighties bogan escaped from a retirement village. I walked over and introduced myself.

  Aaron and Gary had been in Bali a week and the locals had taken to calling Gary “The Grey Sardine”. It suited him so Aaron and I adopted the name. I joined Aaron and The Sardine at their table and ordered a round of beers.

  We had a few drinks and relived old times, at some stage during the chat The Grey Sardine disappeared to the toilet.

  Aaron used the opportunity to seek my help. He had a quick look to make sure The Sardine was nowhere in earshot, then leaned over the table and gestured me in. “Mal, do you know any hookers that are not real choosy?”I was a little taken aback by the question. “Um, yeah, maybe,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

  Aaron looked left and right to make sure The Grey Sardine was nowhere in range. “It’s Sardine. No girl will have him, he gets nothing but knock-backs at home and I doubt he has had sex in the last six years.”

  “Poor bloke,” I whispered.

  Aaron nodded, “Yeah, poor bloke. He fucking tries so hard too, I have only ever seen him be nice to girls and all they do is take the piss. They get him to buy drinks all night and then go home with somebody

  else.”

  I sympathised with Gary, it’s hard to meet women in a place like Australia. “You should tell him to clean himself up a bit mate, dress better, maybe get a haircut.”

  Aaron held a hand up and stopped me. “Listen mate, I don’t have much time. I brought Gary here so he could meet a girl, you know, pay for sex. I figure the little bugger deserves that at least, problem is no hooker will have him.”

  I laughed. I knew that working girls in Bali could be choosy. They could afford to be, they lived and worked in a tourist town and they were constantly surrounded by young fit surfers. I could imagine a guy who looked and dressed like The Grey Sardine might struggle. I leaned in close. “OK mate, I understand,” I said, and felt as though I was part of a little conspiracy. “Although I can’t say I blame them.”

  Aaron, The Sardine and I had a few more beers and after a while a plan started to formulate in my mind. I knew a guy, an expat who had lived in Bali a lot longer than me.

  I had seen Tom around town a few times and the girls I saw him with were not what I would call attractive—he did in fact have the worst taste in women I had ever encountered. I excused myself from the table, went around the corner, pulled out my phone and dialled Tom’s number.

  Tom answered instantly. We got along well and we often had a beer and a joke. “Hey mate how’s it going, listen I have a bit of a problem I’m hoping you can help me with.”

  Tom was a Cockney and his accent was thick and hard to understand. “Yo, Malcolm, how can I help?”

  I decided to get right to the point, talking to Tom on the phone was difficult at the best of times—worse when surrounded by Bali traffic. “Do you know any ugly hookers, mate?” I ventured.

  There was a moment of silence. “Fuck me Mal, what are you up to? Why the fuck would you want the phone numbers of ugly hookers?”

  I could understand Tom’s confusion. I thought I should explain myself; my question sounded weird even to me. “I have a mate, he’s a nice guy but he ain’t pretty, he looks like a sardine. Poor bloke keeps getting knocked back by prostitutes, I’m hoping —”

  “He looks like a what?” interrupted Tom.

  “A sardine, mate. I’m hoping to find him a nice bad girl that will do the right thing. A girl that is less choosy than average.”

  The phone went silent. I could almost hear Tom digesting what I’d asked and I dreaded the question I thought was coming.

  “OK, I understand about your mate looking like a fish, but what made you think of me?”

  I didn’t want to offend Tom and I had to think fast. “He looks like a sardine not a fish. I don’t know, I’m ringing everyone, your number just came up.”

  Tom laughed, “Fish, sardine, same fucking thing. Where are you?” “Legian Street, Goes Art Bar,” I replied.

  Tom thought for a moment. “I know a guy, have done since I first came to Bali, he hangs out on Legian Street not far from you. He’s dodgy but he does the right thing. He’ll meet you there soon, his names Ketut, you can ask him for whatever you want.”

  “Cheers Tom,” I said, “you’ve been a big help.” I hung up the phone and walked back to join The Sardine and Aaron. When I entered the bar I winked at Aaron, “Sorted.”

  Aaron gave me a thumbs up and The Grey Sardine looked over at me. “What’s sorted?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to hurt Gary’s feelings so I decided to tell a half truth. “Aaron told me you were interested in meeting a girl, I know a guy, who knows a guy.” I pulled out my chair and sat down, “I just gave him a call, he’s going to come down and hook you up.�
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  The Grey Sardine smiled. “Cheers bro,” he said, and again I felt sorry for him.

  I’d been back at the bar all of ten minutes when a seedy-looking Indonesian strolled in and introduced himself as Ketut. “Apa kabar. Are you Mal?” he asked, “I’m Ketut, Tom’s friend.”

  I introduced Ketut to Gary and Aaron and ordered him a beer.

  When the beer arrived I walked Ketut outside. “I need a prostitute Ketut, she’s not for me she’s for my friend.”

  Ketut smiled and I guessed he was already counting his money. “Which friend wants, the old man want?”

  I chuckled. “How did you know?”

  Ketut laughed and slapped his thigh. “Ketut guessing. I think that old man because he looks like he needs a prostitute. What name him? Gary, yes?”

  “Yeah, his name is Gary but the local people call him The Grey Sardine.”

  Ketut grabbed his belly and doubled over. “Ya, ya is true, your friend he look like sardine. Which girl your friend the sardine wants?”

  I did my best to explain to Ketut what I wanted for The Grey Sardine. “My friend wants woman not beautiful. He wants woman nice and honest but not young girl, maybe older so she not worried about being with grandpa.”

  “Ya, I know girl. She live same kampung with me. I call her, yes?”

  I liked Ketut’s no-nonsense attitude, he was straight down to business. “She will come here now?” I asked.

  Ketut was already pushing numbers on his phone, “Ya, ya, no problem, she come,” he said, “Maybe you look after Ketut, when she come, ya?”

  I pulled out a hundred thousand and held it up, “When the girl comes I will give this to you.” It was exorbitant for making a phone call, and Ketut would also receive a commission, but I wanted the deal to go through.

  Ketut looked up at the note, his eyes narrowed and he smiled. “Ok I call girl now, ya, I bring her Goes Art Bar?”