CHAPTER 2 – THE KAMPUNG MELAYU DETECTIVE GANG

Aiman lay on his bed, deep in thought, rolling a small rubber ball between his fingers. His mind was still haunted by the mystery of the missing festive biscuits. His mother was visibly worried, and rumours were spreading fast that several other places around Johor Bahru had suffered the same fate. Who would have the audacity to steal Raya biscuits during the holy month of Ramadan? It was an utterly senseless crime.

Suddenly, the shrill ringtone of his Nokia 3310 shattered the silence in his room. Aiman quickly grabbed the phone from his desk, and the name Badrul flashed on the bluish-green screen.

“Aiman, come down for a bit. We have something important to discuss,” said Badrul curtly.

Without hesitation, Aiman snatched up his fake Adidas cap—the one he had bought at the night market last week—before heading outside. Beneath the shade of the rambutan tree in Badrul’s family compound, Johan and Din were already waiting, their expressions serious. Both of them were munching on their favourite snacks—Mamee Monster and Super Ring.

Badrul looked at them, his eyes burning with determination. “I don’t think we can just sit back and do nothing,” he declared firmly.

Johan raised an eyebrow. “Do what exactly?”

“We need to investigate this. We can’t let the biscuit thief run amok without consequences!”

Din, still chewing his Super Ring, spoke hesitantly, “But… who are we? How are we supposed to investigate?”

Badrul grinned broadly. “From today onwards, we are The Kampung Melayu Detective Gang!”

Aiman almost choked upon hearing Badrul’s grand announcement. “What?” he spluttered in disbelief.

“Yes! We’re forming our own investigation team. We must find out who’s behind the missing Raya biscuits before Syawal arrives!”

Johan folded his arms. “You’ve been watching too much Detective Conan, Badrul.”

“Hey, Detective Conan is smart! Besides, do you really want your mum nagging on Raya Eve because the biscuits have run out? Or worse… what if all we can serve our guests is stale crackers?”

The boys exchanged glances. As absurd as Badrul’s idea sounded, it did make sense.

“Alright,” Aiman finally agreed. “What’s the plan?”

***

As a first step, they decided to conduct their investigation at the Ramadan bazaar, where the crowd was always thick and the stalls were overflowing with festive biscuits. If someone was trying to sell stolen goods, that would be the best place to spot them.

That afternoon, the three of them strolled towards the bustling bazaar near Angsana JB Mall. The air was thick with the mouth-watering aromas of ayam percik, roti john, and murtabak, making their stomachs growl. Johan, being the tallest among them, was given the task of surveying the biscuit stalls from a distance.

“Look over there,” said Johan, nodding towards a particularly crowded stall. “That guy’s got loads of stock.”

The stall was run by a burly man wearing dark sunglasses, despite the fact that the sun was already setting. A thick gold chain hung around his neck, glinting under the evening light, and his smile carried a hint of something suspicious.

“Do you know him?” Din asked.

Aiman nodded slowly.

“If I’m not mistaken, he works at a bakery near my mum’s shop.”

Badrul leaned in, lowering his voice. “If he works elsewhere, where did he get all these biscuits from?”

Aiman swallowed hard. It all seemed too much of a coincidence. If this stall was selling stolen biscuits, they might have just found their first suspect.

***

To get a closer look, Johan was assigned to pose as a customer—though he wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea.

“Johan, you’re the tallest. You go and buy some biscuits from that stall,” suggested Badrul.

“What? Me?” Johan exclaimed. “What if something happens?”

“Just act normal. Besides, you’re always confused about something anyway,” teased Din with a smirk.

With a reluctant sigh, Johan trudged towards the stall, pretending to browse. Meanwhile, Aiman and Badrul hid behind a nearby sugarcane juice stall, keeping a close eye on him.

“What biscuits are you selling, brother?” Johan asked in the most casual tone he could manage.

The man in sunglasses grinned. “Everything, mate! Almond London, pineapple tarts, butter cookies… all freshly made! If you buy in bulk, I’ll give you a special price.”

Johan tried to act nonchalant. “Err… did you bake all these yourself?”

The man’s smile stiffened slightly. “Why? Why do you ask?”

“Err… just curious. My mum bakes biscuits too, so I wanted to learn,” Johan replied quickly.

The man chuckled. “You want to know my secret? Just find the best biscuits… and sell them!”

Johan forced a smile, bought a small packet of Almond London, and hurried back to his friends.

“There’s something fishy about him,” Johan whispered. “He got defensive when I asked about the biscuits.”

Aiman opened the packet and picked up one of the biscuits, examining it closely. Then, he spoke in a hushed voice.

“This is exactly like the biscuits my mum makes.”

Silence fell over them. If these really were his mother’s biscuits, then this mystery was far bigger than they had imagined. And now, they were right at the heart of it.