I was knocked to the floor. Winded. Stunned. But it was more than that. After all, what was the point? If every journey was doomed, if every opportunity was a guaranteed loss, if every deck was stacked--well, just what exactly was the bloody point? I raised my eyes to his, tried to focus. "There's a girl I'd like you to--" He drew a finger across his throat. "I don't care how. Don't want to know, really. But if you find yourself running short on ideas, as I suspect you will--well, there's a revolver in here. Loaded." I worked the jaws. "I can't--" I protested hoarsely. "I mean, really--I can't!" I was helped to my feet. My jacket was swiped at with great, broad strokes. The smile did not quite reach his eyes. "Lucky for me I ran into you!" Meet Philadelphia Potts, a bloke so profoundly unlucky that despite his best efforts, disaster follows in his wake.