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know Anthony managed your career real good. Took real good care of you. You don’t want to blow it now. You a heavyweight, man. You need a manager. You a boxer, you got to box.”
    “Don’t be tellin’ me what I gotta do, asshole.”
    “I know you thinkin’ that nobody can do as good by you, but that ain’t right. I can. I know your talent. I know where you want to go. I know how to get you there. The promoters, they know me. You don’t let me manage you, the promoters gonna pull you out of Harris.”
    “Bullshit. Contract says I’m top of the card.”
    “They find a way out of that. You got to stay strong, like nothin’ changed. It’s like when the president dies, you know, like when JFK got assassinated. You know JFK?”
    Star wanted to hit this dick. He hated it when whites talked down to him. Anthony never did that. Anthony knew he was smart. Anthony showed him respect.
    “When JFK, the president, got shot, they had to swear in the vice president right that day. Same fuckin’ day. You know why? They had to show the world that just ’cause a great man died, the line of power was okay. The country was in good hands.” Browning shifted closer in his fake alligator shoes. “You know, man, you’re all fucked up over Anthony. You got to get clear, man. You been in a funk for a year, mopin’ like a little baby.”
    Star’s neat head snapped around. He didn’t like to be talked to that way.
    “You heard me. You need somebody to tell you the truth, man, not like those yes-men you got. You upset about Anthony gettin’ whacked, you do somethin’ about it. You hear me, stop cryin’ and do somethin’. But don’t let it fuck up Harris, man. Lotta money to be made on Harris. A
career
to be made on Harris.”
    “Fuck you!” Star shoved Browning in the chest, and the man flew off his feet and crashed backward into the lockers.
     
     
    Star stood in the hot shower. Water pounded on his shoulders and coursed down the muscles of his naked body. His skin was sleek as a Thoroughbred’s, a rich, dark chestnut. Thick veins ran close to its surface and snaked down his forearms. Star stood under the water, his head thrown back, trying to keep his mind blank. Trying not to think about Anthony or the bitch who capped him. Or Browning, with the alligator shoes.
    You upset about Anthony gettin’ whacked, you do somethin’ about it.
    Star twisted the knob on the wall, turning up the water temperature. He let the hot water hit his shoulders. His muscles tingled. His veins opened wide as tunnels. Star imagined blood gushing through them like a red tide, rushing to the muscles. He felt bigger, stronger. Pumped.
    You upset about Anthony gettin’ whacked, you do somethin’ about it.
    Star squeezed his eyes shut tight and twisted the knob ’til the shower was hot as he could stand it. Then, hotter. Water scorched his biceps and blistered his chest. He opened his mouth and steaming water rushed in. His tongue was on fire. Star could take punishment, everybody said so. Blows that buckled the knees of other men, sending them to the canvas like they were prayin’ to God. But this was a blow that Star never took in the ring. This was a hurt like nothin’ he ever felt. He couldn’t make it stop and he couldn’t take it neither.
    You upset about Anthony gettin’ whacked, you do somethin’ about it.
    Hot water rained like flames from heaven, and suddenly Star roared. He never made no noise in his life, not in all his fights, but he kept roaring, not knowing where in him the sound came from. He heard it echo off the tile walls, turning the shitty shower into his den. He roared louder and louder until his skin burned like the sun. It made him feel strong and clear like never before. Star got tougher in the fire, like steel.
    And then he knew what he had to do.

7
     
    A t home, Bennie set the envelope to the side of a makeshift plywood table and arranged the photos while Grady Wells watched. A tall, skinny North Carolinian