Excerpt:

Mama came in the house singing “There is a Balm in Gilead.”  Daddy asked what she was so happy about and she said she was happy because all her bills were paid.
            “There’s two bill collectors downstairs looking at the mailboxes,” Mama said.  “Least I guess they’re bill collectors cause they’re white and mean-looking.  But all my bills are paid.  My finances, except for Matt’s college, are so good they’re almost sanctified!”
            “Those bill collectors could be hoodlums,” I said, thinking about a certain Dutch Schulz.
            “Ain’t no hoodlums.”  Daddy sniffed hard the way he does sometimes.  “Ain’t no white hoodlums going to come al the way uptown to Harlem to get our little bit of cash.”
            I hoped they weren’t coming for anybody’s fingers, either.  Not that I was scared or anything .  But I did think maybe it would be a smooth idea not to go out until the next day.
            In the morning I wore a white shirt and carried my jacket over my arm.  I had been wearing the jacket the night we picked up Schulz’s booze and I didn’t want to be seen in it again.