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COMING TO PARADISE

problem,’ the buyer replied. Rafael sniffed a little off his fingertips, instantly feeling better.

The buyer was now focused on testing the quality of the cocaine.

He was organised. He had all the equipment in his briefcase, like the lighter and spoon. He put some bicarbonate soda and coke on the spoon, flicked the lighter, fried the shit, and then he agrees: ‘Okay, it’s good. I want to take it all. How much you have?’ I say, ‘I have three more.’ ‘Okay, give me two days to get the money.’

After spooning the coke onto a digital scale to check it for correct weight, the buyer tipped the powder into three plastic zip lock bags, slid his fingers along the top of each, and placed them one by one in his briefcase. Then he snapped shut the lid and locks, and re-scrambled the combinations. ‘Okay, let’s go to the bedroom,’ he said, breaking the silence.

Rafael trailed him out of the living room and into the bedroom. The Australian had clearly splashed out on one of the InterContinental’s plush suites, which Rafael would soon discover was often the genteel way of big cocaine transactions. It had stunning ocean views, but Rafael didn’t notice. His eyes flew to the four big piles of crisp $100 notes sitting on the bed – each $10,000. The buyer apologised that the last $8000 would be paid in Indonesian rupiah.

It was the first time I see bunches, like nice bunches, four together. I was like, ‘Wow!’

Rafael picked up a bunch and flicked through it, checking for counterfeits or blanks. The Australian buyer sat down in an

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