Disclaimer: I don't own Preacher or any of its characters. I only own Beth and this fic, so please don't steal. I'm gonna do this fic differently than I normally do, which is to do this as a series of 2-page chapters rather than a full length novella. Enjoy!

Blood & Whiskey

Chapter 1

"Morning, Beth! How you doing?" Emily Woodrow called out from her van.

The mother of three had been driving to morning mass when she spotted the olive skinned woman walking leisurely down the street, black hair flapping in the breeze. Considering they'd grown up together, like mostly everybody in town, Beth shouldn't have been as much of a stranger as she was. There were rumors, of course, there always were in a small town, but Emily tried not to let that influence her opinion. Emily thought it was the good and proper Christian thing to do to try and befriend the woman who, as far as she could tell, had no friends of her own. Beth was quiet and kept to herself, but everybody needed somebody so Emily tried to be that somebody for her. She called out again to ask her how she was doing, thinking the other woman hadn't heard her the first time. Beth didn't answer, a clear indication that she'd just been ignoring Emily, like usual.

"So, um, anyway," Emily continued, trying to push past the awkwardness, "will we see you at church this morning?" Beth just lit a cigarette in response. "It's just that I don't think I've ever seen you there, not since we were kids, and I was just wondering. I can give you a ride, if you want!" she kindly offered with a smile.

"Fuck off, Emily," the Chicana woman stated. Emily blanched.

"…Oh. O-okay. Um…" Emily's smile faded as she continued to coast beside Beth, at a loss for words. She could hear her kids giggling in the backseat and held back a sigh of irritation. Great, they'd probably be repeating the curse for days on end now. "Well, if you…I'll, uh…" Beth still hadn't looked at her, just kept walking and smoking. Seeing there was no point, Emily decided to just cut her losses and try again another day. "Um, okay then. Bye, Beth! Nice talking to you!"

Beth raised a hand and did her signature three-finger wave, continuing her meandering down the street as Emily drove off to All Saints. Needless to say, Beth Márquez was not one of the God-fearing locals of Annville. She'd grown up in the shithole town, left when she was a teenager, and returned a few years later after getting out some bad shit. Fantastic money, but real bad shit. Sure, her life wasn't as glamorous as it'd previously been – there was nothing glamorous about living in a trailer park – but at least she was alive and sober. Well, drug-sober at any rate. No way in hell could she give up alcohol. Most days, seemed like that was the only thing that kept her moving.

Walking into the corner store, the bell jingling above to announce her entrance, Beth followed the familiar path to the fridges in the back with all the beer. She pushed her aviators atop her head and pulled the worn black notebook from her back pocket. Unwrapping the elastic strap from it, she flipped through the yellowing pages until she found what she was looking for. Smirking, Beth recalled that it had taken her about a month of trailing to get and confirm the accuracy of the information she'd just read. Closing the notebook, she secured it and returned it to her back pocket before grabbing her necessities. Without a free hand, she left her cigarette sitting precariously in the corner of her mouth as she walked towards the counter where the clerk was glaring at her.

"Usual, I see," he remarked, his tone laced with judgment. Beth hummed disinterestedly around her cigarette, finally able to tap the loose ashes off. Paul was a shithead who'd peaked in high school, never left Annville, and ended up taking over his family's little mini-mart and pretended that the little bit of power he had actually made him somebody. In reality, it didn't make him shit. Even as he was ringing up her weekly, sometimes biweekly, combination order of whiskey, vodka, and two six-packs of her favorite beer, he was sneering at her. As if he's so much better than me, she thought, taking another drag of her cigarette. He sighed and told her, "I'm tired of telling you, you can't smoke in here."

"Then stop," Beth replied, blowing a steam of smoke in his face. Paul coughed and waved the smoke away, face turning red as he opened his mouth to yell at her. "Or I'll tell your wife where you really go every Thursday." The clerk paused.

"What? I-I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about," Paul sputtered, trying to brush off her threat.

Beth suddenly snatched Paul by his shirt collar and yanked him over the counter so she could whisper in his ear. She was a little upset that she couldn't see the way his confidence faded, the way he paled with every word, but she at least felt it with his shrinking posture. When she'd finished assuring him that she did, in fact, know what the hell she was talking about, Beth gathered up her groceries and headed for the door. On second thought, she considered and moved back to the counter, where Paul was still staring into space. Whacking his shoulder, she gestured to the cartons of her cigarette brand and held up two fingers. Paul nodded and quickly grabbed the cartons, putting them in one of her bags.

"I think my purchases are on your tab from now on, Paul, don't you?" Paul nodded as Beth stared him down. He was perplexed as to why she hadn't left until her eyes flickered toward the register, then he realized. Her purchases were on his tab. Paul reluctantly opened the register and gathered up the money from Beth's purchase, passing it back to her. Her cash secured back in her wallet, Beth smiled at Paul. "Gracias. See you next week." Pulling her sunglasses down, Beth walked back into the unbearable heat of Annville, Texas with confidence. Information was power, that was a lesson she'd learned a long time ago.