THAT afternoon, in a simple, beach side café shop near Canggu, Alex’s laughter broke through the faint sound of crashing waves. He leaned back in a wooden chair, his frangipani-patterned beach shirt worn, and his tousled blonde hair blew in the sea breeze. In front of him, Wayan, in his black T-shirt, smiled faintly as he sipped his iced coffee. Under the table lay Alex’s thick wallet, filled with rupiah bills. They had just rented their tenth motorcycle in his motorcycle rental business, and that meant a substantial profit.
“I told you, Wan,” Alex said, grabbing a cigarette. “All your talk is just fear. Look at this! It’s so easy, isn’t it? No one comes, no one asks.”
Wayan just shook his head. “Bali isn’t as big as you think, Lex. Here, everyone knows everyone. Even the guy at the shop knows you rented a motorbike to tourists. And here, the rules are like a toll road. If you take the wrong turn, there’s always a police officer.”
Alex chuckled, blowing a puff of cigarette smoke into the air. “The police are human too, Wayan. They need money. But I’m here on a tourist visa, there’s nothing they can do. I don’t have a shop, just these motorbikes.” He waved his hand toward the small alley across the street, where several automatic motorbikes were neatly parked.
“I’m just helping friends who need motorbikes. There’s nothing illegal here.”
———–
“Especially them, sir. We’ve been monitoring them for two weeks. This is all digital evidence. The name is Mr. Alex Green, a foreign tourist, entering on a tourist visa,” the other officer continued, showing his tablet, filled with screenshots of conversations and photos. Alex saw his own face on the screen, handing the motorbike keys to a tourist in front of his rented house. His heart was pounding. He tried to swallow, his throat feeling dry.
Alex tried to deflect again. “Can we talk this over, sir? Maybe… maybe there’s another way?” He reached into his pocket, trying to reach for his wallet.
The officer just stared at his hand coldly. “We’re not here to negotiate, sir. We’re here to enforce the rules. Your business is violating Article 60 of the Immigration Law by conducting business while on a tourist visa. Furthermore, you don’t have a business permit from the Tourism and Licensing Office. The consequences are clear: asset confiscation, fines, and possible deportation.”
Alex suddenly paled. The word “deportation” struck him like a bolt from the blue. He already imagined himself being sent back to home country, back to his old, boring job.
“But… but I didn’t know the rules were this strict, sir!” Alex said, his voice trembling, his arrogance lost to fear. “I thought… I thought this was just a small matter.”
The officer sighed. “That’s the excuse we hear most often. Ignorance is no excuse, sir. Moreover, you knew what you were doing. You took a shortcut because you thought it was easy. But shortcuts are often longer and more expensive than the right path.”
Wayan, who had been silent until now, approached. He patted Alex’s shoulder. Alex could only stare blankly at Wayan. Wayan shook his head slowly, as if to say, “I told you so, didn’t I?”
Alex remained silent, watching the officers load his motorcycles one by one onto the truck. The motorcycles that had once been a source of pride had now become symbols of his downfall. He no longer saw a lucrative profit, but an unimaginable loss. Regret filled his heart, heavy and suffocating. He looked at Wayan, who was now standing beside him with a concerned expression.
Wayan approached, not accusingly, but with a look of sympathy. “I told you, Lex? Life is like a wave. We can’t fight it; we have to learn to go with it. You’re too stubborn.”
Alex could only nod slowly, his eyes fixed on the last motorcycle being loaded onto the truck. Under the blue Balinese sky, he realized a harsh truth: he hadn’t just broken a rule, he’d also broken a trust. And for that one step too far, he would pay a heavy price. (*)
