Mongolian Hooker Knife Fight

Photo: Allenying.com

The bar girls pulled out cleavers out from behind the bar. Obviously a mistake had been made, there was going to be bloodshed.

Hans, the CEO of UniCore was in Shanghai. The man had the uncanny ability to work fourteen hour days, learn Chinese, run a multi-billion dollar operation dealing with metals for cellphone components for all of Asia, and yet he found the time to drag me and my uncle Ross — who was the manager of the company’s mainland China branches — into three day sessions of debauchery. We would not sleep in between these “adventures.” We would finish one night of getting wrecked, have a shower, drink a Red Bull, go to work, then meet up to do it all over again.

Hans was an unstoppable monster with an unlimited company credit card. He was insatiable and a machine capable of pounding double whiskeys all night long. We frequented a hostess bar called the Parrot Club on The Lu (Julu Lu), where we would often rack up five to ten thousand US a night. They loved us there, anything went, as it does when that sort of money is changing hands.

***

We sat on stools, at the bar in the upstairs lounge of the Westin. A lounge singer was half way through “Lemon Tree” when Hans ordered the bartender to bring us his best red wine; I can’t recall what it was but it was $500 a pop. Hans told the bartender to open up another bottle whenever the first bottle was half empty. That way we wouldn’t be bothered by having to wait or go thirsty while the new one was being opened. The barman pleaded with Hans to first finish a bottle before opening another as it was very expensive. Hans replied in his heavy Austrian accent with what he said to anyone that tried to give an excuse“I don’t care, it doesn’t matter! Just do it!”

This was his motto for everything from business issues, his day to day life or someone refusing to take part in the party, his presence so commanding that it was little wonder this guy ran such a giant corporation. So when these magic words were spoken, you had no choice but to obey.

The wine kept coming. We drank it out of goblets, downed it like it was water, no appreciation went into the art of wine drinking that night. We were there for one purpose and that one purpose was to be men and drink like men. We were three bottles in when Hans looked around the bar and noticed the prostitutes. Hookers could often be found in five star lounges in China. You wouldn’t think that fine joints like this place would tolerate it, but the fact is money is money and it talks and breathes, and these hotels understand what men with money want. They want to be kings and they want beautiful women to fuck when they’re away from their families. It’s all just more money in the hotel’s pocket anyway, it keeps the big fish coming back.

Hans gave the room another once over and decided there were too many men. He turned to the bartender and slipped him a thousand US and told him to close the bar; only him, my uncle, myself, and the girls would remain. The bartender quickly ushered the middle class businessmen out due to an impromptu private function. They grumbled but you could tell they wanted in, they wanted this life, that’s why they were here, working for banks and firms and whatever. They just hadn’t risen high enough to be in “the club.” Me? I was just along for the ride because Hans liked my style, liked my uncle. I wasn’t in a position to argue. I just followed where I was lead.

So we got back into the wine and between us and the girls we polished off eight bottles for a total of four thousand dollars plus the one grand for the bartender; it was a pretty good night for the bar. But we were ready to move on so we piled the girls into the Audi. Hans suggested we hit the Lu and so off we went.

A Mongolian Hooker on each of our arms, we walked into the Parrot Club. The girls who worked there knew us by name but when they noticed the other girls swagger in with us, their eyes went cold. I was too new to the city to understand Chinese but you could sense a palpable tang of danger tinge the air. The Auntie behind the bar let out a screech and as one the bar-girls pulled out knives and cleavers from hidden places around the room; the prostitutes dug in their tiny purses for small blades and whatever else they had handy; one picked up a stool; it was a Shanghai Stand Off, all the girls in their short, sequined skirts surged forward and made a mad rush for each other only to collide flesh on flesh to tear at each other’s hair and clothes, drunken laowai dodging out of the way, tables were overturned. We should have thought this thing through, but we just hadn’t taken into account that the Mongolians were competition for the girls in the bar. Hookers weren’t allowed in the bars. They all loitered outside, waiting for drunken men to stumble out and attack them. We had broken the unspoken law of whores. We had caused this madness.

As the violence escalated, we watched as a Swede we knew named Benjamin Whale step between a girl known only as Wei Wei and a Mongolian in a foolish attempt to stop the fight. All he got for his trouble was a severed left hand.

We knew we had fucked up.

Ever so slowly we backed out of the bar making sure not to expose our backs until we were out the door. We should have done more but the whole scene had escalated so quickly. Blood was going to flow red this day!

We ran to the car and jumped in, beating back thirty hookers looking to go home with us. Billy Zhao, Hans’ driver, was pulling hookers out of the car by their feet and hair, we were kicking them away like we were stuck in some low-budget zombie film and a mob of hungry mindless beasts starving for our flesh as they moaned,

Fucky!

You want fucky?

Fucky!

Me fuck you OK.

It was horrendous.

We got them out and locked our doors. Giving Billy orders to make a getaway, we were soon safe and on our way. Billy was laughing all the way home, saying how he loved working for foreigners because they were like rockstars. Maybe we were, maybe we were just drunk, crazy assholes. All I know is that in Shanghai as long as you have the money you can do whatever you want, even get caught in and survive a Mongolian hooker knife fight.

***

Later.

The sun was just coming up, I leaned back in my seat, looking out the window, watching as a new sun burnt away the morning haze of smog. I was traveling over an empty Nanpu Bridge as Shanghai began to wake up. I felt good and horrible all at the same time. Shanghai was strange, but I discovered I sort of didn’t mind.