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Clarenden?” she said softly. Underneath the ice, I could hear just the tiniest shred of doubt.
    “What is anyone doing here?” I said. “Enjoying the rewards due after a life of toil and struggle.”
    “Toil and struggle? You wouldn’t know toil and struggle if it came up behind you and kicked you in the pants.”
    “A kick in the pants would be a lot more pleasant than this welcoming committee. Is this the sort of greeting people usually get when they enter God’s kingdom?”
    “You think you got a rotten welcome? You should see the send-off they gave you.”
    She raised a finger and pointed up to the nearest painting on the wall. Instantly, the image was replaced by a television screen. On the screen, a small group was visible, standing outside a church beside a grave. It was my own funeral.
    A tired-looking priest was speaking. “It betides us ill to speak poorly of the dead,” he intoned, “however in the case of Jimmy Clarenden, I’m not sure there’s much else we can do.”
    The others in the group murmured in agreement and then took turns approaching the grave. My accountant, Charlie Singbuck, was the first.
    “Jimmy, I’m always real sorry whenever I lose a client,” he said. “But for you I’m happy to make an exception.”
    The next person to approach was Stan, the barman at the Greasy Shamrock, a venue where I had spent a good portion of my waking hours. He wasn’t much better.
    “Jimmy, I just want you to know that business is booming now that we’ve finally gotten rid of you. The Shamrock has never been so busy. Thanks.”
    A group of women followed: old girlfriends or clients, or possibly people I had investigated. I honestly couldn’t remember who was who, although they obviously remembered me. They approached in turn and either cursed me, insulted me, or spat into my grave.
    “Quite a hit with the ladies,” Sally’s voice whispered into my ear as I stood, hoping to place at least one of those vengeful harpies.
    The final person to approach the grave was my old friend, Detective Clyde Harris. Surely he’d have something decent to say about me. Surely he’d be the one person to stand by me, even in death.
    He didn’t say anything. He stood for a moment, staring down at the coffin. Then he sighed, shook his head, and turned and walked away.
    The vision disappeared. The screen went blank and the old painting reappeared.
    “Nice work, Clarenden,” Sally said in a voice of treacle that would have burned through steel. “Nobody wanted you down there. Believe me, nobody wants you up here either.” She laughed again and turned to the other angels, who immediately let out loud and fairly unconvincing guffaws as well.
    “For someone who doesn’t want me here, you seem to be devoting an awful lot of attention to me,” I said.
    She turned to me with a start. For a moment, I could see the anger rise behind her eyes. Then, quickly regaining control, she ripped her gaze away from me and back to her followers.
    “Let’s go,” she said. “There’s no point wasting any more time on this sad excuse for a man.”
    She began striding back down the hall. The other two angels turned and hurried to catch her up. Soon they were nothing more than bobbing points of light, disappearing into the surrounding brilliance.
    At that moment, Gabriel reappeared through the door, holding a number of documents.
    “I’m sorry for the delay. I trust that the company was agreeable.”
    “As pleasant as a bandage soaked in salt. What have you got there?”
    “The lease arrangements for your office. Unfortunately, finding a good real estate agent in Heaven is not easy.”
    There were a bunch of obvious responses I could have made, but I chose not to. Despite my bravado, the observation of my own funeral had affected me. My life might not have amounted to much, but even a no-bit bum deserved a half-decent send-off.
    Half in a daze, I signed the papers where Gabriel pointed and took a key from him. It was only