Free Snowing in Bali by Kathryn Bonella

Edy was keen. Meanwhile, that afternoon Rafael bought a gram for $100, and the connection was made. But they didn’t deal for long, as Rafael liked professionalism.
    He says I pay you next week, and then next week, tomorrow, tomorrow, and I was, like, crazy about that.
    Selling to the Indonesians was a win win usually. For the westerners, it was safer than trafficking it further, or selling locally, which these bosses didn’t like anyway. For the Indon­esian bosses, they relied on the South Americans for the cocaine, as it was ubiquitous and cheap in their backyard and they had the contacts.
    The Brazilians were the perfect suppliers, as it was safest to move the drugs across the border from the notorious coke countries – Peru, Colombia and Bolivia – to Brazil, and then fly out of one of its many bustling airports, easily camouflaged among the ceaseless throng of tourists. To buy coke in the three coke-producing countries was dirt cheap, usually $1000 a kilo.
    In Peru and Brazil, cocaine is like sand in the Sahara, it’s everywhere. There are a million places where you can buy a kilo of coke, it’s like buying a kilo of sugar in the market.
    â€“ Alberto
    Every time cocaine crossed a border, its price jumped. Across a single border to Brazil, a kilo cost $5000, and by the time it reached faraway party island Bali, prices hiked up to anything from $20,000 to $90,000 a kilo. The going rate was dictated by how much coke was on the island – that is, whether or not it was snowing in Bali. The cartels, like the Diaz brothers and Rafael, protected their sources, so the Indonesians had to rely on them to get the stuff.
    If foreign dealers didn’t play by their rules, the Indonesians got angry, as an Aussie rookie learnt. After months of partying on the club circuit, he came to know a couple of the Indonesian bosses. So when he met someone in the surf who’d arrived with 2 kilos in his bag, he acted as sales agent, offering it to Nanang first. Nanang was keen but overstocked and asked him to wait a few days. But the Aussie didn’t, he sold it.
    As soon as Nanang learnt of the treachery, he sent two of his men to deliver an ultimatum: leave Bali or die. The surfer went into hiding for six months, avoiding clubs and restaurants, until one of his Peruvian drug-dealer friends offered Nanang a sweet coke deal as a peace offering for him, which was accepted.
    Dealer Alberto refused to live by the rules. As an agent juggling sellers and buyers, he usually couldn’t sit on the stuff or the sellers grew impatient and angry. Most sellers pushed him to offload it fast and in Bali there were always big buyers arriving from France, Italy, Australia, New Zealand, Japan and many other countries, with endless cash and runners ready to go. It was a frenetic business and Alberto was always keen to avoid sitting on coke.
    You have to spend money on a hotel and it’s a risk because you’re sitting on a bomb, it can explode at any time.
    â€“ Alberto
    One afternoon he offered Nanang a kilo of coke, but the boss needed time to organise cash. Alberto prevaricated, not promising to keep it, and when an Australian turned up with a briefcase full of cash, he sold it. A few days too late, Nanang rang to say he was ready. Alberto broke the news; it was gone. Nanang asked him to come to his shop.
    As soon as Alberto walked into Nanang’s office, he copped a fist in the face so hard that he reeled back into the wall. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t retaliate. He couldn’t forget it was their country, especially as Nanang’s soldiers were now surrounding him. But fury blazed in his eyes. Nanang saw it and his temper blew. He grabbed a chair, lifted it above his head, set to smash it down on Alberto. Two of his men stepped in between them.
    It gave Alberto a second to interject. ‘Hey, wait a second. It’s not my fault, you know, it wasn’t me calling the shots.’
    Nanang