He was a marshal, and for a good long while that was his only personality trait. He would drink deep of the workahol every day, preferring being out chasing fugitives or hell even transporting prisoners rather than returning to his marital home every night. He claimed that the divorce that followed was due to his wife not wanting to deal with him when he was wounded, but he knew the truth. He was a better lawman than he was a husband.

At 49, he's not exactly got one foot in the grave, but he's old for his age. After years of hard drinking and hard work, his body's giving out on him. He hadn't intended to live as long as he did, so he hadn't really put much thought into preservation.

He used to have a quick draw, but the bullet that had been fired eight or so months before he'd come to Hathian has slowed him some. He'd been medically retired after that wound, had a stroke that had left him somewhat unpredictable.

Eight months after being wounded, he'd followed a girl to Hathian, a girl he'd been assigned to tail for two years before he'd been shot, a drug runner for the cartel. He had some secret hope that if he finished the mission, maybe they'd give him his badge back.

What he found was a city in trouble and a different badge to wear.