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SNOWING IN BALI

his eyes. Rafael stayed calm. He was on the brink of having hundreds of thousands of dollars within his grasp - it was just a six-hour flight away. He’d already invested $50,000. He was exhausted, but the adrenalin was surging. He had a bright idea: ‘No problem, I’ll bring the bag for you.’ Snatching it off the ground, he walked briskly towards the doors, relieved to glimpse the horse trailing him.

I put the bag on the X-ray, I even went to look at the screen. I say, ‘Come, my friend, look, no problem,’ - and he came, looking at the screen and says, ‘Wow, man.’ . . . ‘I told you, man, this is X-ray- proof. They are not going to catch you. Fuck, just go for it. Just go out of the airport and call me, but don’t be like this again when you arrive in Sydney.’

As a parting gesture, Rafael ruffled the horse’s excessively gelled hair, trying to make him look more waxhead and less off the set of Grease.

‘Man, why did you do that with your hair?’ Rafael gently mocked.

‘I wanted to look good,’ the horse said sheepishly.

‘Come on, man, you look like John Travolta with this hair. You’ve got to look like a surfer.’

He went very happy, very easy. I say, ‘See you in Sydney, my friend.’

Driving home, Rafael’s heart was pumping. He felt happy, excited, sure he was about to win big. He’d fluked a crazy-low price for the coke when two naïve Peruvians flew into Bali with 5 kilos stashed in their bags, aware Bali had a strong market but with no local contacts or any idea of local prices. Someone had

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