"I'm too early, aren't I?" I say, surveying the territory.

"Things only really get going round about eleven, twelve. Even on a weeknight."

"What's the crowd like?"

"Rich. Trendy. Beautiful. Lot of power people."

"Bet you get laid a lot. What's your name?"

He actually blushes. "I've got a girlfriend. And it's Michael."

"What do you do when you're not bartending, Michael?"

"I'm a student. Marine biology at the University of Johannesburg."

"Marine biology? Are you ever in the wrong city."

"No kidding."

"Can I make a contribution towards a transfer to a coastal facility? I tuck R500 under my coaster.

"What's this for?"

"Just the name of the bouncer who was friendly with Songweza Radebe."

"You from Heat Heat?"

"Something like that."

"This going to come back to me?"

"Michael. Please. I don't even know your name."

He slips the coaster off the counter, the R500 vanishing seamlessly with it. "Ronaldo. Ro. But I don't think it went anywhere."

"Ro the jealous type?"

"Nah, man, he's a real sweet guy. He was always looking out for her. Didn't like her coming here so young. Bad influence, you know?"

"Oh, I know."

"He beat the c.r.a.p out of some guy who tried to dope her drink a few months back. It happens sometimes. We found a girl pa.s.sed out in the toilets last Friday. Had to break the cubicle door down. Joey was seriously p.i.s.sed. Have you been in the toilets yet?"

"Not yet."

"You should go. Highlight of the venue. Those doors cost ten grand a pop."

"Lot of drugs going around?"

"Not according to official policy." He turns cool on me, suddenly very busy with grinding up ice for c.o.c.ktails. I guess drug skinder skinder isn't included in the fee. Most club "policies" are no more than lip service, or at best a system for keeping out unregulated dealers, the kind with dodgy product or who aren't willing to let the house have a taste of the profits. Most clubs have in-house service providers. They're not hard to find if you know where to look. isn't included in the fee. Most club "policies" are no more than lip service, or at best a system for keeping out unregulated dealers, the kind with dodgy product or who aren't willing to let the house have a taste of the profits. Most clubs have in-house service providers. They're not hard to find if you know where to look.

I sip my G&T and watch the place start to fill up. By "power people", the bartender meant older guys with younger girls in countless variations of suits and little black dresses. They occupy the booths and order top-shelf champagne and single malts. The younger, clubbier crowd are dressed more effortlessly casual in designer jeans and trainers, and tend to head straight for the bar. There's nothing interesting about these people.

I do spot the house dealer, or rather he spots me. Junkie pheromones reel him in like a paedophile homing in on a creche. He swings in to sit beside me, just a boy making a move on the lonely Sloth girl in the corner. He's a sweet-looking guy with sandy curls and a preppy shirt and chinos. The kind your dad would be pleased to have you bring home. "Heya, love," he says, "haven't seen you here before."

"First time."

"Having a good time?"

"Sure."

"Mike said you might be looking for something?" Michael is preoccupied on the other side of the curve, tending to a posse of chic girls in jewel tops and black business skirts who are starting to get a little loose and sloppy as after-work drinks turns into an all-nighter.

"Did he now?" Sloth hunches his shoulders and hisses at the guy.

"Hey, that's just what he said. If I'm bothering you, I'll go away."

"I'm sticking with this tonight, thanks."

His easy smile doesn't even falter. "Maybe later then, love." He winks, peels away into the throng and is next seen dancing with a girl in a satiny top and low-rider jeans that have ridden a little too low, revealing her bespangled underwear and a fair section of her a.r.s.e.

"There you are." Gio collapses onto the barstool next to me. He still sounds p.i.s.sy, although he's made some effort. He's wearing a very subtle, very expensive cologne. "Why don't you answer your phone? I've been trying to call you all night." you are." Gio collapses onto the barstool next to me. He still sounds p.i.s.sy, although he's made some effort. He's wearing a very subtle, very expensive cologne. "Why don't you answer your phone? I've been trying to call you all night."

"My phone and I parted ways. Call it a tactical withdrawal." But he's not really listening.

"Was that guy bugging you? This place can be such a meat market."

"I need a favour."

"Whoa there, lady. I think you're already in the red on the Official Favours account."

"Have an argument with me. Outside."

"We're heading that way, let me tell you. Why would we be doing this?"

"We used to have great arguments, remember?"

"The neighbours three blocks over remember, Zee. As well as the Aftermath."

"Don't remember you complaining about make-up s.e.x."

"I was too afraid," he grins. But he's getting off on this. We used to play games in bed, and our screaming arguments were always power plays.

"Come on. Outside. You may have to rough me up a little."

"That's a new one. You learn that kink in the big house?" He trails after me as I head towards the entrance. I just hope Ro won't completely destroy him.

Just before we reach the doors, I shove him hard in the chest, yell, "I said said, just leave me the f.u.c.k alone," and storm out onto the street, exaggerating my limp.

He grabs my arm, bewildered. "Hey?"