Ham stepped out of the filthy apartment he'd been crashing at and rubbed his head full of dark red hair before pulling his elephant grey hat down past his eyebrows.  The Santa Anas were in full effect and he gritted his teeth as he stepped into the blast of hot September wind.  He was lucky he'd crammed his hat down as a gust blew he coat open, revealing a holster at his side.  Ham pulled his coat closed and cursed under his breath.  If it wasn't one thing, it was another, and he was already regretting his decision to move to Las Vegas.  He heard the weather there was just as dry and even hotter than it was in Los Angeles and although he had a good reason to go, he was dreading the effort he'd have to make in order to start a new life.  Again. 

The 1938 Buick he had inherited from his uncle Hamish still looked beautiful, even after it had been crashed a few times.  Ham was shocked when he received the history of the car and had nearly turned it down.  But Hamish had loved it more than anything and had always had it restored to brand new condition.  He opened the door and sat down, looking around at the busy street and the decrepit brick building he was leaving behind.  With a final shrug he inserted the key and started the car.  The engine rumbled to life and Ham pulled away from the curb, fully aware he was leaving nothing but bad memories behind. 

The drive was tedious and he stopped several times for coffee and pie, enjoying the peace of mind a simple slice of cherry pie brought him.  Even with chatter and other sounds he found he could drown out the noise and think.  Life in Las Vegas was offering him new opportunities with the same old trouble.  He'd buried his badge and his important paperwork out on his uncle's old farm, but the niggling feeling he'd be caught out scratched at the back of his mind day and night. What was he headed into?  He didn't even know if he would have any allies when he finally got settled, and that thought bothered him the most.  He could do what he needed to to stay alive. But he didn't want to do it alone. 

Highway 91 lead straight into Las Vegas and Ham was relieved to see a smattering of hotels that advertised air conditioning.  He pulled into a smaller hotel and checked in for the night, the air conditioner blowing lukewarm air that was better than the shimmering waves of heat that rose from the parking lot like slim silver snakes. He pulled off his hat and coat, eventually settling onto the bed in his undershirt and boxers.  He kept his holster on, remembering the one time he hadn't.  The room smelled slightly of perfume and he wondered who had been in here before.  He let his imagination churn up scenarios and eventually fell asleep, one hand cradling his gun. 

The scorching sunbeam that shone through the flimsy curtains of the hotel room made Ham's eyes water relentlessly.  He finally reached up to brush the moisture from his face and sat up, feeling for his gun.  It was still in the holster and he rued the fact he had rolled over on it at least once while he slept.  Ham rummaged in his dopp kit and pulled out his razor, spending a few minutes lost in the ceremony of shaving himself.  Once he'd splashed his face clean he toweled off and and got dressed, finally stepping into the sizzling September heat.  It was only nine in the morning but shimmering waves distorted the air in the parking lot. 

It was barely worth driving to the nearest cafe but he was glad he had as his car offered him some respite from the heat.  He walked inside a little tin and wood shack and took a seat, then waved at the waitress.  The older woman who waited on him looked tired and he decided against small talk.  He choked down two slices of dry toast and had several cups of black coffee, finally paying his tab and leaving a hefty tip. 

The drive deeper into Las Vegas was slow, but he found the building he was looking for and parked.  The meeting was brief and he tucked a fat envelope of cash and important paperwork into his vest.  His new life began today, but how long would it last?  He had his doubts and went to the local Western Union to send a telegraph and then bought a newspaper, hoping to find lodging advertised in the classifieds. 

After several hours of driving in circles he finally chose a small one bedroom apartment and put the deposit down, bot even sure he'd be alive long enough to make the first months rent. Exhausted, he went to a nicer restaurant for dinner and treated himself to steak, and a whisky. He tipped handsomely and left the restaurant, walking a few block back to his car, wondering if that was the last meal he'd ever eat.