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SNOWING IN BALI

asking, ‘Who’s that?’ Rafael didn’t know, but was blasé until Marco said, ‘I think he’s a cop.’

‘What? Why?’ Rafael was suddenly listening. For all Marco’s japery, his instincts were red hot. ‘We’re the only drug dealers here, and the guy has a camera, come on it’s a crazy coinci-dence.’ Rafael scrutinised the guy as he was talking to Black Julio, but he noticed Rafael looking.

He moseyed over, said ‘Hi’, then quick as a flash took a shot of Rafael. Instinctively, Rafael grabbed the camera: ‘Hey, why did you take a photo of me?’ The guy tussled, yanking his camera back, but he was either naïve or stupid as he didn’t stand a chance against these guys.

Bras flew around behind him and, in a Jiu-Jitsu choke move, squeezed his neck, cut the blood to his brain and blacked him out, then lowered him to the ground. Rafael quickly checked his pockets, but found nothing.

The restaurant was large, with tables spread out, so other diners didn’t seem to notice the fracas. But a waiter raced straight over, asking, ‘What’s happened?’ A prerequisite for being a good drug dealer was staying cool in a hot spot, and making up stories, so Rafael easily slipped into casual banter. ‘Oh, this guy is very drunk, sorry. We’ll take him out before he throws up.’ Rafael and Bras hauled him off the floor, slung his limp arms around their shoulders and dragged him out.

After dumping him on the concrete, Bras slapped his face to get the blood circulating, and as he came to, gripped him by the throat. Rafael asked, ‘Why did you take a photo of me, mother-fucker? Who are you?’

He gave a glassy-eyed stare, but didn’t speak. Bras tightened his grip. Rafael grabbed the camera, ripped out the film and threw it back onto his chest. ‘Motherfucker, we don’t want to see

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