“I got you, daddy. What time?”

“I’m leaving here at seven-thirty. They’d better get to Clay’s by seven.”

Joe hesitated. “Can’t you make it earlier, daddy? If this snow keeps coming down like it is now, ain’t much going to be moving by seven-thirty.”

“I’m going to be moving,” Casper said.

“Okay, daddy, I got you covered,” Joe said. “Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do.”

“It’s made then,” Casper said. “I’ll see you in church.”

When the connection was broken, he began dialing another number without putting down the receiver.

A proper male voice said, “H. Exodus Clay’s Funeral Parlor. Good afternoon. May we be of service to you?”

“I don’t want to be buried, if that’s what you mean,” Casper said. “Just let me speak to Clay.”

“Mr. Clay is resting; he’s having his customary after-noon nap. Perhaps I can help you.”

“Wake him up,” Casper said. “This is Casper Holmes.”

“Oh, Mister Holmes. Yes sir, right away, sir.”

A few moments later Clay’s thin, querulous voice came over the wire, “Casper. I was hoping to do some business with you.”

“You are, Hank, but not the kind you want.” Only a few people in Harlem knew that the H in Clay’s name stood for Henry; most people thought it stood for either Heaven or Hell. “I want to hire a hearse.”

“For yourself, or for a friend?”

“For myself.”

“The reason I asked, I have three hearses now. I use the old one for poor folks, the middle one for rich and the new one for celebrities. I’ll give you the new one.”

“Naw, give me the middle-newest. I don’t want to attract any attention to myself. I want to slip away from this hospital without anybody seeing me. And let Jackson drive it; nobody going to look at him twice.”

“Jackson!” Clay echoed. “Listen, Casper, I don’t want any shenanigans with my hearse. I never will forget the time Jackson was running all over town dodging the police with my hearse full of dead bodies.”

“What are you beefing about?” Casper said. “He made you a lot of business.”

“I’d rather get my business in the normal way; I’m not expecting a depression.”

“All right, Hank, have it your way. I just want to get this hearse over here at the back door at seven-thirty sharp.”

“The streets will be snowed under by that time,” Clay complained. “Can’t you make it earlier, or wait another day?”

“Naw. Just put some chains on it. And there’s going to be some boys of Joe Green’s following it. So don’t let that worry you.”

“Boys of Joe Green’s!” Gay exclaimed apprehensively. “Listen, Casper, if anything happens to my hearse, I’m going to bill the national party for it.”

“Okay, you do that. And tell Jackson to drive me first to my office on One-twenty-fifth Street.”

“Tell him yourself,” Clay said, losing interest and already drifting back to sleep.

Casper cradled the receiver and picked up his wrist watch from the night stand. It was thirteen minutes past five o’clock. He peered between the drawn curtains at the drifting snow. Everything that met his eye was white, except the gray sky. He selected a cigar, clipped it carefully, stuck one end between his lips and rolled it about. Then, he put it down on the edge of the night stand, picked up the receiver again and began dialing.