14.

May has a reputation as a gunman's city. Ten minutes after unloading, I've concluded that a mere .45 won't draw much attention; men here pack AK-47s like they're pocket-knives, and I spotted a ten-year-old with a more formidable looking weapon than mine.

Matthew won't last a day here.

Rather than a tavern, I head for a nearby diner. In May, all the restaurants have liquor licenses or serve illegally.

Inside, the other customers are gossiping about a quick-draw tournament that took place a few months back. I'm only half-listening until a familiar name makes me choke on my whiskey.

"…Vash…"