Page 1 of Something Like Hail
Part One
Austin, 2015
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Chapter One
This is a contract. A promise to rise uplike a phoenix and find my way back to a normal life. Sure, I’vebeen through some hard times. I’m one substance abuse problem awayfrom hitting bottom, but I’m still young, and my mom alwaysinsisted that I’m smart. Now I’ll prove that I really am. No moreexcuses. I’ll use my head—use my whole body if need be—to finallyescape the streets. My life fell apart years ago. Nothing will stopme from putting it back together again. I hereby swear to myself,for what that’s worth, to uphold this promise. Signed on today’sdate…
Noah Westwood stood outsidethe production studio, palms sweaty as he tucked the homemadecontract into his back pocket. His heart was pounding. He tried toblame this on the heat and the physical exertion it had taken toget there. The bus had brought him only part of the way. Once onthe edge of Austin, he started walking. Few cars passed him on theroad. Probably because there wasn’t much to see out here exceptovergrown lots marked with worn realty signs that declared thepotential of the land. Only a few of these lots had been developedand were now populated with office buildings. Or an industrialvillage, as one entrance was optimistically labeled. The parkingspots were mostly empty, the purpose of each business vague. Nonemore so than his destination. The studio building was large,appearing like a warehouse. No cheerful landscaping greeted him,nor did any windows provide an impression of the interior. All hecould see was a massive silent structure, a scattering of cars outfront, and a door. He approached, unsure if this was the correctdestination until he read the sign:StudioMaltese
Okay. Right place. Now he just hoped it wasthe right time. Noah wiped his hands on his jeans, wishing he hadnicer clothes to wear. Then again, a suit would have baked himalive after such a long walk. He would be better off wishing for acar, a garage to park it in, and a house filled with every comfort.If he’d had any of that, Noah wouldn’t be here. Nor would he bequite so desperate. After taking a few deep breaths for courage, hepushed open the door.
The interior was as drab as the exterior. Along poorly-lit hallway, dotted by a number of doors, led to anelevator. He focused on this as he walked forward. Noah needed tospeak to the man in charge, and that person would most likely befound on the top floor. He had nearly reached the elevator when aman with a large belly blocked his path. He wore a beige shirt withcloth patches on the shoulders that asserted his position.
“What can I do for you?”the security guard asked, hands on his belt.
“Hi!” Noah said, doing hisbest to sound friendly. He casually checked the security guard’sname tag. “How are you today, Dave?” He had heard that sayingsomeone’s name helped to establish rapport. In theory. Inpractice…
The security guard’smustache tilted as he smirked. He didn’t bother answering thequestion, instead repeating his own. “What can I do for youtoday,sir?”
That “sir” was firm enough to assure Noahthat if he didn’t get to the point soon, he would be asked toleave. “I’m here to see Mr. Maltese.”
“There’s nothing on thebooks today,” Dave replied.
It took Noah a second to understand what hemeant. “I don’t have an appointment. All I need is five minutes ofhis time.”
The security guard looked him up and down.“Are you selling something? Looking for work?”
“Five minutes,” Noah saidagain. “Please.”
Dave sighed and pulled out his phone. Hetapped it and held it to his ear, pinning Noah down with a stare,even as he spoke. “Someone here to see you. Doesn’t have anappointment. Won’t say why. Uh-huh.” He lowered the phone andpointed to one corner of the hallway. “Turn around and look upthere.”
Noah did what he was told, discovering acamera mounted high in one corner. He smiled and waved, hoping thata little cheerfulness would earn him access.
“Okay,” Dave said. “Yep. Iunderstand.”
Noah turned back around to see that thesecurity guard had put away the phone and now wore a determinedexpression.
“Marcello is very busytoday,” Dave said. “Go home, give us a call, and set up atime.”
“I really need to talk tohim,” Noah said.
Dave puffed up his chest. “Not without anappointment.”
He hadn’t come all this wayjust to fail! Nor was he about to break the folded contract in hisback pocket. It might not be legally binding, but he had given hisword, and that still meant something to him. “Can I make anappointment while I’m here?” he asked, stalling for time. Hecasually eyed the surroundings. No way would he get the elevatordoors open and closed again before he was stopped, but hedidsee stairs off to oneside.
“Don’t try anything funny,”Dave said, picking up on his intent. “Call for an appointment. Thebig boss man will see you when he can.”
“Okay,” Noah said, noddingin agreement. “You’re right.” He started to turn away, then spunaround. He feinted to the left, like he was going to plow rightthrough the security guard. The man braced. Noah launched insteadtoward the right, bolted past Dave, and hit the door to thestairwell. He said a silent prayer that it would be unlocked,stomach sinking when it didn’t budge. Then he tried pulling insteadof pushing. The door swung open.
Noah felt fingertips swipe the back of hisshirt as he resumed running and took the stairs two at a time. Hemight not be an athlete, but he was in better shape than Dave. Thestairs wound around not once but twice before they came to an endon the next flight. That ground floor sure had high ceilings! Herisked a look back as he pushed through this door, seeing no signof pursuit, but he could hear thudding footsteps steadilynearing.
He turned his attention to the new hallwayhe found himself in, this one much nicer than the one downstairs.Not only was it properly lit, but decorative palms flanked a windowfurther down. Less pleasing was the number of options. Any of theclosed doors lining the hall could belong to Marcello. Noah didn’thave time to check every room, but he did slow enough to read thesigns next to each door as he passed them:
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