Graeme Smith

Jack Shadow Graeme Smith

He's heard them - every one of them. The jokes. They all start out the same. "See, this guy walks into a bar..." Well, that's not him. That guy who walked into a bar. He's the guy who walked out. It's not amnesia. Near as anyone knows, he just doesn't have a past. Near as anyone knows - or admits to. He doesn't walk round a corner, and some guy from a car shoots at him because of something he did long ago. Sure. Guys shoot at him. Hell, women too. But not for long ago. Mostly for last week. Where 'last week' is any week you choose. No, he just walked out of a bar. Were there piles of dead bodies behind him? A stacked deck he was dealing, or one he was dealt? He doesn't know. Or care. But they were waiting, and they took him. The Dragon. Took him to make a difference. To wait for the time a beat of a gnat's wing could change tomorrow. And Jack's the gnat. Jack walked out of a bar. The rest - the rest will be history. Some day. Not that he'll be in it. Nobody remembers the gnats. Not if they did their job right. And Jack's the best there is. Jack Shadow. Because some days - the last thing you need is a good guy.