Snowing in Bali by Kathryn Bonella

one day slip out and go home unnoticed.
    Outside, Chino was busy juggling his businesses, and delegating to those he could trust. When he invested in Rafael’s runs, he handed over the cash as well as the reins. Rafael by now had his business streamlined – with packing crews in place in Brazil and Peru – so he could call the shots from strategically chosen public phone boxes in Bali.
    Things were becoming more easy . . . I just call, organise, transfer the money through Western Union, and in Peru and Brazil they pack the bag, send the horse and I pick up here.
    â€“ Rafael
    But it was always a gamble and a horse could crash from the slightest slip. One of his best horses, who’d done 11 runs, got busted on his twelfth. He was flying out of Buenos Aires with 5 kilos of coke in windsurfer booms. The guy was smart, cool and unflappable. On his past three runs, he’d used the tactic of driving from South Brazil to Buenos Aires, as Argentina’s airports were slightly easier to penetrate. This time, an X-ray took him down. Rafael’s packers had failed. He paid them a hefty $10,000 fee per bag, as the job was dangerous and vital. But they’d failed to fill the booms completely with cocaine, and plugged the ends with fabric. The X-ray showed different colours, creating suspicion. It was an expensive mistake.
    Rafael waited for the guy, but he simply didn’t turn up. It was always a risk that a horse would either do a runner, or get busted, which was why Rafael felt an adrenalin rush every single time a horse emerged from the airport doors into the Bali sun. Almost always he went to the airport, either to pick up the horse or to spy on them, shadowing their taxi to the Bali Subak Hotel, to ensure they didn’t flee or have a police tail.
    Once Rafael picked up the coke from the horse, he’d meet Chino at a small beachfront hotel in Nusa Dua. Chino always turned up in a bland chauffeur-driven Toyota Avanza, non­descript on the outside, with a spruced up red leather interior, never using his attention-attracting sports cars. His soldiers would park jet-skis on the beach so, if necessary, he could sprint across the sand and be in the water in seconds. Safety was his priority and so far his scrupulous attention to detail had kept him out of jail. He always insisted Rafael come alone. Their meetings were quick; he’d efficiently test and weigh the coke, then go.
    Chino has soldiers everywhere, local people working for him. They make into small quantities and sell gram by gram in the street.
    High quality cocaine?
    Oh, but they mix, they do all the shit.
    At the clubs?
    Yeah, I think they sell in Double Six. At the door of the toilet the guys say, ‘Coke, coke, ecstasy?’
    And Chino sends it overseas?
    He has good connection; he sends it to Singapore, Malaysia, Australia. His main goal was to send it to Australia because it’s the best money.
    â€“ Rafael
    After Chino had left the hotel with the coke, Rafael would clean up the evidence, often giving the black plastic wrapping to one of his friends. They would use a knife to scrape off the oily remains stuck to the plastic. ‘My friends were so happy, they could sometimes take 5 grams because the plastic grabs a lot of coke.’
    Other times, he’d just burn it. On his way home, he’d buy a litre of petrol in a glass bottle from one of the infinite shanty-style shops along the roads selling to local motorcyclists. He’d ride to the beach or a rice paddy, throw all the plastic bags and evidence down, douse in petrol, flick a match and burn the lot. When the coke was carried in a surfboard bag, he’d get rid of the plastic and wash the bag, simply dunking it in his swimming pool or getting the maid to wash it in the shower, making it safe to re-use: ‘The water takes all the coke, kills the coke.’
    Rafael’s deal with Chino was to get half his cash the following day and the rest