Chapter 432

By the time he escaped, it was lunch time. There was a lot to talk about, not just about his climb but also what had gone on in the last eight months that he had been gone. He found enjoying the catch-up but was incredibly grateful they accepted his excuse of heading out for lunch too.

He did, however, have to take the kris off his belt halfway through the door. Weapon laws were extremely strict, especially for Climbers. It was bad enough he was considered a lethal weapon already, in himself. Carrying another on top of that, was just asking for trouble with the polis.

Anyway, he needed to figure out where to sell his stones. And while he could - and probably would - sell the majority direct to the Chin's, the first couple he wanted to negotiate himself. If nothing else, it would give him a better idea of the current baseline rate for them.

For Arthur, taking the elevated rail train to the Climber district was a strange change of pace. Rather than having to walk or run everywhere, getting onto the connected rail system to Pasar Seni and getting off was easy. He avoided Central Market itself, of course, the cultural heritage site still a tourist trap with its various tchotchke, geegaws and trinkets sold to gullible tourists.

No, he was headed to old town, to where Petaling Street had been slowly subsumed by Climber paranphelia. Some of the old counterfeit luxury goods and illegal bric-a-brac stalls were still around, of course, but just as often there were now counterfeit enchanted items, supposed ‘Tower items and the like. There were also various items that were geared towards aiding new or prospective Climbers, everything from basic camping gear to charms and weapons that could be concealed.

As he walked towards the street, he eyed the various older retail stores that lined the streets on either side, the streets clogged with scooters, e-bikes and electric vehicles alike. Some of these buildings were now only facades of the older buildings that had been here, gutted entirely on the inside with only the 1950s/60s street facades existing.

Not that there were that many floors added; most of the reconstructed buildings only three or maximum four stories above. And in those cases, mostly because someone’s hand was greased very hard.

These shops ranged from the usual restaurants on the ground floor to various local convenience stores, used bookstores, e-bike and scooter repair shops and Climber oriented stores. A few enterprising gyms and training halls lined the second floors of many of these buildings, while others that provided gear and weapons, training or otherwise, were scattered through it.

Though almost all the Climber-oriented stores offered to purchase stones and goods from the Tower itself, some going so far as to have signs outside indicating the pricing of the beast cores they intended to purchase.

“Four thousand Ringgit for a core from the first floor?” Arthur’s eyes widened a little. A quick scan showed that most of the other boards were either equally priced or within a very close range. No indication of pricing for higher floors, but he was not surprised that the first floor were the most common to be sold.

“Boss, got stones ah?” An older man asked, wandering out. He was well built, though gone a little to seed. A once strong man who had chosen to take an easy life. Arthur clocked his movement though, the way he bladed himself to him.

“Former climber?” Arthur said, curiously.

“No, lah. Never went in,” the man said. “I got married instead, and then my wife… you know how it is, eh?”

“Not really, but I understand.” Arthur nodded and took a step away, only to be interrupted by the man shifting and raising his voice.

“Come now, boss. You won’t get a better a rate from us,” he said. “Best price, can get you some more.” He gestured back into the glass fronted store, its doors closed to keep the air conditioning in, various low quality training weapons and armour on-hand for people to view. “We can sit down, talk a little more, right?”

“No thanks. I’m just walking,” Arthur said.

“Don’t be like that, boss.”

Arthur kept his head turned away, moving away from the store. He felt the man’s gaze fixed on his back, as he went along, and a glance back as he turned to regard a bakery saw the man on a phone. Arthur cursed internally, tension ratcheting up.

Over there, a group of men, lounging in the corner, shooting the shit with glass bottles filled with water and rose water syrup. A mix of Chinese and Indian men, all either super young or in their thirties. They were not the only group, since soon Arthur noted a few other groups hanging around.

No easy signs like tattoos or gang colours to showcase their affiliation, of course. There were some movement by the tongs, the local gangs, to give themselves patches or colours or even tattoos, but the old school triads had moved away from such things in the 80s when the police had cracked down heavily.

Such outward signs were great when you were in power, or had the upper end. When you were on the backfoot, it became a bullseye for authorities. It was only in the last decade, as organized crime began to regain a foothold in the world that discussions of such obvious allegiance had cropped up again.

Still, if you were savvy, if you knew what to look for and how they held themselves, the gang members were easy enough to pick out. Warily, Arthur kept walking, knowing where he intended to go. This initial passage was always going to be tricky, the initial touch with various groups and owners.

He could have just sold his stones to the Chin’s, saved himself some trouble, or he could have sold it to the man immediately. But he wanted to know what the best deal he could get, and that meant going to the real dealers, deep in Petaling Street.

The noise from stall owners, from roadside hawkers and fruit stalls rose up around him. Chatting shoppers, some browsing for the latest movie to buy in CD form, a USB that they could connect to grab the latest music tracks; others here for the counterfeit goods, the cheap t-shirts or just the food.

After all, there was so much to eat. Over here, Muah Chee with a fast moving line, the pair of daughters having taking over their mother’s stall. He stepped in to get a small packet of the glutinous rice balls covered in peanuts, sweet and a little chewy, the roasted peanuts and mild sweet smell of the glutinous rice touching his nose. Chewing on the snack, he made sure to stop for a bowl of beef noodles – dry, rather than with soup since he wanted to move fast.

The bowl was delivered to him while he stood up, consuming everything in a few minutes while keeping an eye on the flow of pedestrians, listening to the hubbub and just enjoying the noise and movement of the city.

For now, at least, the gang members were leaving him alone. Watching as he wandered deeper into their territory. So long as he kept going in, he expected there to be little trouble. It was getting out that would be interesting.