Bali Raw

by Malcolm Scott

  A month later we had another run in with Mad. Mad put it around town that he was going to bring a group of Balinese gangsters down to bash us, then he confronted Nick and me in a restaurant and tried to intimidate us. Nick told Mad to bring it on and then he arranged a location and a time. Nick, me, the kick boxer and three Balinese gang members waited for Mad in a pub at the designated time. Jason, a former heavyweight boxer, also asked to be in on this. I appreciated his offer but refused, I did not want him to get involved in my mess.

  Mad arrived alone, it seemed the people he had paid to bash us had declined to show up. He took one look at us, ran to his motorbike, then roared away and was not seen around Kuta for some time.

  He now spends his days planning to get back at my family for some perceived mistreatment or other. He could almost be considered a stalker, he wastes time and money and he causes stress to anyone who has become embroiled in his fantasy world.

  Things finally came to a head between Mad and me about a year later.

  Mad had arrived in Bali for his usual three-month stint. These occasions usually start with him promising anyone who will listen that he won’t cause trouble. Unfortunately he then runs out of pills. On this occasion Mad was up to his usual tricks, bad mouthing my family, borrowing money, picking arguments and getting into fights.

  One day, while I sat in a restaurant waiting for Nick and a few friends to show up, Mad appeared and walked over to me. He asked if he could sit down, ignored my refusal and sat down anyway. “Mal, I just want to say that this time I won’t cause any trouble.”

  I continued eating. “Listen mate, I don’t want to hear it, better I keep away from you and you keep away from me.”

  He ignored me and proceeded to tell me his problems. “My mother is eighty-nine and dying.” “I have no money.” “I lost my credit card.” “My dog died last year.” “My boat sunk.” “I went to jail in Thailand.” Mad talks in monologue, his stories are at best boring and perhaps it is laziness on my part but I have no wish to repeat them. I have heard them too many times and they are always the same.

  Mad believes these things are my family’s fault. I have no idea how we killed his dog or made his mother sick or sunk his boat, but somehow my family is responsible. I listened politely and waited for him to finish his conversation. Mad finally finished his rant then got up from the table; he thanked me for listening and walked away.

  Fifteen minutes later he returned, sat down and, despite my protests, went through the list again. He did this four times.

  Eventually I was joined at the restaurant by Nick, Hamish and their wives and a business associate and friend, Dave. We had arranged a get-together because Nick was ill and due to fly back to Australia for a major operation. The meeting was supposed to be part business, part pleasure.

  Everything was going well until Mad re-appeared and asked to join us.

  Nick promptly declined. He told Mad that we were involved in a business meeting and that we would like to be left alone. Mad took no notice. He inched closer to the table and proceeded to repeat his hard-luck story. Nick and I looked at each other. “He’s been doing it all day,” I said.

  Nick has had to put up with Mad the longest, and like all of us he has had enough of his antics. “Yeah, he’s probably not taking his pills,” he replied.

  Nick interrupted Mad’s blabber. “Hey mate, I asked you nicely the first time. We are having a meeting and we don’t want you to join us, so if you wouldn’t mind, go away and tell somebody else your problems.”

  Mad erupted in a frenzy. He pointed at Nick and screamed. “You fucking owe me money. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for you. You’re to blame, your fucking family is to blame. You’re a bunch of fucking criminals, you’re the fucking Mafia.”

  Nick stood up; he was with his wife and he is very protective. “You’re living in the past mate, let it go and leave before you get yourself in trouble.”

  Mad stepped closer and rounded a chair so he stood in front of Nick. “I was happy when Ankle stabbed you in the throat, I wish he’d fucking killed you!” he screamed. Those of us sitting at the table choked in disbelief at the last comment.

  Nick turned at the sound. “It’s OK,” he said reassuringly. I stood up and walked to Nick’s side.

  Nick turned back to face Mad and smiled. “Run out of pills have you Mad? You know you’re insane. We can all see it, why don’t you go and get some help?” Mad didn’t take the opening; he pressed forward and twisted his features into a scowl. “I will kill you and your fucking family,” he screamed.

  Nick is defensive of those he loves; threatening to kill his family was a big mistake. “Go away, boy, leave now!” he said.

  Mad underestimated the threat. He flexed away from the table and thrust out his chest. “Do something then. Come on, I will fuck you over!”

  Nick rounded his shoulders. He was about to let loose and I have no doubt he would have destroyed Mad, but he was also ill and he was with his wife. I knew he wouldn’t be happy but I decided to intervene, I stepped up and punched Mad hard in the side of the head.

  I’d reached the end of my tether. It wasn’t the best punch, but it rocked Mad. He stumbled into the street, grabbed at his ear and stared at me dazed. “You’re a fucking dog,” he screamed.

  I laughed. I had nothing to say and waited for him to bring the fight back to me.

  Mad checked his ear for blood. “What are you laughing for?” he bellowed. “You king hit me, you dog.”

  “Yes.” I said and laughed louder. I felt good. I released a lot of pent up frustration with that punch.

  “You fucking dog,” Mad screamed, “you king-hitting dog.”

  I pointed at Mad. “Does it hurt?” I asked and smirked. I couldn’t wait to tell Luke that I’d given Mad a dose of his own medicine. I remembered the apartment manager and how Mad had bullied him. Fuck you, I thought, how does it feel now?

  Mad realised he was going to get no joy from me, so he turned to Nick. “You too,” he yelled, “you’re a fucking dog too, your whole family are dogs.”

  I took a step forward. Nick reached out a hand and grabbed me. “Let it go for now,” he uttered, then told me to sit down. “Let the fuckwit carry on making a fool of himself.”

  I sat down, turned my chair to face the road and pulled my sunglasses down. I lit a smoke and stared at Mad with a smile on my face.

  Nick turned to Mad. “Take a look at yourself, mate. You’re insane. We know it and you know it. Go get some help.”

  Nick sat down and picked up his drink. “Ignore him,” he said to everyone at the table.

  Mad rose to the bait. He paced up and down and hurled abuse at us. “I have friends,” he screamed. “Irish boxers. I’m going to bring them down and give you and your brother a hiding.” Mad pulled his phone from his pocket. He called someone, spoke briefly and then shoving the phone away he continued to pace. “There is going to be an old-fashioned brawl,” he screamed at Nick and me, “five boxers and you two. When my friends get here there will be blood on the streets.”

  Nick smiled at Mad, “Bring it on, crazy boy. We’ll be waiting.”

  Mad stood and stared at Nick, he’d tried to intimidate him to no avail. He shook his fist at us both and stormed off to get his boxer friends.

  We watched him leave and then huddled around our table. Nick and I told Dave and Hamish that they should go; we said it was our problem and they didn’t deserve to become embroiled in a negative situation with Mad.

  Hamish and Dave refused and said they would join the fight if the boxers turned up, they said they wouldn’t abandon their mates no matter how many showed up.

  Nick then asked his wife and Hamish’s to leave and they also refused—both women started making phone calls.

  Indonesian women are incredibly loyal and dangerously inflexible when it comes to their husbands or family being threatened. Nick’s wife organised two rough-looking security guards to come down and sit at a table behind us. Hamish�
��s wife rang her cousins in the police force.

  Nick then got up from the table and asked me to keep an eye on things. He crossed the road to where we were getting construction work done on our office. He organised the Indonesian construction workers to join the fight with hammers and shovels if the Irish boxers turned up. He promised them a large bonus for anyone they took out.

  Mad was right about one thing, if his boxers did come there was going to be blood on the streets.

  Mad turned up half an hour later. With him was a heavy-set bald man whom nobody recognised. This stranger kept his distance, pacing back and forth at the end of the road and making phones calls. Every now and again he gestured or pointed in our direction. He then rode past us on a motorbike a couple of times. He took a good look at us but evidently decided it wasn’t worth his while and left after the second pass. Mad watched him go then leapt onto a motorbike and rode past us with a skinny Indonesian on the back. Nick and I smiled at him as he passed. We didn’t know if he was going to return, but decided to hold our ground. We remained at the restaurant.

  We were soon joined by two Indonesian intel officers. They were very powerful men and cousins of Hamish’s wife. The high-ranking police officers sat with the Indonesian women at a table across from us.

  We ordered food and drink for the intel officers and the security, and sent nasi (rice) and a few Cokes over to the workers, then settled in to wait.

  Eventually we were joined by two more police officers. Unfortunately, they had been organised by Mad and had come to arrest me.

  The Indonesians then sat down to talk. After a brief discussion, I was called over and informed that Mad had made a statement against me for assault. I was told that I would have to go to the police station and make a statement or I would be arrested. I was also notified that the punishment for assault was six year’s jail and a fine.

  Nick’s wife jumped on her phone and organised a very powerful ally to come to my aid and Hamish’s wife assured me that I wouldn’t have a problem as long as her cousins were with me. I consider myself very lucky that I have such loyal Indonesian friends.

  When I arrived at the police station I was informed that the charge had been upgraded to assault with a weapon causing injury. I found out later that Mad had scratched himself on the neck, enough to draw blood, and that he had told the Polisi I had attacked him while wearing a ring. I do not wear jewellery.

  I was in a lot of trouble. I faced a hefty fine and jail time. A lot of people, including Nick, pulled together to get me out of the mess I had landed myself in.

  Indonesian police stations are not fun. I have been to a few on unrelated issues. You sit for hours, nobody tells you anything and the Indonesians yell and scream at each other. It’s daunting.

  Eventually Nick, his wife and I were led into a small room to be interviewed. Nick’s wife got herself involved as translator—she is a very shrewd and steadfast woman.

  Mad was seated at the desk with an Indonesian police officer and he smirked at us when we entered, he seemed confident and dabbed a tissue at an injury on his neck.

  When I first arrived in Indonesia I learnt from Nick that the key to dealing with Indonesian authority is to always be polite. Mad also seemed to know this and he did his best to flatter the police officers dealing with our case. What he didn’t count on was Nick sitting next to him.

  Nick took every opportunity to goad Mad and get him to show his real personality. This wasn’t difficult to do and it was funny to watch. Mad struggled to control himself when Nick poked him verbally, and on more than one occasion he blew up at the police sergeant, which definitely worked in my favour.

  The interview went well for me, I had a lot of people watching my back and credit definitely lies with them. For my part I was nervous and I kept my statement short. I denied hitting Mad and claimed I had given him little more than a push. I said I had no idea why he was bleeding and that Mad’s red ear had nothing to do with me.

  I then went on to tell the police that Mad had threatened my life and the life of my family on more than one occasion. I told them that he was indeed crazy and that the whole thing was a hoax on his part.

  During my interview the intel police came into the room and patted me on the shoulder; one even whispered to me that I would be alright, despite the seriousness of the situation and my nervousness. I felt I would be OK. What I didn’t know was that Mad had promised to pay money if I was put in jail. It became a sticky situation and only the high profile of my backup saved me. The interview dragged on for an hour before I was told I could leave and that no charges would be brought against me.

  After this incident I decided to get out of Bali for a couple of weeks. I wanted some time off work and chose to spend two weeks in Thailand. I was glad that I did. Mad did not give up on me, especially when the whole side of his face, including his ear, turned black.

  The Kuta rumour mill churned when I returned and more than one person told me that they had seen Mad lurking around with a gun. This still seemed unlikely as guns are not so easy to come by in Bali but Mad had threatened to kill me on a number of occsions in the past.

  When I returned to Bali from Thailand I was glad to hear that Mad had left. Unfortunately, I was soon to learn that he’d arranged a going-away present. Not long after I arrived back I received a letter summoning me to the police station.

  Mad had supplied pictures of his injuries and he had somehow reopened the case. I learned later, through Nick’s connections, that he’d paid a lot of money to have me thrown in jail. This time I didn’t feel comfortable contacting Hamish’s wife for protection, but I was lucky enough to have Nick’s wife firmly in my corner. A good example of this woman’s strength is the admonishment she gave me after I punched Mad.

  Nick’s wife took me aside and said, “Mal, next time you want to hit someone, tell me and I will pay someone to do it for you.” She is not a woman to be messed with.

  With Nick’s wife’s help and a few of my brother’s connections I managed again to get out of the situation, but it did cost money. The money was delivered to the police station in a brown paper bag late at night by the powerful ally that Nick’s wife had organised.

  I have never asked how much was paid but I was glad it was. I was also glad to have loyal, determined and intelligent people on my side.

  To date, after seven years, Mad has still not given up on me. During the writing of this book I received a phone call from another Bali policeman. Mad claimed that I owed him money for somebody that stayed in his room without paying. The absconder was a friend of mine and the bill was not paid, but it had nothing to do with me.

  Unfortunately I know Mad’s logic. In his mushed-up mind either my family or I are responsible for everything bad that befalls him. I’m sure money will change hands again in an attempt to have me locked up and I’ll deal with it when it happens. I do wish the guy would just take his medication.

  Mad isn’t smart but he is conniving, manipulative and paranoid. He needs help and he needs to be taken off the streets of Bali before he hurts someone or himself.

  I should mention that one of the gang members that joined my office in a security role took me aside and volunteered to murder Mad for me. He told me that if I wanted him to kill Mad and get rid of the body, the fee would be thirty million rupiah (about three thousand Australian dollars). He said my only obligation, after payment, was to look after his family should he be caught and sent to jail. I declined this offer. I had no wish to kill anyone, Mad included. I did however take the offer seriously. This security guard had stabbed two people in the past and he’d spent time in jail for both stabbings.

  Spatial Awareness

  Bali is known worldwide as a great holiday destination: a fun place to visit and a tropical paradise where millions of tourists come every year for their vacations. One of the most common reasons people give for choosing to spend their holidays in Bali is the people. The stock phrase is: “Balinese are wonderful people, they will do anything
for you.”

  This is true up to a point. Indonesians are delightful people and most of them work extremely hard to make a visitor’s stay in Bali a wonderful experience. However, there is also an undercurrent of jealousy and anger that permeates through some of the local Kuta community. I have heard Indonesians scream at Westerners: “This is my country. If you don’t like what I do, get out.” And I have heard this sentiment on more than one occasion.

  A lot of Indonesians, Balinese included, are jealous or fed up and they don’t like Westerners. This is the reality. The sooner an expat or tourist learns this, the better off he or she will be. I have read so many columns and letters in local newspapers expounding the fact that a Westerner has been slighted or ripped off by an Indonesian. All of these have an undercurrent of disbelief that an Indonesian could possibly perpetrate a misdeed against a Westerner who spends money in Indonesia.

  I believe this is a naïve way to think, there are many Indonesians who are sick of rich Westerners holidaying in their country. They couldn’t give a toss about the money and they would prefer to have their island back.

  Anyone who has lived in Indonesia for any length of time also knows that Indonesians win most legal battles against foreigners. In my opinion, Indonesian law favours the Indonesian, and Indonesians know this—unfortunately, most Westerners do not.

  A frequently seen form of petty extortion employed in Bali against Westerners is for Indonesians to yell and scream in the hope the Westerner will try and make the problem disappear with cash. It is true that when confronted by irate Indonesians, Western tourists tend to panic.

  Watch any motorbike accident that involves a Westerner and you will witness Indonesians crawl out of the woodwork. They will accuse and threaten the Westerner until he or she hands over cash, even if the accident was the Indonesian’s fault.