Marcus Washington discovered the law at 11:47 on a Saturday night, in the back room of a jazz club on 135th Street, while watching a woman he loved sing a song she did not know was about him.
The club was called The Silver Note, and it smelled of gin and old wood and the particular sweat of three hundred people trying to forget their troubles for one evening. Clara Davis stood on the tiny stage in a dress the colour of midnight, and when she opened her mouth, the room stopped breathing. Marcus was not there for the music. He was there because someone had told him to come. A man in a...
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