Hailstone

Hailstone

Nina Smith

Copyright © 201
2 Nina Smith

All rights reserved.

ISBN
:
1482750929

ISBN-13:
978-1482750928

Dedicated to Kate, for the inspiration, encouragement, constructive criticism and for reading everything I ever wrote.

Sunday

There was no question about it. Preacher had to die.

She fumbled with the lock on the glove box. A bottle of vodka, packet of cigarettes and several crumpled packs of pills went flying into the passenger seat. She closed her hand around the gun. The slick of sweat on her palm made the metal slippery. She thanked God, even though she didn’t believe in
Him, for Hailstone’s black market where you could get anything you wanted for the right price.

Her head buzzed. Her face ached. She wondered if she had concussion again. The front door of the house opened; she crammed the gun back into the glove box, slammed it shut, floored the accelerator and tramped the brake. The rusty red Valiant belched black smoke and the wheels screeched like fingernails down a blackboard. She released the brake.

The car leaped forward, sped away from Preacher’s house, took the corner past the church too fast and veered in front of oncoming traffic. She swerved out of the path of a delivery truck and swung out to overtake a slow-moving granny car the moment the way was clear. She took two more corners without so much as touching the brakes and only slowed down when she got onto Hailstone Highway. Half the cops in the city had a hotline to Preacher. She’d learned not to speed out here.

Magda glanced in the rear view. No headlights followed her in the dark. She was all alone; a few minutes past 10pm on Sunday night, nobody in this part of the city would be out and about unless they were up to no good. But then again, Hailstone wasn’t that big a city.

She took a right off the highway and crept into the inner city. Streetlights greeted her. People straggled around cafes and clubs. Old newspapers fluttered in the curbs. A ragged dog slunk through the rubbish bins. She pulled into an underground car park and drove into the darkest corner.

She turned off the ignition, but left the lights and the radio going. Magda took a deep breath. Her hand shook; she raked her short blonde hair out of her face. Her knuckles were scraped raw where she’d hit the wall. She
swivelled the rear view around to see her face. Jesus, she couldn’t go anywhere in this state. The bruise on her cheek was practically purple. Her lip was swollen. It was amazing he hadn’t knocked a tooth loose.

She closed her eyes to block out the sight. All this over a stray cigarette butt. Imagine if he’d found out she’d sold black market firecrackers to the Mayor’s son under his nose at service that morning and spent the rest of the day nursing a bottle of Hells Bells Vodka.

Magda slammed both fists into the steering wheel. “I’m thirty years old you son of a bitch!” she screamed.

The cold dark outside the car forced her back into silence like a bible bearing down on the forehead. The radio played a tinny, inane tune, but it was the only sound between her and total panic.

Magda wrenched the lever to put the seat all the way back. She dug the blanket out of the back seat and wrapped herself in it. She swallowed a white pill from a zip lock bag in her purse and chased it with a swig of vodka. She stuffed the bottle and the empty pill packets back in the glove box to hide the gun, then fastened the lock she’d installed, because she didn’t trust either Preacher or her husband to respect the privacy of her car.

She lit a cigarette, lay back and closed her eyes. The car filled with smoke. It smelled foul, but she didn’t crack open the windows to let it out.

Monday

Magda flipped open the jangling phone without so much as opening her eyes. “What?”

“Magdalene
, where are you?"

Crap. Should’ve looked at the screen. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and winced at Preacher’s tone. The man could freeze a person at fifty paces with a single word.

"I'm at a friend's house."

"Which friend? I'm coming to pick you up."

Magda swapped the phone to the other ear and felt around the console until she found her cigarettes. "There's no need, honestly, I've got my car. I'll be home soon."

There was a palpable pause at the other end. Here it came. She clenched the cigarette between her lips and lit it.

"I'm sorry I got mad at you, Magdalene. I've had time to think, and I forgive you. The masks of Satan are many, and you are a weak spirit."

"How very generous of you." She was well aware he would miss the sarcasm.

"I called in a favour," he continued, as though she had not even spoken.

Magda took a drag of her cigarette. The familiar throb began behind her left eye. She felt around for her pills. "What kind of favour?"

"There is a woman who’s new to the Congregation. She’s a counsellor who helps people like you to come off drugs."

"I'm not on drugs." Magda chased a pill with a lungful of nicotine. The throbbing subsided. She relaxed her shoulders and stretched her neck muscles.

“You may not think you are, but cigarettes are a slippery slope, Magdalene. If you don’t deal with this now, you could be drinking alcohol next.”

Good idea. Magda unlocked the glove box with one hand and retrieved the vodka. She took a healthy swig. There, she felt almost human. “Preacher you know I would never do that.”

"You say that now. You opened a door to Satan with your first cigarette, and he does not let go easily. I've arranged an appointment for you with the counsellor. She'll be coming to your house this evening. I expect you to be there."

Magda sighed. "Fine."

"When will you be home?"

"Soon."

"I asked when, Magdalene. It’s already past midday."

"A couple of hours, Preacher.” She hung up before he could speak again, turned the phone off and shoved it into the bottom of her bag.

Magda flicked the ignition to get some light. The engine clicked over, but did not start. There, she’d run the battery flat leaving the radio on all night. Gosh darn, she couldn’t go home now.

*

Magda kicked at a rock and wandered down the inner city streets. She ignored the bookshops and the fast food places and the posters with Preacher smiling out at Hailstone and inviting all and sundry to the next anti-alcohol rally.

She’d changed into the jeans and clinging t-shirt she kept spare in the car; she wouldn’t be seen dead in her church clothes here. Those knee-length skirts and big wide collars made her look like a cross between Pollyanna and a Puritan.

She wandered into the big shopping centre. It was usually safe to come here and buy a coffee. You could be anonymous in big crowds like this. There were twenty shops in the one building, something she’d found amazing when she first snuck in, because Preacher had never let her go anywhere except the Christian bookshop when she was a kid.

Magda bought a coffee and sat on a bench to watch the passersby. She took a scalding mouthful. Sure, that made her eyes water, but she wanted to make sure she got as much caffeine in her as possible before she was spotted.

People who’d never been to the Church fascinated her. Hailstone had just enough subculture to brighten up the crowds with the occasional goth, or punk, or boy with his shorts slung so low you could see half his boxers hanging out. She didn’t know if there was a name for that. She watched a girl in tight black pants walk past. Long white-blonde hair brushed a tattoo in the gap between her top and her pants. Wow. Magda watched until she disappeared into the crowd. One day she’d dye her hair, just like that girl, except she’d go bright red. The devil’s colour. She’d get a tattoo too. Maybe she’d get fuck off tattooed on her forehead, and just point to it any time Preacher spoke to her. She giggled. The tension slowly eased. Sure, she’d be in trouble later, but that wouldn’t stop her enjoying a few hours out now.

“Magdalene?”

Magda spilled scalding coffee over her feet. She bit back a swear word and shook drops of liquid off her shoe.

“Oh, are you alright dear?” Mary Georgiou dropped her shopping bags on the bench. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m fine, Mrs Georgiou.” Magda glared at Mary’s son Joseph, who gave her a sunny grin. At eighteen, he was pretty enough to attract all the younger girls and bad enough to keep her in business getting him and his friends everything Preacher said they couldn’t have.

“Oh I’m so glad, Magdalene. You know Preacher called me, he’s worried about you. He said you hurt yourself and then didn’t come home today.”

“Is that what he said?” Magda removed her oversized sunglasses and showed Mrs Georgiou the bruise on her cheek. “Does that look like I walked into a door?”

Mrs Georgiou looked closer. “My, that’s nasty. You walked into a door? Have you had your eyes tested? Maybe you need glasses.”

Magda put her sunglasses back on. She gripped the back of the bench so hard her knuckles turned white. “I didn’t walk into a door. I walked into Preacher’s fist.”

Mrs Georgiou raised her eyebrows. “Now Magdalene, you know lying opens doors to Satan. Preacher is a wonderful, gentle man. He would never hurt his own daughter.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Magda grabbed what was left of her coffee and walked away.

Mrs Georgiou followed. Joseph trotted behind her. Magda knew without looking how much he was enjoying the show.

“Magdalene McAllister, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what you just said to me. This is obviously much worse than Preacher said it was. You need to go home right now and let him help you.”

“Can’t. My car’s got a flat battery.”

“I’ll drive you then. And my husband can deal with your car.”

Magda chuckled. “You’re going to get the mayor out to jumpstart my car?”

Mrs Georgiou paused. “Perhaps you’re right. Joseph, you’ll do it. Now you two just wait right here for me while I do some shopping, and then I’ll drive you home. Joseph, don’t you let her out of your sight.” She patted Magda’s cheek. “Don’t you worry dear, we’ll have you back on the path to Jesus soon.”

Magda watched her disappear into the supermarket. “How the fuck do you live with that woman, Joseph?”

Joseph shook his head. “You just don’t argue with her. So what really happened last night?”

Magda gave the disappearing Mrs Georgiou a venomous look. “Someone told Preacher they saw me smoking.”

Joseph rolled up his sleeve and showed her a purplish bruise on his forearm. “I got caught smoking too.”

“This is insane.” Magda dropped back against the wall. “You know that, right?”

“I know.” Joseph scowled at the floor. “Got any smokes?”

Magda slipped three cigarettes into his hand. “Don’t get caught. I’m outta here, before your mother gets back.”

He gave her a pleading look. “Mags. Don’t go. Preacher’ll kill you.”

She pushed herself off the wall. “He has to catch me first. Tell your mum I kicked you in the nuts and ran. I’m in enough trouble already, a little more won’t hurt. Here, have some coffee before she gets back.” She grinned, thrust the coffee into his hand, winked and stalked away.

“They’re all out looking for you Mags!” Joseph yelled after her.

T
hat did it. Magda put her head down and got the hell out of the shopping centre, figuring Mrs Georgiou had probably called Preacher the minute she got out of sight. She slipped out of the big double doors and headed off down the pavement. She could find a seedy little pub and play pool for the afternoon; they’d never find her there. Or maybe she could lurk in clothing stores and try on clothes that would give Preacher an aneurysm.

A car slowed down and crawled along the curb next to her.

Fear shot through Magda’s brain. Her whole head throbbed. She didn’t even look; she just walked faster and wrapped her arms around herself to keep from getting the shakes.

“Magdalene.”

She glanced around. Yep, just like she’d guessed it, one of Preacher’s flunkies. Zack; he was always hanging around trying to get in Preacher’s good books. An unremarkable man, she’d always thought. He was an inch shorter than her, short back and sides, always in a suit and tie. His ears stuck out. The only time she really liked him was when he wasn’t in the room.

“Magdalene get in the car please.”

Magda bolted. She ran around three corners, but the car followed. Her lungs heaved from the exercise. The throbbing in her head spread down her face. She slowed to catch her breath; Zack parked ahead of her and got out of the car. He came toward her, hands out in a gesture she supposed was meant to calm her. “Magdalene, I’m just trying to help. Please let me take you home. Preacher is worried sick about you.”

Magda looked at the cracked paving. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Perhaps it’s because your husband leaves you alone so much.” Zack’s voice was gentle and coaxing.

She wondered if he thought she was five
years old.

“But he’ll be home today,” he continued. “Surely you’d like to be there to greet him.”

“John’s coming home today?” Magda tightened her grip on her bag. The throbbing was out of control. “You mean I get to go home, be a good wife and make my husband dinner? For real?”

“Does that make you happy?”

“Fuck off jerk.” Magda shoved him as hard as she could and bolted down the street. She ignored him yelling after her and cut down an alley. When she paused for breath he was in pursuit on foot; she ran again, rounded another corner and this time came out on a busy road lined with towering office buildings. She spotted a set of stairs leading below one of the buildings and clattered down it. She paused, just below ground level, and waited. His shoes jogged past. Wanker. He wore grandpa shoes, just like Preacher.

Magda continued down the stairs and found, to her delight, they led to an underground bar with a juke box and a pool table.

*

It was just mid
-afternoon and the place was almost empty. Magda sat down on a stool at the end of the long bar and glanced around. No church people. Just an old sot crouched over the other end of the bar and a couple of boys playing pool. She took a few deep breaths and dry-swallowed a pill. The throbbing subsided and her heart slowly returned to normal. She could hardly believe she’d made it this far. She wondered how long Zack would wander about looking for her out there. Preacher would be furious with him for letting her escape.

A young man appeared out of a door behind the rows of spirits. He had a neat brown ponytail, fresh, almost feminine features and a spike through his eyebrow. Magda stared, fascinated. She wanted a spike through her eyebrow. Wow. Would that ever make Preacher mad.

“Hello my darling!” he wiped his hands on a towel and scrubbed the already gleaming surface in front of her. “What can I get you this afternoon?”

“Vodka in lemonade,” Magda replied. “Please. Can I smoke in here?”

“Go right ahead!” The barman upended a bottle into a glass and then filled it with lemonade. “You look like you need it. Rough day?”

“You have no idea.” Magda lit a smoke. She glanced at her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. Her hair was all mussed and sweat gleamed on her face.

“Tell me all about it.” The barman poured himself a drink, leaned his elbows on the bar and put his face in his hands. “I’ve got nothing better to do, you know.”

Magda grinned. She liked him already. “What’s your name?”

“Adam.” He stuck his hand out. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Magda.” She shook his hand. “I’m not allowed in bars.”

He gave a mock gasp. “Oh my God, did you sneak in? Who says you’re not allowed in bars?”

Magda sipped her drink. “Preacher.”

“Preacher?” Understanding dawned on his face. “Don’t tell me you’re mixed up in that awful church?”

Magda shrugged. “I’m a daughter of Satan. That’s what he says.”

“Gosh darling, what’s it like having Satan for a dad?”

She choked and laughed at the same time, and drank a little more to recover herself. “Can I tell you something, Adam?”

“Anything, darling.” He leaned forward.

Magda stubbed out her cigarette. “Preacher’s my father.”

This time Adam choked. He laughed until his eyes streamed. “Are you telling me Preacher’s daughter is sitting in my bar, smoking cigarettes and drinking vodka?”

Something about the laugh sparked recognition in Magda. “Adam,” she said.
“Adam...Adam Seymour? Are you that Hells Bells Vodka guy? The one who had the argument with Preacher on TV the other week?”

“
The one and only.”

“He did a whole sermon about how you were going to hell.”