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 and 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.
Leaving Monica in charge of the house, I journeyed to Jogjakarta. My sojourn there included a tour of the Borobodour temple and a night with a beautiful Indonesian who had black skin and waist-length, Asian hair. I found him hanging out with Australians, cashing in his good looks with the foreign women. He wore expensive western clothes and drove me to his home on a motorbike. It was late at night when we arrived, and we tiptoed through a hall, passing a horde of people, old and young, sleeping everywhere. I stepped over three snoring, ancient women and squeezed past a table occupied by two toddlers.
In an inner room he woke his brother curled on a mattress and sent him to find another bed. In the morning, as we prepared to leave, the entire family came to meet me, touch my hair, and examine my clothes. One great-grandmother lifted my skirt to feel the satin with her calloused fingers. Kids with thumbs in their mouths stared.