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warmongering mind can see the logic. ‘You know I’ve always respected the Spider,’ he continues quietly. This isn’t at all true. In our earlier days, the NTK had threatened and harassed us until we had imposed porn sanctions on their members. ‘But this plan is an insult.’ He says the words with such venom that my smugness scuttles away like vermin.I struggle to control myself. ‘Just take some time to think about it,’ I say. ‘You might be strong enough to crush the Form but the resulting fallout will benefit none of us.’
    ‘The NTK are not weak, power-brokering scavengers,’ he shouts, grabbing the handle of his gun and pulling it from his waistband. I’m tempted to grab my bag and run but I know Anwar would enjoy that way too much. Instead I rise slowly. I pull my bag onto my shoulders and meet Anwar’s eyes. ‘Then I wish you the best of luck, Warlord,’ I say with all the coldness I can muster. In a way I actually mean it. Luck is all that’s going to save any of us now.

    I light a cigarette and lean against the old oak tree in the northeast corner of the Sprawl. It’s the sacred, spiritual symbol of Westridge, the symbol on our school blazers and the essence of our school motto, ‘From the roots to the sky’. I look up at the cloud and breathe out a long coil of smoke. Things with Anwar hadn’t gone well but I still have a chance with Dirkie. If I can get him on board I can use that as leverage with the gangs. If Denton agrees perhaps Anwar will see the light.
    A battered white van coasts down the road next to the school and parks next to the gates. Dirkie gets out and climbs over the iron railing then walks quickly to where I’m standing.
    ‘My brothers are in the van with crowbars,’ Dirkie says in his thick Afrikaans accent that makes him sound like he’s speaking with a mouthful of cacti. ‘Any trouble and they’ll join us.’
    ‘I’m alone,’ I say, holding up my hands defensively. ‘Besides, I’m a businessman not a fighter.’
    ‘Sometimes you can’t be one without the other,’ Dirkie says with a scowl.
    I light another cigarette and offer him one. He accepts and tucks it behind his ear. Sporting blond hair shaped by a ragged, pudding-bowl haircut, a tight black WWE T-shirt and a single gold hoop earring that dangles from his left lobe, Dirkie looks like he should be flipping burgers at McDonald’s. Instead he’s running the biggest schoolyard syndicate in the Western Cape.
    ‘Which makes easy business opportunities all the more attractive when they come our way,’ I say.
    Dirkie grunts and turns to unzip his fly, relieving himself on the big oak tree as he speaks. ‘You Englishmen are so full of shit. The South African English are a rootless, bastard race. The Afrikaans have a culture, a tradition; what do the South African English have?’
    ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘It’s a miracle we’ve even survived this long.’ Dirkie laughs as he zips up his fly. He wipes his hands on his pants and then pulls the cigarette out from behind his ear. I light it for him.
    ‘We’ll supply the merchandise, you market and distribute it in the Northern Suburbs and we split the profits,’ I say.
    Dirkie takes a drag of the cigarette and looks at me. ‘What’s the split?’
    This is the most dangerous part of the negotiation. The production cost of the porn we’ll be giving him is virtually nothing. He shoulders all the risk and the cost of marketing. Of course I don’t tell him this.
    ‘Seventy–thirty,’ I say.
    Dirkie smiles. ‘Just like the English, always thinking we’re backward, inbred farmers.’ His smile fades. ‘Fifty–fifty.’
    I purse my lips. ‘Sixty–forty is really the lowest I can go.’
    ‘You’re taking me for a
poes
,
Engelsman
.’
    I sigh theatrically. ‘The rest of the Spider are not going to like this,’ I say. ‘But OK. Fifty–fifty.’ There is a long pause while Dirkiethinks and then finally he nods his head and extends his hand. We