It just had to be my luck.

I was wandering through the streets of New York's Chinatown, desperate to find the notso-inconspicuous black-market entrepreneurs who stake out most corners muttering, "Louis Vuitton? Prada? Chanel?" ready to whip out laminated menus of purses and handbags. But my quest was stymied today; police lined every corner in the neighbourhood.

A few months earlier, I had scored a Louis Vuitton knockoff after studying the list and pointing to the one I wanted. The man with the menu then dispatched his "assistant" to the back of a building to fetch my purse, $60.

Relaxed and affable, he explained he was a rap musician, loved Canada and had been to Montreal not so long ago for a gig.

I had visited Canal Street for the first time in 2008, just in time to see shop after shop boarded up with notices from the city, saying they had been shut down for selling counterfeit goods. "What?" I scoffed. "Do they really care about that here?" After all, the image of a shady character opening his trench coat while asking, "Wanna buy a watch?" is as iconic to New York as a yellow cab or the Statue of Liberty.

Although there is really no law against buying counterfeit items, New York police have been targeting vendors committing trademark counterfeit.

The rapping street vendor's assistant soon reappeared with a black garbage bag. With a shifty look in either direction, he pulled out the purse for my inspection. Fake leather, but a good knockoff nonetheless. They even spelled "Louis Vuitton" right. The real deal retailed for $880. I loved it and so did my mother, who, weeks later, begged me for it. "Don't worry, mom, I know a guy who knows a guy. I'll just go get another one," I assured her.

So, three months later, I was back for more. But on the day I had set aside to make the trek to Canal Street, I quickly realized all of my "guys" had taken the day off. There was a Falun Gong parade all through Chinatown and police were on every single corner. Blast!

With my husband in tow, we turned corner after corner, going down side streets, looking pleadingly at loiterers, but no luck.

Then I heard it. A young, petite Asian woman with a sweet smile and a Coach fanny pack around her waist walking through the crowd. "Coach? Gucci? Prada?" My head whipped in her direction and I beelined through the crowd up to her.

"Purses?" I asked hopefully.

She smiled and nodded, pointing to her hip sack.

"Can I see them?"

"Follow me," she said.

She walked ahead of us, going up one street and down another, crossing through the parade, weaving through the crowd, every once in a while looking back to make sure we were still behind her, smiling and nodding encouragingly to us.

After walking for about 20 minutes, we came to a street on the edge of SoHo near Broome and Elizabeth. Our purse Sherpa handed us off to a man in front of a nondescript, if fairly rundown, apartment building.

Didn't I see this in a movie once? Like that scene in Goodfellas where De Niro's character Jimmy stands at the edge of the street and tells Karen that the dresses he has for her are just a little farther down the alleyway? "Yeah that's it, it's just a little farther, keep going."

"Well," I rationalized to myself, "if we're led to a back alley and robbed -a very real possibility -I only have $200 on me. Guess it's not a huge loss."

The man unlocked the front door and led us out the back of the building to a small concrete courtyard filled with garbage. He then opened a heavy steel door leading to yet another hallway, which led to a set of concrete stairs with a door at the bottom.

"This is it," I thought. I looked back at my husband as we descended. His eyes said, "I can't believe you got me into this."

The final door was opened to reveal a brightly lit room filled with about a dozen middle-aged women loudly discussing the pros and cons of the dozens of knockoff purses and sunglasses hanging from hooks and stands on the walls.

It was surreal; like a Target, but in a backalley concrete bunker. I laughed at my naivete: getting robbed in a room full of suburban moms.

"Oh no, Janice, the stitching is much better on this one, but just feel the leather. You want some Chanel sunglasses as well?" we heard as we stepped through the door.

I wanted them all, especially the tan, suede Prada shoulder purse and the burgundy Fendi briefcase. But I settled on a leather Gucci shoulder bag for $40, and we quickly showed ourselves out.

As soon as I hit the street, I cursed myself for not buying the Prada shoulder purse. I looked back at the door. There was no getting back in.

Ah well, there's always next time.