I am a master in India

Chapter 204 is a dog, right?
Crunch!

The tires left long black tracks on the road.

“A dog?” Chada turned and asked. “It’s a dog, right?”

Was it a dog? Ron didn't hear anything when he parked the car, not even a whimper or a bark.

Everyone understood what had happened to the thing that was hit.

“I think...maybe I should get off and take a look.” Ron simply couldn’t remain indifferent.

“No, it’s just a dog!” Ratan suddenly interrupted him.

The streetlights were dim, and the thing was a dark, indistinct mass, far behind us, making it impossible to see what it was.

Apart from the Civic following behind, there were no other cars around, and not even a soul in sight.

“Ratan, you’re more sensible than your brother.” Chada gave Ron a meaningful look.

Chada got out of the car, but he ignored the small dark figure that had been knocked down behind him.

Ratan acted in perfect unison, pulling Ron off the passenger seat of the Caldwell.

The driver in the back seat quickly jumped into the driver's seat, his movements fluid and effortless.

“Vijer, you’ve been driving the whole night, you know that?” Chadda instructed him with a threatening tone.

"Yes, sir," the driver stammered, but still readily agreed.

"I had a great time at the party tonight, but I'm tired now. Let's talk another day."

Bang! Bang! The Cadillac slammed its doors shut, then shifted into the highest gear and sped away.

"Don't just stand there, let's go." Ratan pushed Ron into the Civic and jumped in himself.

Without wasting a second, Yi Shang also switched to the highest gear and sped away.

They are all qualified drivers and know how to handle this kind of situation.

Ron sat silently in the back row, the dark shadow constantly haunting his mind.

“That wasn’t a dog, was it? I saw it.” He finally spoke after the car had driven two streets.

“God knows what these kids are doing running around the streets of Delhi at one in the morning. It’s their parents’ fault!” Ratan cursed.

"Is that child already...?" Ron couldn't bring himself to say the word.

“The child didn’t make a sound at all, Master, not a sound, not even a slight movement,” said Anil in the front row.

“We…” Ron stopped abruptly before he could finish speaking.

A Buddha head appeared outside his left car window. It turned out that a little beggar had come to the car to sell a plaster Buddha statue.

They were waiting at a traffic light, and there was a 30-second countdown on the traffic clock ahead.

This is not surprising; every night in Delhi, there are many beggars selling books, statues, or boxes of strawberries on the roadside.

"Do you like that Buddha statue?" Ratan asked.

"No, I'm just surprised."

"That's right, tonight is an unlucky night, we need to pray to Buddha."

Ratan beckoned to the little beggar, "Bring it over for a look."

It's impossible to tell whether the little beggar was a boy or a girl; you can never determine their gender. In any case, the little beggar stuffed the Buddha statue into the Civic.

Ratan handed over ten rupees, then picked up the Buddha statue and chanted "Om! Om! Om!" a few times.

He was praying in a Hindu manner, but he was holding a Buddha statue in his hands.

I wonder if Buddha had any connection with Hindu deities, and whether he could hear Ratan's prayers.

The light turned green, and Yishan stepped on the gas and continued speeding along.

"So, it's like that kid from earlier?" Ron seemed to understand.

“Young master, I think the same way about the people who live under overpasses and interchanges,” Ishan said.

Will anyone look for him?

“I don’t think so, young master. You know those country folk, they have eight, nine, or even ten children, and sometimes they can’t even remember their names.”

Even if his parents were in Delhi, even if they knew where he was tonight, they wouldn't call the police. Ishan was quite certain.

Ratan put his arm around Ron's shoulder and gestured to Ishan with his eyes to shut up.

"Brother, you're tired. Go upstairs, take a shower, and then get a good night's sleep."

The car stopped downstairs at the Buckingham Tower apartment building, and Anil led Ron upstairs.

Ratan and Ishan stayed behind to fetch water to wash the car.

The dark shape was hit by the Cadillac, but the Civic was following closely behind.

To make sure there was nothing suspicious in the car, they had to wash it inside and out.

Ishan thoroughly cleaned the car from top to bottom and then found bloodstains and skin on the tires.

He wiped it off bit by bit, very carefully, lying on the ground.

"How is it?" Ratan asked.

Ishan showed him a bloodstained green cloth strip stuck to the wheel.

“This cloth is cheap, master. This green cloth,” he said, twirling a strip of cloth between his fingers, “is usually used for making clothes for children.”

"Cheap goods," Ratan breathed a sigh of relief.

"No one will care; too many children go missing in India every day."

"Too."

The second day in Delhi was uneventful, the streets were still filled with exhaust fumes, and the sun still looked hazy.

Chad called and said everything was settled.

The judge has been purged, and his driver has signed a statement. As long as Ron doesn't say anything out of line, everyone can rest easy.

Drivers in India often encounter this kind of situation; they just take the blame, nothing unusual. Ron didn't want to stay in New Delhi anymore; he wanted to get things done as soon as possible.

As usual, the road was congested, with large groups of thin, dirty people on both sides.

Some squatted on the ground, waiting for the bus to take them elsewhere. Others, having nowhere to go, took out mats, spread them out on the ground, and lay down to sleep.

The children ran and played on the grass, chattering away, while their parents paid no attention, not caring whether there was one more or one less.

They came from backward rural areas to big cities in search of light, but after wandering around, they still live in darkness.

There appeared to be several hundred people on both sides of the traffic jam, and the traffic congestion seemed to have no effect on them at all.

Ron looked away from the car window; the inside and outside of the car were two different worlds.

"Hopefully we can get everything sorted out today. I can't wait to get back to Uttar Pradesh," Ratan said listlessly, tossing bullets around.

"You don't like New Delhi either?"

"I don't like it. It's such a hassle to even have someone die here. There are lawyers and judges involved, it's too much trouble."

Okay, Ron shouldn't have asked him.

Today they didn't go to the MIC headquarters, but to the Prime Minister's residence, which is nearby.

The car drove up Mount Resina, stopping several times along the way for inspection by sentries, and finally came to a stop in front of a curved-roof building near the Prime Minister's residence.

Ron and Ratan got out of the car, carrying bags in their hands.

A bald, fat man greeted them at the door. Ron took a closer look. It was him, no doubt about it.

This person looks very similar to Mabang Minister Sarad Pavard, and they are most likely from the same family.

They found the right person; the fat man was Minister Pavar's assistant.

They are also intermediaries in the usual sense; they are senior relatives of politicians, as well as confidants from the same hometown or caste.

When Ron first dealt with Minister Mabang, before a deep friendship was established, a middleman was responsible for relaying messages.

This avoids the embarrassment of officials soliciting bribes themselves, and leaves room for maneuver if problems arise.

It must be said that the Maharashtra minister's handling of the matter was far more meticulous than that of Yadav in Uttar Pradesh.

The former still maintains a degree of restraint, while the latter is no different from a robber.

When Ron first met Yadav, he was asked to "pay more".

"Mr. Suer, I didn't expect you to come all the way to New Delhi in person." The fat man greeted him with a smile.

"This is a major project, and the minister must review it personally. Is he available now?"

“Perhaps I can go in and ask.” He stared at Ron’s wrist.

Do you think the minister is optimistic about the Suer Park plan?

"I think he's optimistic, but he's still a bit hesitant. Someone needs to persuade him, someone close and influential."

Without saying a word, Ron unwound his wristwatch and put it on the fat man's wrist himself.

"Oh dear, Mr. Sue, no, no!"

“Look, it fits perfectly!” Ron grabbed his shiny wrist and shook it.

"Really?" The fat man beamed, the golden sunlight reflecting off his face, making his greasy sweat glisten.

"Of course, someone more suitable than me. It's just that I need your kind words regarding the Suer Industrial Park matter."

"You've really made my life miserable."

The fat man raised his wrist with a smug look and gestured twice before decisively entering the study to report.

Ratan seemed to want to say something, but Ron shook his head at him.

About five minutes later, the fat man returned and winked at Ron and the others.

"Just give me the package."

"Thank you for your help. Let's have another drink when we get back to Mumbai another day."

Ron handed him the red travel bag in his hand; it was heavy and very heavy.

Besides the bag, there was also a paper envelope, which was reserved separately for the fat man.

"The minister greatly appreciates your Sur Park plan, and Mr. Rahul also called a few days ago."

That's all.

As soon as Ron entered the study, he saw a dark-skinned bald man sitting behind the desk.

Upon seeing his face clearly, a character from a TV series suddenly popped into Ron's mind: Duan Yanqing.

Yes, it's a certain actor surnamed Ji from China, Teacher Ji.

Maharashtra Minister Pavard probably looks like that; he's like the Indian version of Duan Yanqing.

He raised his head and smiled, a hideous smile.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Sue."

"Excuse me, Minister."

Ron sat down and then took out some documents from his briefcase: Suer Electric's development plan, future investment budget increases, and a planning map of the Suer Industrial Park.
Simply giving money isn't enough; you also need a reliable project plan.

These ministers in South India are somewhat different from those in North India; they also love money, but they desire, more importantly, tangible development for the regions they govern.

To put it simply, Southern politicians embezzle public funds, but they also try to make the pie bigger.

Politicians in North India take as much of the pie as they can, and in the blink of an eye, not even a crumb remains.

So, instead of talking about money directly with Yadav, Ron decided to first talk about his grand plan.

However, Minister Pavar spoke first.

“Mr. Sull, I heard that you and Thackeray are on good terms.”

Huh? Ron was taken aback; this seemed a little different from what he had expected.

(End of this chapter)