> Canadian Businessman's Experience of Being Shanghaied in Shanghai --
> SHANGHAI SHAKEDOWN/MARK SISSONS
>
> -- Micky's Comment: finally, people are starting to report the real
> China behind the masks of china's official media. --
>
> TRAVELBLOG
> SHANGHAI SHAKEDOWN
>
> MARK SISSONS

>
> Special to The Globe and Mail
>
> 'Body of Canadian businessman found hacked to pieces in Shanghai alley."
>
> Not exactly the way I want my 15 column inches of fame to read. But as
> the gangster's fingers approach my ankles, it wasn't looking good.
>
> Three hours after arriving in Shanghai, I'm in a taxi weaving through
> the neon labyrinth of China's largest city. The driver has promised to
> deliver me to a pub near my hotel where I can take the edge off my
> jetlag. Instead, he deposits me in the middle of a dark alley.
>
> "Beer here," he says, jabbing his finger to a shabby doorway. I ask him
> to wait while I check it out. I find a deserted room with a bar, a
> shabby couch, and a plastic coffee table. A lone fluorescent bulb
> dangles overhead. I'm about to leave when a weedy little bald man
> appears. The barman. He smiles as I walk out the door. No more taxi. I'm
> lost in Shanghai.
>
> I return and ask the barman to call me a cab. He nods while he pours me
> a pint of brackish ale. Just then, in walks a Shanghainese homeboy, all
> blinged out, a cigarette dangling from a cocky sneer. He's accompanied
> by a sumo-sized posse of three. Now I'm lost in Shanghai with the triads.
>
> "You want nice girl?"
>
> "No thanks. Just leaving," I say, draining my pint.
>
> Too late. A sallow teenager in a cheap cocktail dress wearing too much
> makeup appears, looking terminally bored. The barman pours me another
> pint, mixes the girl a fruity little "lady drink," and then produces a
> plate of stale nuts. Ten minutes later, I ask for the bill. It's 500
> American dollars.
>
> "There must be some mistake," I stutter, pointing to the tally. My pulse
> is already racing.
>
> "No mistake," hisses Homeboy, exhaling a cloud of smoke in my face. "You
> pay for drinks, food and girl's time. $500."
>
> As the gravity of my predicament sinks in, I accept a cigarette from
> Homeboy, figuring it might be my last. Fifteen hours ago I was sipping a
> latte in Vancouver Airport's international departures terminal. Now, I'm
> all alone on the far side of the planet getting shaken down by Chinese
> gangsters.
>
> "I haven't got it," I reply, my voice cracking. I show him the contents
> of my wallet -- about $40.
>
> "Credit card? We go to bank machine. You take out money."
>
> As a caution, I had locked my credit card in the hotel safe, along with
> my ticket and passport.
>
> "Stand up," he barks, growing agitated. I comply, and he pads me down
> like a movie detective while his gang watches. I'm clean. This fleece is
> evidently not golden. Relief washes over me. Surely, now they'll be
> satisfied to take my $40 and let me go.
>
> "Take off shoes," he growls. Relief turns to panic. Before I left the
> hotel, I stuffed a wad of bills into my sock and wedged it beneath the
> arch of my foot. Emergency funds, in case I got mugged. It's a safe
> assumption that when Homeboy finds it he's going to be very disappointed
> in me for lying to him.
>
> I'm visibly shaking now as I remove my shoes and step up onto the coffee
> table. Homeboy's fingers run over my ankles, and across the top of my
> stocking feet, brushing within a millimetre of my cash stash. Nothing.
>
> Homeboy barks an order at one of his goons, who goes outside (to fetch
> the choppers, I reckon). Then, inexplicably, Homeboy starts laughing and
> smiling at me. "Okay, you go now. No problem."
>
> I'm dumbfounded. One minute I'm mentally composing my obituary. The
> next, I'm tying my laces as fast as I can. We head outside together to
> wait for the cab they've called for me. In a moment, it pulls up.
> Handshakes all around. Grins and more laughter, like they're seeing an
> old comrade off. As I climb in (and lock the door), he sticks his face
> up to the window and grins. "Have good time in Shanghai!"
>
> I plan on doing just that after I stop hyperventilating.
>
> Copied from Globe and Mail without Permision.