Skitter Jackson was a villain. The kind of villain you can’t find a stamp for—an embittered, hardened, truly disgusting scoundrel. And yet he was a real, almost selfless artist of his difficult craft. Difficult—because just imagine what it’s like to do dark con-artistry in the Shangri-la Time Station district, where the gates, as everyone knows, are unstable: hot-dog kiosks styled like ancient Roman sausager stalls have a nasty habit of, at the worst possible moment, dropping down into the prehistoric ocean—and the victims of the swindles chase “wallet cleaners” across eras and epochs. Add to that monstrous competition, and you’ll understand what it means to be a time hustler!