by Cleo Odzer
One afternoon, as Monica and I returned from the beach, we passed aslew of police going the opposite way. Policemen! At least a dozen of them. Holy shit! Hastily we entered our bungalow and locked the door.
"Hero, boy! What was that?"
Peeping out the curtained window, we saw the police enter Jimmy's room and heard Elame scream. She screamed and screamed. The rest of the lodge lay quiet and still. The screaming went on, accompanied by crashing noises. Then silence. After an hour of crouching by the window, Monica and I dared to venture across to Patrick's.
"They're waiting for Jimmy," he informed us. Patrick had heard from the room service waiter that the police had come for Jimmy, who'd left only moments before.
"We have to warn him," I said.
"I'm not driving out of here now."
"Maybe I could sneak away by the beach."
I returned to my room, changed back into a bikini, grabbed a towel, and strolled casually to the beach. No one followed. As soon as I reached the sand, I dropped the towel and ran. I ran the mile or so till I came to the path heading inland to Narayan and Richard's. I ran into their compound so fast the goose didn't bother coming after me. Puffing and sweaty, I ran into the house shouting, "THE POLICE ARE AFTER JIMMY! THEY HAVE ELAME! WE MUST WARN HIM!"
"Well, what did you expect?" said Narayan. "Half of Bali knows he's dealing smack."
"Come on," I urged. "We have to stop Jimmy before he drives into the trap."
"Isn't that fitting—there's a posse out for the sheriff."
"Narayan! Come on. Richard?"
They did organize themselves quickly and rush to their bikes. Richard said he'd check places Jimmy might be. Narayan would stay on the road to stop him if he returned.
As Narayan swung his leg over the bike, I noted again how graceful he was. It had been weeks since we'd been lovers—since he threatened to flush my precious stash down the toilet. I gave him a hesitant wave. Could I forgive him? Then maybe we could be together again. "Good luck," I called out to them.
When I ran back to the lodge I found everything still quiet. Monica wasn't in the Bungalow, and when I went to track her down. Trumpet Steve waved me to his place. They were all there. It looked like a town meeting.
"The police are, like, still here," said Steve. "They're, like, waiting to ambush Jimmy."
"It's okay. I have Narayan and Richard covering the roads. They'll stop him."
"We've, like, got a problem."
"Maybe the police will go away when they see Jimmy's not coming back," said Sylvia.
"Hoo, boy—they've got the smack."
"Wait a minute, we don't really know what they're after," said Laura.
"Maybe it has nothing to do with the smack. Maybe they just want Jimmy."
"If they want Jimmy, they want the smack," said Patrick. "And if they're in Jimmy's room, they have the smack."
"And they, like, know we're all one group."
"Do they?"
"We could be separate tourists. How would they know we knew each other before?"
The speculations continued. By evening, we were restless. After watching the room service boy go to Elame twice, I beckoned him to find out what was going on there.
"She orders dinner," he told me.
"But what about the police?"
"They order dinner too."
"I'm going over to see what's happening," I told the gang.
First I went to my room to change. Then, taking a deep breath, I knocked on Elame's door.
A policeman answered.
"Hi," I said stupidly.
"Come in," he motioned, smiling.
"Can I come in?"
"Come in."
"I want to visit my friend."
Elame greeted me with a strained frown. "Friend. Friend," she told them.
The police moved to the other side of the room to give us privacy.
"How are you?" I asked her.
"I haven't had dope since this morning. They're waiting for Jimmy."
"What happened? Did they find anything?"
"Only a little hash. I threw everything down the toilet and out the window. Did you hear me scream? When they walked in I screamed: I'm naked. GET OUT! GET OUT! So when they saw I was alone and undressed, they waited by the door. That's when I got rid of what I could."
"What about the smack?"
"They haven't found it yet."
"Did they look?"
"They looked through everything, but they didn't bother with the can of smack. They must have thought it was powdered milk."
"Where is it?"
"In the wooden cabinet, right in front. They searched there, I saw them."
"You need dope? I brought you a stash just in case."
Around midnight, I walked back to Narayan, and Richard's.
"We found him," said Narayan. "I found him. Stopped him on the road. He was about to drive into the lodge."
Jimmy was hiding behind an armour. He looked scared. "Yo, man, that was close. They almost got me."
"They haven't found the smack yet."
"I've gotta split this scene," Jimmy said. "The sheriffs having a bummer here."
"I'm taking him to the airport tonight," Narayan told me. "Richard lent him money for the airfare."
I followed Narayan as he went to his room, but I didn't enter. I stood in the doorway and watched him uncertainly. As usual he wore a bright flowery kimono. Red was a great colour for him. He turned to face me and sneered.
"See what happens with heroin?" he said mockingly. "Bad karma." I made an impatient noise and looked at the ceiling. Narayan came closer. "Bad karma!" he said again, loudly, with slitted eyes. I pushed him away. "I'm glad this happened," he continued. "Glad! Now you'll have to scrounge for your dope. Serves you right!"
"Fuck you," I said and spun away from him.
He took hold of my hand and said gently, "Don't go."
I pulled away forcefully and stormed out.
By the next morning, Jimmy was out of Indonesia. Meanwhile, the police were frustrated from waiting all night for nothing. When they finally left, they took Elame as consolation. They put her in a hotel and had her guarded so she couldn't leave. They stationed a sentry in Elame and Jimmy's bungalow.
Late in the afternoon I went to the hotel to bring Elame dope. When I arrived back at the lodge, Steve and Laura were holding another town meeting, this time over the tin of smack.
"We have to get it out of there," said Laura. "If they haven't found it yet, they still may at any moment."
"Like, what do we do?"
"Wait for an opportunity."
That night, at different intervals, we prowled outside Jimmy's bungalow and peered through the windows, seeking a chance to run in and grab the can. At one point, the policeman heard Monica and I giggling and came out to investigate. Leaving the door open, Monica squatted and pretended to pee. I then quickly closed the door and went back inside. I laughed out loud.
"But Monica, there's a perfectly good toilet only four Feet away. This isn't Goa, you know."
"It worked, didn't it?"
"They're going to think we're all a little strange."
The next day, Steve announced, "We've got to, like, move out of this lodge. It's too hot here with those cops and that tin of smack they might find, like, any second."
"Yeah, what if they need powered milk for their coffee?"
"I found us a place called Kaiya Waiya," Steve continued. "It's a gorgeous, like, resort further down the road. It was built two years ago, but after it was finished, it turned out the site was, like, haunted. Nobody wanted to go near it. It's been deserted ever since, so we can stay there for practically nothing. Wait till you see it, like, you won't believe it."
That afternoon I climbed behind Monica on her motorbike and we went to check it out.
Stupendous. An absolute dream. Kaiya Waiya consisted of castle-like houses with walls surrounding inner courtyards. We toured the place in awe. Wooden statues hid amid tropical greene
ry. Here a dragon, there a garuda, a bird from Hindo mythology. Carved, multicoloured snakes peeped from bushes. One house had its own swimming pool, and Steve thought Monica and I should take that one.
We were thunderstruck when we saw it. It had a moat. A moat! Obese goldfish swam in the moat, and a Balinese man fished there. We entered double wooden doors to find a six-foot stone Ganesh—the Indian half-man, half-elephant god—shooting a stream of water into the pool. Off the side, a fountain spouted from the mouth of a gargoyle. Chaise lounges surrounded the pool, and steps led to a patio overlooking acres of paths. Gigantic flowers climbed the inner walls. Behind sliding glass-doors was the bedroom. The other side of the room opened onto a patio facing the sea. We were speechless. The bathroom was down a few steps and half outdoors. Among plants and carved figures lay a sunken tub of mosaic tiles.
"We'll take it," I declared.
"Like, dynamite, huh?" said Steve. "I spoke to the caretakers and talked them into letting us stay here. We're the only ones who ever wanted to. I told them we'd take ten to fifteen houses, so they agreed. The thought of the money must have made them brave enough to, like, tackle the ghosts."
We moved.
The house I shared with Monica became the party place. Ours was the biggest and had the Pool. It became the hangout for all Goa, and friends of Goa, Freaks. No ghost ever made an appearance, though. We called to them, invited them for a swim, and offered them hits of dope. No ghost.
Meanwhile, Elame was still being "detained." I went twice to bring her dope, but it was difficult to find transportation back. No himos cruised so far from town, and hitchhiking was impossible—whenever a driver heard the name Kaiya Waiya, the car door would slam in my face.
I developed a phobia about motorbikes. They terrified me, and it seemed that, as soon as a guy realized that I was afraid, he'd drive faster and more recklessly. Only males did this, so I felt safer with female drivers. Monica had a bike, but I didn't want to abuse our friendship by asking her to chauffeur me around. There was only one solution—I had to learn to drive one of the damn things myself.
I'd gone with Narayan once to the motorcycle rental place outside Denpasar.
A Chinese woman ran the profitable business, which also invested in scams, money lending, and other illicit activities. A huge. Oriental-looking man was her second in command. When I accompanied Monica to the Shop to pay her monthly fee, I told Huge Oriental I too wanted to ride.
"I teach you," he assured me. "You five near beach, good place to practice."
The next day Huge Oriental turned up at Kaiya Waiya with a Yamaha, and I soon putt-putted on my own. A bike was less terrifying when I drove it myself. Slowly I crept along, very pleased with my valour, despite my senior-citizen speed.
Suddenly, the police turned their attention to me. They'd found out from the manager of our old bungalow lodge that I was the one who'd given Jimmy five thousand dollars before he'd left for Malaysia. The manager also told them the total amount I'd left in deposit with the lodge. The very large amount, all in cash.
Unlike my friends. I'd never been antipolice. I liked police officers. I found them reassuring to have around. I admired their work and had always been friendly with any I'd met. In the same way, I now became chummy with the inspector who came to see me. I invited him and his subordinates to make themselves comfortable by the pool.
This frazzled Monica, and she rushed away fast. As she exited, I asked her to send the waiter with drinks. The nice inspector was suitably pleased during the next hour of courtesy and propriety.
"You like Bali?" he asked me.
"Wonderful, wonderful."
We got along so well that he never even inquired about the money I'd given Jimmy. Though I felt reasonably safe after he left, I buried my stash and extra passport in the bathroom garden.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," said Monica one day, entering the bedroom from the Pool area. "You made the paper."
"You're kidding! Why? What does it say?"
"Patrick has it; he's outside. It's about Jimmy."
"Oh, shit."
Nude, I stepped out into the morning sun, where four people lay basking and another two swam. "Patrick—you have the newspaper?"
Without opening his eyes he handled it to me and said, "The headline's a dozy."
AMERICAN TOURIST SOUGHT BY POLICE. A real the story of how the police had been searching for Jimmy, and how they’d discovered he was out of the country by a telegram he'd sent. The telegram came from Thailand and was addressed to—ME! There was my name, reproduced along with the whole contents of the telegram. He was fine, the newspaper informed me, and he wanted me to forward his belongings.
"I made the papers. I'm famous!" I exclaimed.
"Do you think it'll give you trouble with the inspector?" asked Monica.
"No. We're good buddies now. And as long as I keep my stuff buried in the garden, they can't reach me. Do you believe the police stole my mail? Isn't that against the law?"
That afternoon Elame was officially arrested. The next day Steve brought news "The police released Jimmy's possessions and Patrick has the smack."
"YOU’RE KIDDING! The can of smack? My smack? Patrick has it? Yahoo! How did he get it?"
"As soon as they, like, stopped guarding the room, he just went in and took it. Just in time too, because right after that the manager, like, packed Jimmy's things and locked them away."
"That's so great! Yawee! A miracle!" I did a dance around the pool. "Patrick is not comfortable holding it, though, so, like, you better pick it up as soon as you can. He told me to tell you."
"I'll go first thing in the morning."
My smack! My whole pound of Malaysian smack—I was going to get it back! Hallelujah!
The next morning I was still in bed when Monica came in from the terrace.
"Guess who's here and wants to see you?"
"Who?"
"Narayan. He says he has something for you. He's outside."
"Hoo. I don't want to see him." I had a snort, put a tape in the stereo I'd bought in Singapore, and climbed back in bed.
"Cleo, Narayan's waiting for you. He says it's important."
"Tell him to come in."
"No, he wants you to go out."
"In a minute." I closed my eyes and enjoyed the smack coursing through my bloodstream.
"Hoo, boy—Cleo, you better come out here," said Monica a little while later in a strange tone.
"What does he want?"
"Narayan's gone, but he left something for you. I think you should see this." I climbed off the bed and went through the flimsy drapes waving in the sea breeze. "Look what that bastard did," she said.
On the floor of the porch, standing by itself, was the powdered milk tin that had once contained the smack. Water now filled it, and a pink flower floated on top.
"Where's the smack?" I asked.
"He said it was evil, so he threw it in the ocean."
"He dumped my smack in the ocean?"
Narayan threw my five thousand dollars worth of pure Malaysian heroin in the ocean?
NO!
Not my smack! And he left me the container filled with sea water and a flower!
I stormed back through the drapes.
"What should I do with this can?" shouted Monica after "I don't give a shit about the can!" I flung myself on the bed and bunched the pillow into a ball. BEAST! How could he do that to me? I hated him. HATED HIM. I wanted to tear his skin off bit by bit. I wanted to gouge my fingers into his eyes. I wanted to bury him to his neck in sand and watch the sea come in. HATEHATEHATE!
Monica entered shaking her head and said, "He has a lot of nerve."
"I could kill him. Kill him!"
She went out the other way to the Pool. I lay smothering my pillow and fuming. How could he? After all the time we spent together. How could Narayan take something so important to me and threw it in the ocean? Oh, did I hate him. I wanted to see him chopped into little pieces. He couldn't do this to me an
d get away with it. No way. I would KILL him.
No, I would have someone else kill him. That's what I'd (For sure I could find someone to do it. If you paid enough money, you could get the natives to do anything. I had the money. Yes, that's what I'd do. I'd have him killed. I'd ask Huge Oriental. He was the closest thing to a gangster I'd seen on the island. He would find someone to kill Narayan for me. Oh, I couldn't wait to see Narayan's dead Body. I would celebrate his funeral for a week. He couldn't do something so mean to me without reprisal. No way. I'd show him.
That afternoon I headed for the motorbike shop to speak with Huge Oriental. I still burned with fury, but as I rode the always-deserted road, skirting the chickens who ran in front of my wheel, I rethought the plan. Was I being too drastic having Narayan killed? Did I really want him dead? Were money and lawlessness making me cold-hearted? Would this be bad for my karma?
Maybe death was too extreme. Maybe I should just have him beaten up. Yeah, good enough. I'd order his arms and legs to be broken. That would satisfy me.
As I drove in the shop, huge Oriental glanced up from the broken headlight in his hand. "How is the driving?" he asked.
"Great. I love it. But I have another favour to ask you."
"Yes? What can I do?"
"You know Narayan?"
"Narayan. Yes, of course." He continued fixing the headlight.
"He's a bad man. Very bad. He stole my money. I want his arms and legs broken. You know someone who can do it?"
Huge Oriental looked at me. "You are angry with him, yes?"
"Very angry. He ripped me off. Will you help? Here is one hundred dollars." Huge Oriental put down the light when I handed him the hundred-dollar bill. "You get someone to break both his legs and both his arms, and for every tooth you bring me I will pay another twenty-five dollars. Okay?"
He smiled. "You are very angry."
"Yes. Will you do it?"
He folded the bill and nodded.
"Don't forget, for every tooth I will pay another twenty-five dollars." Driving back, I glowed with inner peace. I'd show that Narayan. He couldn't do something like that to me.
My visa was running out again. I was nearing the end of my third month in Bali, and, technically, three months was the limit for foreigners. Instead of returning to the Immigration office in Denpasar, I decided to fly to Java and try to scam a three-month extended visa. I'd tell them I was studying the Hora or something. It would be cooler to be out of Bali while Huge Oriental performed his dastardly deed.