Roni's Chinese Mafia Story

David calls me on a Tuesday. "I got your name from Rebecca. We need someone to do some proofreading for us. We'll go to Shandong and we need you to come with us. But first we need to interview you."

I don't know David, and to be honest, I don't know Rebecca, but I tell him sure, let's set up an interview. He says he'll come to my campus tomorrow at two. Later in the day, I remember that I did interview for a teaching job with a woman named Rebecca. I call her and ask her if she knows this David guy and if she sent him to me. She has no idea about this guy.

The next day, while in the library studying, I get a call from David. He says he's at the west gate of the university waiting for me in a black Mercedes. I ride my bike over to the west gate and find his car. It's a new, black Mercedes, and there's a twenty-five year-old Chinese kid sitting in the seat talking on his cellphone inside. "David?" I say. He tells me to come in.

David speaks English well and says he has a master's degree from Oxford. His English isn't bad, and it's possible that he is actually telling me the truth (any Chinese person who knows about "A-levels", i.e., the university entrance exams in the UK, must have done his homework).

He tells me he works at an investment company and that they have a new client located in Shandong, which is about a four hour drive from Beijing. Since they'll need to do some Powerpoint presentations in English related to the client in the future, he explains, he'd like to take me along so I can get familiar with this project. He tells me that we'll stay in a five-star hotel and all meals will be covered. We negotiate a rate and he gives me a business card, telling me that he'll send more information to me by email. We depart on Thursday morning.

"You know," he say, "there are many bad guys in China, but don't worry, we're not going to kidnap you or anything."

I feel reassured and on my way back to the library I call up a couple of good friends and tell them about the interview, joking that I think I was just hired to be an English teacher for the Chinese mafia. One friend is completely worried, telling me to not be so naive.

I come home that evening and look up the website on David's card. Nothing comes up. I try google the name of his company (which has "offices in Beijing and London"). Again, nothing. The whole theory about becoming English teacher to the Chinese mafia is looking more probable.

The next day, I call David and tell him that his website doesn't exist. He tells me that sometimes the Chinese government blocks it, not to worry. I tell him that he should have a contract ready for me in the morning. With any new project, especially with a Chinese company, I always get a contract to make sure they pay me and that the terms of the job are clear. He says there's no time for a contract, that he'll just pay me in full, in cash, at the beginning of our trip. See you tomorrow morning at 8:30, he says.

I call up a few friends. "Listen, if you don't hear from me by Friday afternoon, call the police," I tell them. The friend who told me I'm naive still thinks I'm taking a big risk. One of my friends doesn't understand what's the big deal. I make some money, get to visit another province, and get to stay in a five-star hotel. Not a bad deal, she says, right?

That evening, I go out to the local department store and buy a killer blue-striped tie. I come home and get out my fake Armani suit that I bought in Shanghai for $86. I swear, I am ready for GQ. I am ready for an adventure. At best, I get a high-paying job with the Chinese mafia. At worst, I have to defend myself against a couple of skinny Chinese thugs using all those aikido moves I've practiced maybe thousands of times. I have been lifting weights recently and doing taiji, so I figure I am up for it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know?

I wake up early the next morning, get dressed, and walk out of my shitty apartment building in the suburbs of Beijing, looking like a half-Moroccan Ashkenazi Jewish-American-Israeli James Bond.

David arrives in his Mercedes at the agreed-upon location with two of his coworkers, Candy and Frank. I sit in the back with Frank and David makes introductions. We're going to be in the car together for the next four hours, so we try to get to know each other. David senses I'm a little nervous, so he tries to reassure me again that he's not going to try to kidnap me. I am once again reassured.

Candy's English isn't bad, but I'm sitting in the back with Frank, and his English sucks, so I start speaking with them in my passable Chinese. David tells me that when we get to Shandong and meet with the client I should not speak any Chinese at all. He doesn't want them asking me all kinds of questions. He tells me to especially avoid the Taiwanese guys that work for the client because their English is better than the mainlanders. He tells me that if they ask about my background, I should tell them that I have a background in investment banking and have worked for several firms in the States. No problem, I say.

He further explains that the client is a tech company looking for investors and so not only will we be investigating their operation, but they will also be trying to ascertain whether we are a legitimate investment company. I ask him a few questions about the field of investment banking and figure I should be okay.

We finally arrive in Shandong, where the client meets us for lunch. About six people meet us at a hotel and we have a short but elegant lunch there. The director of the client's operation, a young man with an authoritarian demeanor in his mid-thirties, makes toasts with wine and smokes a cigar, inviting Frank to smoke with him. For some reason, Frank suddenly becomes a big shot.

Sitting next to me is one of the Taiwanese guys. I know I am not supposed to talk too much to him, but I tell him that I "visited" Taiwan before. Of course, I am dying to tell him I lived there, to tell him how much I love Taiwan, how much I miss it. But, I hold my tongue.

Lunch is short so that we can begin the afternoon meeting with the client. We go to the factory, which has been recently built and is not yet in operation, and after a brief tour, the games begin. We sit, about fifteen of us, in a conference room, with David presenting the terms of the contract. I sit at David's left, listening to them talk in Chinese. A lot of the Chinese that they use, of course, is legalese and is related to finance and investments, so I only understand about 70%. Nevertheless, it's an excellent exercise in my Chinese listening skills.

The factory director smokes several cigars and speaks with the forcefulness of someone with a military background. Besides the two Taiwanese engineers with PhDs from the U.S., I have no clue who the rest of the people are.

David introduces me as the guy in charge of client relations for his company and tells them I don't speak Chinese. We sit there for about four hours and since the talks are exclusively in Chinese I wonder what everyone is thinking I am doing at this meeting.

When they say, "Everyone turn to page four, paragraph three" (in Chinese), I turn to page four, paragraph three and try to practice my Chinese reading skills. I wonder if any of the guys around the table notice.

At one point, one of the Taiwanese engineers introduces their technology to us, a metal tube that conducts heat very quickly. He puts it in a cup of boiling water and asks me to touch it. It's very hot and without thinking, in Chinese I burst out saying, "很快就熱了!" ("It gets hot really fast!"). Too late, I realize I've blurted out Chinese when I am not supposed to know any Chinese. The hyper cigar-smoking factory chief's jaw is on the table. Fortunately, it's not a big deal. For us foreigners, it takes two years to learn to respond like that spontaneously in Chinese, but to a Chinese person, you couldn't convince him that I've studied for more than a month or two.

Finally, the big meeting is over and it's time for the time-honored custom of the business banquet. We all head back to the hotel for a big dinner, which includes, of course, lots of alcohol.

The food is traditional cuisine from Shandong. I figure I haven't gotten kidnapped yet, and as an extra bonus I get this incredible food, so I am quite delighted. The waitress pours me a small cup of expensive baijiu ("white alcohol", Chinese vodka) and during our meal, everyone makes toasts. I think the baijiu is about 58% alcohol, so each sip is like drinking a beer to me. While I like drinking, I'm not a professional drinker. A couple of beers are enough for me.

I notice to my right that the guy two seats over just poured his water into his baijiu glass, and so after I finish by baijiu, I follow suit. Throughout the evening, people are making toasts and somehow I get by with just drinking water.

At one point, a member of the client's delegation tells the waiter something quickly in Chinese and she comes out with a small glass of baijiu. It looks like I've been found out, and I have no choice but to drink it down with him. It's okay, given all the water I've been drinking, I think I should be fine.

What I like about drinking in China is that you don't do it alone and that you do it with dinner. In China, if you want to drink, you raise your glass, look at the person (or people) you are toasting, and then drink with them. This continues throughout the night as people toast each other. David's face is very red. As the head of our operation, he is getting heavily toasted.

I think I'm a bit tipsy by now and I know I'm not supposed to speak any Chinese, but I can't resist turning to one of the Taiwanese engineers and saying (in Taiwanese), "Hodala!" ("Bottoms up!"). He is surprised and looks pleased. Later in the evening, he says, perhaps half-jokingly, that he knows I know Chinese.

The banquet wraps up and a young member of the client's team pays me a compliment, "You can really drink that baijiu!"

"Thanks," I respond, as humbly as possible.

After dinner, David and his team finish up the negotiations with the client and we meet back in his hotel room. It turns out it has all been successful. He asks for my passport number so he can book an airline ticket for me and Frank back to Beijing in the morning. He and Candy will stay in Shandong for another day to get a tour or the area.

David gives me details about tomorrow's flight and says I did a good job. The next morning, I wake up and a car is waiting for me and Frank and we fly back to Beijing. I arrive back in Beijing and send text messages to my friends letting them know I haven't been harmed or kidnapped.

I realize that not once did David or his team talk about any Powerpoint presentations. And I realize that I have just performed an essential function in the negotiations with David's client--I was just paid to be a Western "flower vase" (花瓶), as they say in Chinese. In other words, David hired me to be a white guy in a suit sitting next to him during negotiations.

I arrive back home at about lunch time with a good story for my friends. And a hope that the Chinese mafia might need my services again.