ATM Asian Mayhem

Author's Note

The following essay is a condensed version of a much broader story, "Within the Dragon's Teeth". If you wish to read a more detailed and factual account, read the first nine chapters in the menu to the left.

*In April of 2006 I was sent to prison in Guangzhou, Guangdong Province, PRC. I was held there for six months. The essay below briefly describes the four days leading up to the arrest.

A story of robbery and arrest in South China

Night of Despair

April 19, 2006The gate of thick steel bars clanged shut behind me, followed by a second solid metal door behind it. Clicking heels on cold tile echoed down the hall from the guard who had shut the doors behind me. The collective sound they made reverberated throughout the stark, cavernous prison I had just been led through. I was the only person who had been processed that time of night and it appeared that everyone was sleeping in the long, narrow cell. My arrival though, most likely awakened everyone within earshot. I realized only then that I had stopped breathing a moment before. I exhaled my last breath of freedom into my unwelcoming new home; a Chinese prison. What went so wrong, so quickly?

Street of Thieves

April 14, 2006
To understand how I got there, a review of the previous four days is in order. My forty fifth birthday was two days away and I was going to enjoy it in Hong Kong. I was going there to scope out the job scene, pass around my CV and stay with a married friend to give him an excuse to hit the expat bars in Kowloon. So tonight I was going for some food, a massage, and an early bed so I could catch the 6:30 am train out. Drinks in the bar went without a hitch, as did dinner, it was the massage idea that got me tangled.

There are two types of massage places in China; expensive and cheap. The expensive ones usually get you a locker, a shower, pj's and and sometimes a food buffet. The cheap one gets you a massage and perhaps a cup of green tea. The place I had just walked to was in between--no locker, no buffet, but pj's, some orange slices and green tea.

There, on the sidewalk below the multitude of dingy walk-ups, their soot covered windows glowing behind rusted iron gratings, stood a lovely young Chinese girl, dressed in a dazzling, gold-colored ball gown, fit for Cinderella. The would-be-princess stepped from behind a beaten, wooden podium, the parlor's gaudy neon sign blinking a few inches above our heads, an escorted me upward, toward a promising few hours of intense relaxation, a world away from the grimness of life reflected in the alleyways and streets below.

Soon I was soaking my lower limbs in a large wooden tub filled with extremely hot water that contained an abundance of Chinese herbs--who needs a massage after that, I wondered? The soaking done, the masseuse removed the tub, returned with fresh tea she insisted I drink, and began massaging my feet as I looked on with pleasure, her hands working magic on my water-wrinkled feet. The girl stared at me too closely, too long. I began to feel woozy, something wasn't right, then...oblivion!

Unpleasant Awakening

The early morning light woke me, a stray ray of sun streaming through a gap in the grimy curtain behind me. My head was thumping at the temples. "Why the headache?" I wondered. "Where were my clothes?". Beneath the my low chair where my clothes should have been, were nothing except a dozen dancing dust bunnies. My wallet, with $2,000 USD, about ¥200 RMB, my bank card, my passport, and my mobile phone were all vapor. I did what all people do in a situation like this--I panicked.

I shouted down the hallway for help. Two, young, wide eyed girls came scampering down the way towards me. Once they understood, they disappeared and soon returned with the manager. He sat across from me as I explained exactly what happened, the fact that I had been drugged and robbed only now sinking in.

He decided to try calling my phone, hoping to connect with the thief, or thieves. Surprisingly, someone answered, but after talking with them a few minutes, he rang off, gazing at me with a dark, sorrowful look. He explained they wanted ¥15,000 RMB for the return of my passport.. I laughed crazily, giving him a look of total disbelief. Knowing I could get a replacement for $100 or so, I stood up to leave, only then realizing I had no pants! In that same moment a girl came in excitedly holding my missing trousers! They had been dumped in a nearby room, and happily, there was a ¥10 RMB note left crumpled in a front pocket. I listened to everyone apologize, thanked them, and then I headed to a nearby McDonald's for the comfort of a cup of coffee to mull over my situation.

A Compassionate Teller

I went to explain my situation at my bank, which turned out to be useless because it was Saturday and I had no I.D. A friend at a nearby bar took pity on me and gave me ¥100 RMB to get me through the day. I ended up with a group of local taxi drivers, who were waiting for customers from the Holiday Inn, opposite a small shop where we sat among folding tables and small plastic stools, drinking beer, shelling peanuts and flirting with hookers, who also waited for customers. Together we all watched the day's waning light; either ending or just beginning, depending on the line of work of my companions. I actually knew one of the hookers had decent enough English, so I took her with me to a police station to make a report on my stolen goods, with the promise of dinner afterwards. It turned out to be a huge waste of time. On Monday at the bank, after much deliberation, I was given a new bank card, and I thanked the gods the thieves hadn't figured out my pin number.

From Reprieve to Rage

For two days all was well with the world. I was a joy to be around again, or so my friends told me. I had drinks in the pub, ate out with friends and made plans to get an emergency passport to continue on to Hong Kong within a day or so.

Wednesday night, after a few drinks at the pub, I went scouting for one of my favorite street dishes—barbecue lamb kabobs! After hunting up and down a few streets, I couldn't find any, so I decided to cut my losses and go to a convenience store. I needed a bit more cash, as I was running low from Mondays' withdrawal and found an ATM kiosk. The machine took my card greedily as it processed my transaction--I distinctly heard the whirring noise when the machines count the cash inside. The small door slid open and I stood looking at an empty hole! The apparatus that usually has the money clamped within it's rubberized claws were empty. As I stared in total disbelief, the green letters glowed from behind the silvery glass as if mocking me, "Please take your cash"! Then just as suddenly as the door had opened, it slammed shut and the screen went blank. Absolutely dead electronic silence. No whirring, no lights blinking, not even a paper receipt to mull over! I began prodding two buttons, "ENTER" and "CANCEL", over and over--still nothing. In an instant the entire weight of the past weeks' frustrations crashed down on me. No money! No card! No I.D.! No hope! No luck! I remember yelling at the machine, screaming in fact. I pounded the control panel with my fists, all the while yelling obscenities at the dead screen...then, my second oblivion within a week.

Missing Pieces

The Garden Hotel loomed behind me, lit up with spot lights like Grauman's Chinese Theater. I wasn't sure how or when I got there--the events proceeding moments before, a blur. I was extremely fatigued, as if I had just been the sparring partner in a boxing match. I walked a half block to an 24 hour Net Cafe. I paid for several hours, found a private booth, curled up before a computer and fell asleep immediately. In the morning I washed away the last dregs of sleep from my eyes, trying to drown myself with copious handfuls of cold water. I noticed the palm of my left hand had a long, shallow cut, and a bit of dried blood staining the skin. I retreated across the street to a bar where I had my laptop stowed away. Inside I saw a familiar figure hunched over a pint of beer, alone. It was Peter, a rather shifty acquaintance. His face was grizzled with several days of stubble, and he'd most likely been up all night. His blood shot eyes swam in folds of gray flesh. Upon seeing me, his face contorted to a macabre smile; more lecherous than friendly. "Hello Mich, what brings you here so early?" He attempted to order me a beer, but I quickly declined. I explained that I had lost my bank card to a malfunctioning ATM and that I was about to go look for it. Peter transformed before me, his eyes glistening afresh, his former sneer now a welcoming facade. He was in debt to me for several thousand RMB, no doubt thinking now he could get more. "I'll go with you!" He rubbed his hands together as he always did, a new scheme swimming in the murky mud of his mind.

Fifteen minutes later I was at a loss. Nothing on the streets looked familiar! After passing by several banks on two different streets I gave up my quest. I had also lost track of Peter in the interim--so much for his help I thought to myself. During my walk back I noticed an unusual amount of police cars on both sides of the street I was on. The hairs on the back of my neck raised in primordial fear. I'm paranoid and getting nowhere, so I returned to the bar to use my computer.

A Man of Confusion

While Emailing my sister to explain my situation, a dark knot of people entered the front door. A contingency of "Jĭng Chá" (policemen) were all looking at me. From the clump of uniforms came a singular man, walking to my table. He had blood shot eyes and the ruddy complexion of a drunk, and as he leaned toward me, the strong smell of "Bai Ju" (Chinese wine) wafted off him. "Paaashh-paawt-uh?" he said rather strangely. My look of confusion caused him to repeat it more slowly, sounding more ridiculous, "Pa-a-a-sh-h-h p-a-a-w-t-uh!" I turned toward nobody in particular, hunching my shoulders with hands heavenward, "I have no clue". He sighed out another lung full of his putrid dragon breath my way and straightened up. Then I was struck by a realization--this was the Sergeant of the police station where I made the report of my stolen goods only days before! He was the obnoxious one; strutting about like a businessman delayed at the airport, talking loudly to no one in particular, waving his hands above his head. He had ignored me during my police report the same way people ignore beggars, or salesmen. My first impression of him had not been good and now it was doubly so. It was then a man in a business suit stepped out from behind the officers, still clumped at the entry way. He said in reasonably good English, "He said 'passport'. He wants to see your passport". I pointed to dragon breath and said, "He knows my passport is stolen! His station took my report!"

An Event Revealed

I was told by the man in the suit that I must come with the police to their station. I was put into an unmarked SUV, sitting in the back seat beside suit man, and driven to the very station I mentioned earlier. There I was held for 24 hours, where I was interrogated by the Public Security Bureau, who asked me about an incident with an ATM. They had no knowledge of me being robbed, which proved interesting when I produced the report from my pocket and pointed out the officer who took it. Later, two detectives escorted me to the main police station, where I was formerly booked and also interrogated for several more hours; they also had no knowledge of my robbery! Around 9:00 pm, Wednesday night, I was taken to the prison, on charges of destroying an ATM, damages--¥17,000 RMB! An incident of which I had no memory of. I had experienced a nervous breakdown for the first time in my life the night the ATM swallowed my card, changing my life forever. Now I understood why some people are left standing over a body, a smoking gun in their hand, having no clue as to how they got there or to what happened. Or people who suffer a terrifying accident, only to be thrown clear and wandering around lost in the wilderness, the debris of a crashed airliner or train, smoldering behind them. I lived in that prison for six months among gangsters, rapists, murderers, and corrupt multi-millionaires; another story in itself.

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