I'm a Master in India

"Go get Rajesh over here."

"What?" Anand's round, fleshy face showed some surprise. "Ron, Indian police generally don't like to get involved in foreigners' affairs."

"They're willing now," Ron said in a relaxed tone.

"Should I go try?" Anand asked hesitantly, heading towards Rajesh and the others.

Under the instructions of that police chief, the number of patrol officers on duty at Victoria Station had increased from one to groups of two or three.

Anand went over and explained the general idea, and Rajesh and his team immediately grabbed their batons and headed over excitedly.

Meanwhile, the "Harley Rider" was still showing off his bargaining experience.

Regardless of who in the crowd mentioned their previous room price, he would solemnly tell them that they had been fooled by the Indians again.

Then he would quote a very low price, and upon seeing someone show a surprised expression, he would triumphantly explain in detail how he had managed to get the room by threatening and intimidating.

"Ron, Anand said you're having trouble here?" Rajesh arrived with his men.

"See over there?" Ron raised his chin towards the distance.

"That guy in the hat? What did he do?"

"I hate that face. He's standing there affecting my business, and most importantly, he has weed on him."

"Are you sure?" Rajesh narrowed his eyes.

"Anand wouldn't be wrong."

"Yes, Officer, I have plenty of experience. This kind of weed, I know where there's a whole warehouse of it."

Rajesh shook his head, glanced at his two partners, and the three of them walked over in tacit agreement.

The Harley Rider was still talking animatedly, until the people around him showed fear and gradually dispersed, and he realized something was wrong.

"Hey, buddy! I'm an American, from Texas. What do you want?"

Rajesh ignored the other man's flailing and carefully sniffed around him, then waved his hand.

"We suspect you're carrying contraband. Please come with us for inspection."

"God! This is a misunderstanding! I have an American passport! I want to contact the embassy!"

The Harley Rider finally panicked, knowing he wasn't clean, and instinctively started shouting.

But it was useless. Rajesh and his men brought him to an empty pillar in front of all the foreigners and made him turn around and face the wall.

Then one of the patrol officers quickly stuffed a packet of powder into his back pocket, with a speed comparable to when they took bribes.

This was to prevent the dosage from being insufficient to meet the standards for arrest. Adding a little something extra ensured everything would be foolproof.

The rest goes without saying. The cowboy's personal belongings would be cleaned out, which would be Rajesh and his team's spoils of war.

Then this unlucky white man might end up spending a few days inside. If he wanted to be bailed out, he would have to spend a lot of money to satisfy the appetites of the Indian police.

If he was unlucky, by the time he was deported back to his country, half a year might have passed.

Rajesh and his team were already very familiar with this process, and Ron was used to it. Don't use common sense to guess the logic of this country.

After getting rid of the annoying fly, Ron walked over in a timely manner to comfort the frightened international friends.

With his handsome appearance, unaccented English, and professional travel advice, Ron quickly gained their trust.

Alas, the burden of American-Indian friendship had fallen on his shoulders.

Ron eventually chose a vacant storage room directly opposite the platform to serve as the reception area for the Mumbai Tourist Information Company's Victoria Station branch.

This was the largest one, with a full ninety-odd square meters. According to his estimate, it wouldn't be a problem to open two or three conference rooms.

Ron hired a construction company for the renovation, with them responsible for the design and construction. It was expected to be completed in a month.

The place was ready-made, and without major changes, it could be done quickly as long as the money was in place.

Anand would be responsible for supervising the work. Ron had finally managed to free up some time, and he wanted to fulfill his promise to Mary and Lena.

"I say, ladies, I'm not trying to pry into your privacy, but it's best not to do this kind of work often. You understand, India isn't as safe as you think."

Mary and Lena smiled at each other, "We have to find a way to make money. You can't do without money, and India is the same."

"This line of work isn't suitable for you."

"Thank you, Ron, but we've found other ways to make money. This is the last deal."

Ron shrugged. He didn't ask why they didn't return to their own countries.

Any foreigners who stayed in Mumbai for a long time must have had reasons why it was inconvenient for them to go back. Each had their own story.

They hailed a taxi, and the three of them headed towards Chor Bazaar along Rock Canyon Road.

It was noon, and the road was full of traffic. Many Indian men were running along the road pushing lunch carts, which made the road even more congested.

These people's wooden handcarts held at least six lunches, and they pushed the carts through lanes of buses, trucks, motorcycles, and cars.

Then they delivered the lunches on time to offices and shops all over Mumbai. That's how the lunches of millions of people in the city were taken care of.

It's a unique meal delivery service in India, not a takeout. Instead, family members make the food and hire someone to deliver it to another family member who is at work.

"Oh my god, this is too dangerous." Mary and Lena were very worried when they saw the thrilling scenes outside the car window.

"They get paid about a few cents for delivering one, which is about 1.7 rupees."

"A few cents? Ron, are you sure it's not a few dollars?"

"Hey, this is India, not New York."

"I suddenly feel like our business isn't that dangerous anymore, at least it's safer compared to them," Mary joked optimistically.

Ron wanted to turn his head and say something, but his expression suddenly changed, "Careful!"

He yelled, wanting the taxi driver to be wary, only to see the other party swerve sharply to avoid a bullock cart in time.

The driver was a burly man, with dark skin and coarse stubble on his lips.

Ron's shout seemed to have annoyed him, and he roared angrily in Hindi while still pressing down on the accelerator.

He drove like a fugitive evading capture, swerving wildly left and right all the way, speeding to shake off other slower cars.

"This guy is crazy!" Ron suspected that he had just taken drugs.

Mary and Lena in the back seat also widened their eyes in horror. The movies weren't even this exciting.

"Stop!" Ron decided to get out of the car.

The driver was even more furious now. He turned his head while the car was speeding, wanting to say something.

But Mary and Lena screamed and pointed ahead. It was too late.

There was a screech of brakes, one second, two seconds, three seconds, bang! A roar and a cracking sound erupted.

The taxi crashed into a car in front that was preparing to turn. Ron and the others leaned forward violently, and then two more cars rear-ended them from behind.

Fragments of glass and chrome decorations scattered all over the road. Ron shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears.

"Mary, Lena, are you okay?"

"No, we're fine."

Fortunately, the driver just now didn't have time to turn the steering wheel, and they crashed straight into it, Ron's side of the car remained intact.

"Oh my god, Ron, this damn driver won't get a tip!" Mary was very angry.

"Forget about the tip!" Suddenly Ron thought of what Anand had told him, "Quick! Get out! Get out! Now!"

"What?" Mary and Lena, who didn't understand the situation, hadn't recovered.

"If we don't leave, we'll die here!" Ron kicked open the passenger door.

In India, this situation can lead to terrifying consequences.