Your given name is JACK NOIR, formerly known as SCATHING SHARPER — but as of what feels like an eternity, your name has been nothing but MUD. You now resentfully bear the title of TRASH MAN, under the forced punishment of indefinite servitude to the QUEEN OF DERSE due to an UNENDING LIST OF CRIMINAL ACTIVITY.
In another life, you used to lead an infamous group of grifters known as the DEAD SHUFFLERS. Bunch of dirty fuckin' shills, you grumble to yourself with contempt. DEFRAUDING DEALER, HUSTLE BONES and CHARMED DEFALCATOR were all cooped up nice and cozy under some kind of self-insured witness protection program while you were being nabbed by THE MAN.
A sprawling empire toppled, a LUCRATIVE BUSINESS OPPORTUNITY squandered, years and years of partnership... gone. Just like that. Poof.
Seems like you taught HIM how to pull the long con a little too well. The twerp may have flim-flammed with the best of them, but you will never forgive him for what he did to you and your gang.
All bets are off, as far as you're concerned. You just need a single hit to score a jackpot-sized return, as payment for losing your goddamn mind in public service for all these years.
(You made up the term "jackpot", by the way. It is your greatest achievement.)