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SNIFF, DRINK, LIVE

was rarely behind the bar, usually mingling with sexy foreign girls around the tables instead. He was highly energised, fuelled by the copious quantity of cocaine he sniffed. He kept staff on their toes, often turning around during a tableside chat to shout, 'Hey you, quick quick,' showing off that he was the boss.

Sweeping in with a surge of charisma and a bunch of friends at what he dubbed devil's hour, 5 pm, was his good friend Rafael, usually wearing board shorts, no shoes and no shirt, nicely exhibiting his six-pack torso too. Together they'd sniff a few lines, and then Rafael would help him sell a bit of coke in Fabio's pre-packed plastic baggies. He'd walk around with them in his pockets or hidden in his thick curly ponytail – for which Marco had nicknamed him 'Hair'. Rafael would ask Fabio, 'Can you see it?' and Fabio would 'fix Rafael's hair to better hide the bags.

That time it was a fucking game, we were not afraid, we didn't care.

Because no one had gone down yet?

Exactly. But we didn't sell to anybody we didn't know. If somebody just comes and says, 'Oh, I want some coke.' I say, 'Fuck you, man! What are you talking about? Get away or you're gonna get punched.' We just sell one by one to friends; we say, 'If you want to buy, you have to come there at sunset time; don't try to call us at 10 pm, the pharmacy is closed.'

– Rafael

Further down the beach was their club.

The hotel was our drug club. We sell everything there, we take over the place. Sometimes I organised to meet people there . . . 'I want to have 100 grams', 'Okay, meet me in the club, pm.' And then I meet

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