Chapter 10 – First Lesson in Being Scammed
The policeman in the distance looked sour, his face dark as a thundercloud as he glared at a foreign couple arguing with a street vendor.
Give it a few more minutes, Rohan thought, and the situation would escalate—perfect timing for the cop to swoop in.
"Strange," Rohan muttered, leaning to Anand. "Aren't Indian police usually careful not to hassle foreigners?"
By now, after days in Mumbai, he'd picked up a few unspoken rules. Local cops thought nothing of yelling at—or beating—ordinary Indians with their meter-long lathis. But when it came to foreign tourists? They usually backed off.
"Rajesh has been in a foul mood lately," Anand whispered, a sly grin creeping over his face.
"What happened?"
"You might not know, Rohan, but Rajesh has pull in this neighborhood. Not long ago he locked up some clever trickster. The guy talked his way out by promising Rajesh gold and jewels. When Rajesh let him go, the bastard actually handed over some. Except—ha!—they turned out to be cheap fakes.
"And get this—before selling him fake jewels, that scoundrel even stayed in Rajesh's house for a week. Rumor is he even rolled in the sheets with Rajesh's wife. Now Rajesh is furious, half-mad. Everyone avoids him before they get caught in the crossfire."
"So he's broke and humiliated?"
"Exactly. Which means someone's about to have a very bad day."
Rohan glanced back at the foreign couple. "I wonder where they're staying."
"Who? Rajesh's wife?"
"Get lost!"
A ripple of laughter rose around them.
Rohan turned his head—and froze. At some point, a crowd had gathered behind them: dark-skinned men, gaunt elders, half-naked boys. All grinning, all staring like it was the best show in town.
Damn it. Indians had no concept of personal space. When had they even crowded in?
"Anand," Rohan muttered, uneasy, "why are they here? We're not about to become part of the circus, are we?"
Anand answered by snapping the half-empty whisky bottle shut and glaring around. The crowd, disappointed, licked their lips and slowly drifted away.
"Bunch of boozehounds. Their noses are sharper than dogs."
"Shouldn't have celebrated out here," Rohan sighed, then straightened. His eyes locked on Rajesh.
"Wait—what are you doing?" Anand hissed as he scrambled to pack up.
Too late. Rohan was already striding forward, intercepting the policeman just as Rajesh was about to intervene.
The French couple and the vendor were shouting louder now, neither giving an inch. Rajesh scowled, ready to step in.
"Step aside!" he barked. "Don't interfere with police duty."
"Officer Rajesh, isn't it?" Rohan replied smoothly—in flawless Marathi.
That stopped him. Rajesh gave Rohan a long, assessing look. "What caste?"
"Soor."
"Hmm. Fine. What do you want?"
Rohan didn't answer with words. Instead, he lifted two fingers, pinching a crisp fifty-rupee note. When it brushed Rajesh's palm, it vanished as if it had never existed. The sleight of hand was so smooth even seasoned street hustlers would have applauded.
"Mr. Soor," Rajesh said warmly, "how can I assist you?"
"Those two are French friends of mine. Seems there's been a little misunderstanding with a local vendor—likely a language issue. I'll handle it."
Rajesh studied him for a few seconds, then nodded. "Very well. I'll hold off."
"Much obliged." Rohan turned and approached the couple.
He spoke a quick string of words—neither English, Hindi, nor Marathi, but fluent French.
The foreigners stiffened at first, then their faces brightened, then turned thoughtful, and finally, relieved, they nodded.
Next, Rohan bent close to the vendor, murmuring a few sentences. After some grumbling, the man agreed.
"My dear friends," Rohan said cheerfully, "in India you must beware of kindness that comes with strings attached. Refusing outright would only cause trouble. A third of the price—that's a fair compromise."
"Thank you, Rohan," the wife—Anna—exclaimed. "Without you, we'd have no idea what would've happened. God, we do speak English, but whatever English he was speaking, we couldn't understand a word. Thank heavens you speak French."
She handed a few rupees to the sulking vendor. Only then did the dispute dissolve.
The trick had been simple. The couple, fresh off the train, met an over-eager hawker. After a few words, he thrust a pretty bracelet into Anna's hand as a "blessing"—then slipped it onto her wrist before she realized what was happening.
On it went easily. Off? Not a chance.
The price: five hundred U.S. dollars. No bargaining. Refuse to pay, and you weren't leaving.
An old, tired scam.
But this was 1992. Outside the subcontinent, tourists were still wide-eyed and gullible.
Luckily for them, they'd met Rohan. Thanks to him, the demand dropped from dollars to rupees—and from full price to a third.
Less than a hundred rupees. Pocket change. Enough for both sides to walk away satisfied.
After settling the little dispute, Rohan shook the French couple's hands with a polite smile.
"First time in Mumbai, isn't it? Have you found a place to stay? I can recommend some hotels—affordable and clean."
"That would be wonderful—" Anna began, relief in her voice.
But her husband, Henry, quickly cut her off. "No, thank you. We've already booked in advance."
Rohan gave them a quick glance, then laughed it off. "No problem. If you need anything in Mumbai, you can always reach me."
He handed them a slip of paper with his number, then turned and walked away without pressing further.
Anna frowned. "Henry, he was only being kind. He just helped us—and he speaks French!"
"That's exactly why we need to be cautious. Didn't you see the scam just now? I bet he and that greedy vendor were working together. First win our trust, then slowly drain our money."
"Henry, aren't you being too paranoid?"
"Better safe than sorry. And don't forget why we're here—to update the Lonely Planet travel guide. We need to experience things ourselves, not rely on others."
By then, Rohan was already gone, unconcerned by their suspicions. He had more important business than recruiting tourists.
"Officer Rajesh," he said smoothly, "thank you for waiting so patiently."
Rajesh tilted his head from side to side, a typical Indian gesture. "Hmph. You handled it well enough."
Not that he'd stayed because of duty. Truth be told, Rajesh had just wanted another excuse to ogle the French woman's generous curves.
"Well then, do you have time to sit down for a chat?" Rohan asked, flashing a look at Anand.
Anand caught on instantly. "I know a restaurant nearby," he said eagerly. "Food so good, you'll eat until you burst."
Rajesh glanced up at the station clock. "Another hour until noon… I suppose I can start my lunch break early."
"Perfect," Rohan grinned, gesturing for Anand to lead the way.