I'm a Master in India

Mary finally arranged for her Brazilian friend, Luca, to meet Ron at Leopold Cafe.

There were several patrol officers at Victoria Station, and Mary was worried that meeting there would be like walking into a trap.

Such worries were undoubtedly unnecessary; she was unaware of Ron's reputation in the police circle, but Ron still accepted the suggestion.

Leopold Cafe is one of the largest bars and restaurants in Colaba, and is well-known throughout Mumbai.

The bar's first-floor hall is divided into several similar areas by several columns, with mirrors attached to the columns and blank walls.

Customers can discreetly observe others without turning their heads, or wink at their favorite targets.

For many customers, watching their own image reflected on two or more mirrors at the same time is a very interesting thing.

Over time, Leopold Cafe has become a place where people come to see people, be seen, and watch themselves being watched.

The entire hall has about thirty tables, each with an Indian smoked pearl marble top, paired with four to six cedar chairs.

When Ron arrived, Mary, Lena, and a young man were already sitting together, chatting and laughing.

"Hey, Ron!" Mary and Lena waved to him at the same time.

"Am I late?" Ron sat down between the two of them.

"We just wanted to get here early for a drink. You know, smiling at so many people every day, my face is starting to stiffen," Mary complained.

"Oh, that makes me feel like a ruthless capitalist."

"That's right! We'll be defeated by you one day sooner or later!" Mary and Lena put their arms around his arms from left and right, giggling and laughing.

After the waiter brought Ron a beer, Mary remembered that there was still serious business to be done today.

"Ron, let me introduce you, this is Luca." Then she turned to the young man with thick black hair, "This is Ron, I told you about him, foreigners in Mumbai turn to him when they're in trouble."

"Hello." Both sides shook hands amicably.

"Honestly, friend, you don't look Brazilian at all," Ron looked at him again.

Luca was around thirty years old, with thick, curly black hair that reached his collar. He wore a twill cotton shirt and loose canvas pants.

"Have you dealt with Brazilians?" Luca asked in surprise.

"I come into contact with tourists from more than a dozen countries every day, and I meet so many different races that I can't even keep track. But in any case, I've rarely seen Brazilians with high nose bridges and blue eyes."

"Okay." Luca put down his glass. "In terms of food, I'm French; in terms of appearance, I'm Italian; in terms of business, I'm Swiss--very Swiss, strictly neutral."

Ron raised an eyebrow, "Are even races becoming internationalized now?"

Everyone laughed, attracting glances from neighboring tables.

"Man, I was just about to say, you don't look Indian at all. Whether it's appearance or other aspects, you know, his every move is more Western than you guys."

"Yeah, this guy is full of charm! Especially since he's a real Indian." This wonderful combination was very attractive to Mary and Lena.

"Alright, let's talk about you," Ron turned his glass towards him, "Mary said you have a little trouble with your visa?"

Luca stopped smiling and lowered his voice, "It's expired. You know, Ron, that's very inconvenient in Mumbai."

Every hotel in Mumbai that receives foreigners must produce a foreign guest registration form, which includes the foreigner's name, passport number, and visa expiration date.

This registration form is also called a "C Form," and the police will check it from time to time.

Staying in the country after your visa expires is a serious crime in India, with a maximum sentence of two years.

And if the hotel owner dares to tamper with the information on the C Form, once caught, they will be fined heavily by the police.

So, given Luca's current situation, without reliable connections, it would be difficult for him to find safe accommodation in Mumbai.

There are some private small shops in remote corners, but few foreigners dare to live there. Losing property is a small matter, but losing your life is a big deal.

"How long has your visa been expired?" Ron continued to ask.

"Three months."

"I'm surprised you've managed to survive until today."

"I was lucky, I was in rural areas before, and the police there didn't care about these things at all. But Mumbai is different. I was almost questioned last night, but luckily I found a chance to escape."

Usually, if a foreigner's visa has just expired, the Indian police will give a grace period for renewal, even if they find out.

But that's definitely not three months. Ron didn't know if it was really because he was lucky.

"How long do you want to stay in Mumbai?"

"Find a business, and once I find a business, I'll leave."

"That's not a safe idea. The longer you delay, the greater the chance you'll be discovered."

"That's why I came to you, Ron. I've been to the backpacker base in Mumbai, and many people there have mentioned your name. Of course, I understand the rules, and I'll pay some compensation for it."

When saying the word "compensation," Luca specifically gestured an "S," meaning he would pay in US dollars.

"What price are you planning to offer? Let's be clear, getting the visa issue resolved isn't just my business."

"Of course, but are we going to talk about it here?" Luca looked around nervously. There were many other customers in the bar hall.

Ron had seen this kind of uneasy expression many times. They weren't used to plotting in public, but this was India.

"Luca, it seems you really need to reacquaint yourself with Mumbai," Ron smiled and raised his chin, "See that Australian guy next to the fruit?

The man with the long blond hair and the girl in red, they want to buy weed. The one sitting across from them, the guy with the big beard, he's the broker.

The two sides are currently discussing prices. Once they agree, the guy with the dirty shirt, barefoot, and carrying a bamboo basket on the street outside will hand over the weed to them.

And the group in the corner wearing stylish Western-style jeans and jackets, they specialize in passport business. Passports, you know? That's a longer sentence than your visa."

Luca was stunned, "So this bar . . ."

"Relax, we only talk business here, no transactions."

"What do you mean?"

"After they agree on the price in the bar, they will walk out of the store. They will pay the money and deliver the goods, and then walk back to the bar and sit back at the original table.

Even when officials take bribes, it's the same. The two sides make a verbal agreement in the dark compartment upstairs, and then shake hands and pay the money on the sidewalk outside before it's settled.

This is the rule, no police will come here to make trouble, everyone has agreed on it."

"That's fucking cool!" After searching his stomach for a long time, Luca could only use this swear word to express his surprise and admiration.

"Now let's talk about your visa issue. How long do you expect to stay? This involves the difficulty of the hotel owner tampering with the C Form, and of course, it's also related to the compensation you need to pay."

Luca stared at Ron hesitantly for a while, and finally took out a piece of paper from his pocket.

"The visa is a small business, are you interested in this?"

Ron took it and looked at it, raising an eyebrow.