Blurring the Lines of What is Legal, What is Safe...and What Really isn't Either
A sleek black Mercedes pulled itself next to the street-side bar where the author and his two friends began their night with a couple of Gin and Tonic's to wash down an anxious sense of uncertainty on what is going to happen next. The bar owner, the gracious host for the night, motioned his three new friends into the black-leather backseats of the spacious vehicle. Putting himself on the front passenger seat, he prompted a casual small talk with the elderly driver, who appeared professional but relaxed in his tuxedo uniform.
The Mercedes, cruising down the empty streets of 10pm Taipei, came to a halt in front of a non-nondescript office building on another main street. The half-asleep security guard in the standard sky blue uniform, sitting behind the counter at the first floor, appeared not a bit perplexed by a bunch of properly dressed (?) human beings roaming through his slightly run-down lobby at this time of a weekend day. One of the creaky elevators at the end of the lobby hall was marked "Fifth floor only." It is into which the group stepped...and transported themselves into another world.
This whole story appeared to have began before the author was even part of the crew. A disappointing night before among the author's two visiting friends from Tokyo in a local club prompted the gracious host noted above to take further action to guarantee satisfaction. A dace club was not gonna cut it, it seemed...so extreme measures of personal connections were utilized to rig a free ride into a group party in a local high-class hostess club, one that is so secret that only those who know will know what is hidden on the fifth floor of the decrepit office building.
But as all free things in life, crushing this party also came with conditions. Euphemism was rife in the "pre-departure briefing" the host subjected the excitedly wide-eyed participants to in the bar before arrival of the back Mercedes. "Make sure to treat all the guys there with the highest respect," he stated with a tone of seriousness, and continuing with a lower voice, "because, well, these are well-connected people...you know, yakuza and what not." The author's poker-face and casual nod in response could not hide his internal flabbergast: yep, going to hang out the Taiwanese mafioso in their choice spot.
Back on the fifth floor, the place was getting warmed up. A large room with low tables and multiple long sofas, reminiscent of a private room in a karaoke parlor, was prepared for the crew. the host kindly introduced the "bosses" of the night, and the "bosses" in turn introduced the other "bosses" when they began to arrive one by one. "This is Brother X...this is Brother Y...this is Brother Z..." With each introduction, the author's crew got up to bow, to shake with both hands, and to down another shot of Ballantine's whisky in another toast. Even police officers came to say hi and check IDs.
It wasnt long before the parade of girls began. Each was unmistakably dressed in 45-degree high heels, mini-dresses of body-suffocating tightness and skirts that cannot be any shorter without significant exposure. Complete with unnaturally long eyelashes and caked on cosmetic white skin, the girls, all in their mid to late twenties, looked like the creme of the crop transported from the most popular dance clubs. When appointed to sit on the sofas, they presented major contrast to their elder members of enlarging male crew, many of whom sported hoodies and jeans while chain-smoking.
As is expected, seemingly endless hours of drunken shenanigans took place, during which the author counted at least seven large bottles of Ballantine's obliterated by a population of no more than a dozen. The boisterousness too, as expected, escalated fast. Slow songs on the room's karaoke machine and soft chatters turned into pulsing pop songs, accompanying group dances, and loud shouts. More toasts, hugs all-around for no apparent reasons, and drink glasses flew across the room. Without even questioning, some of the Brothers began to open up on their own backgrounds.
"You know A (famous Taiwanese politician)? He is my sworn brother." One quipped with a hearty smile. "You know, I am the sole appointed distributor for B (famous comic series) in Taiwan" Another said with a sincere handshake, further adding "I am actually also the main partner for C (famous music recording firm) here." "Next election, I am gonna be running for D (high public office position)." A particularly scholarly member of the group blurted out after a casual puff of his cigarette. It is a moment where the author, as a since audience, felt half of the city's VIPs were in the room.
And this all was taking place when the author and his foreign friends having absolutely no idea how they will get out of the situation, and who will pay for how much of these endless services. The clock was striking 5am. With the crowd calming down and the author dead-tired from translating between foreign friends and the Brothers, there had to be an exit strategy. It was a good chance, some Brothers were falling asleep, others left quietly, and even some girls were making their exits from excess drinking. The author motioned for his friends to prepare themselves...
And then he somehow managed to get himself into the biggest task of the day. The friends wanted their girls for the night, and the girls seemed to be on the same page. Negotiations with the floor manager for prices in a mafia-favored hostess club? Well, there is a first time for everything. The drunken Brothers remained supportive, but business was business. Sobering up with the floor manger in a half-hour war of the words, the author felt (and still feels) himself deserving of a medal for the interpreting and arrangement work. Deals were set, and it was time to go.
On a lonely cab ride back home, the taxi driver appeared a bit intimidated by the author's presence. The author felt sympathy. The story may seem to be over but may not be over at all. Personal connections, as always, are a source of great pride, great stories, and even a great future. But interpersonal relationships are always murky, just like the professions and backgrounds of the Brothers. Connections may be easily made but difficult to extricate, especially when their very existence requires some sort of unknown commitment. A Brotherhood cannot exist without some individual sacrifices.
The Mercedes, cruising down the empty streets of 10pm Taipei, came to a halt in front of a non-nondescript office building on another main street. The half-asleep security guard in the standard sky blue uniform, sitting behind the counter at the first floor, appeared not a bit perplexed by a bunch of properly dressed (?) human beings roaming through his slightly run-down lobby at this time of a weekend day. One of the creaky elevators at the end of the lobby hall was marked "Fifth floor only." It is into which the group stepped...and transported themselves into another world.
This whole story appeared to have began before the author was even part of the crew. A disappointing night before among the author's two visiting friends from Tokyo in a local club prompted the gracious host noted above to take further action to guarantee satisfaction. A dace club was not gonna cut it, it seemed...so extreme measures of personal connections were utilized to rig a free ride into a group party in a local high-class hostess club, one that is so secret that only those who know will know what is hidden on the fifth floor of the decrepit office building.
But as all free things in life, crushing this party also came with conditions. Euphemism was rife in the "pre-departure briefing" the host subjected the excitedly wide-eyed participants to in the bar before arrival of the back Mercedes. "Make sure to treat all the guys there with the highest respect," he stated with a tone of seriousness, and continuing with a lower voice, "because, well, these are well-connected people...you know, yakuza and what not." The author's poker-face and casual nod in response could not hide his internal flabbergast: yep, going to hang out the Taiwanese mafioso in their choice spot.
Back on the fifth floor, the place was getting warmed up. A large room with low tables and multiple long sofas, reminiscent of a private room in a karaoke parlor, was prepared for the crew. the host kindly introduced the "bosses" of the night, and the "bosses" in turn introduced the other "bosses" when they began to arrive one by one. "This is Brother X...this is Brother Y...this is Brother Z..." With each introduction, the author's crew got up to bow, to shake with both hands, and to down another shot of Ballantine's whisky in another toast. Even police officers came to say hi and check IDs.
It wasnt long before the parade of girls began. Each was unmistakably dressed in 45-degree high heels, mini-dresses of body-suffocating tightness and skirts that cannot be any shorter without significant exposure. Complete with unnaturally long eyelashes and caked on cosmetic white skin, the girls, all in their mid to late twenties, looked like the creme of the crop transported from the most popular dance clubs. When appointed to sit on the sofas, they presented major contrast to their elder members of enlarging male crew, many of whom sported hoodies and jeans while chain-smoking.
As is expected, seemingly endless hours of drunken shenanigans took place, during which the author counted at least seven large bottles of Ballantine's obliterated by a population of no more than a dozen. The boisterousness too, as expected, escalated fast. Slow songs on the room's karaoke machine and soft chatters turned into pulsing pop songs, accompanying group dances, and loud shouts. More toasts, hugs all-around for no apparent reasons, and drink glasses flew across the room. Without even questioning, some of the Brothers began to open up on their own backgrounds.
"You know A (famous Taiwanese politician)? He is my sworn brother." One quipped with a hearty smile. "You know, I am the sole appointed distributor for B (famous comic series) in Taiwan" Another said with a sincere handshake, further adding "I am actually also the main partner for C (famous music recording firm) here." "Next election, I am gonna be running for D (high public office position)." A particularly scholarly member of the group blurted out after a casual puff of his cigarette. It is a moment where the author, as a since audience, felt half of the city's VIPs were in the room.
And this all was taking place when the author and his foreign friends having absolutely no idea how they will get out of the situation, and who will pay for how much of these endless services. The clock was striking 5am. With the crowd calming down and the author dead-tired from translating between foreign friends and the Brothers, there had to be an exit strategy. It was a good chance, some Brothers were falling asleep, others left quietly, and even some girls were making their exits from excess drinking. The author motioned for his friends to prepare themselves...
And then he somehow managed to get himself into the biggest task of the day. The friends wanted their girls for the night, and the girls seemed to be on the same page. Negotiations with the floor manager for prices in a mafia-favored hostess club? Well, there is a first time for everything. The drunken Brothers remained supportive, but business was business. Sobering up with the floor manger in a half-hour war of the words, the author felt (and still feels) himself deserving of a medal for the interpreting and arrangement work. Deals were set, and it was time to go.
On a lonely cab ride back home, the taxi driver appeared a bit intimidated by the author's presence. The author felt sympathy. The story may seem to be over but may not be over at all. Personal connections, as always, are a source of great pride, great stories, and even a great future. But interpersonal relationships are always murky, just like the professions and backgrounds of the Brothers. Connections may be easily made but difficult to extricate, especially when their very existence requires some sort of unknown commitment. A Brotherhood cannot exist without some individual sacrifices.
In other words, an awesome night!
ReplyDeletelucky to be f-ing still alive.
ReplyDelete