You're sitting in your car smoking a cigarette next to a dark building. There's a streetlight nearby, but what do you care? Nobody knows you in this city; it's a brand new market. You take one last drag on your cigarette as Tommy Twelve-Toes opens the passenger seat and climbs inside. "Couldn'ta been smoother," he says as he sits down. It seems for a moment like he was right. The night air is cool and still. You hadn't even heard him come out. Then there's the crash of the door flying open, and a woman wearing a nightgown with makeup running down her face is rushing towards you with a shotgun.