Not everyone thinks he exists. Among those who do, he is a ghost — nothing but rumors and random sightings, London one day, La Paz the next. He speaks fourteen languages, blends into any crowd, vanishes without a trace. He is everywhere — and nowhere. But no matter where he is or isn’t, one thing is certain: he is a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, served in a mystery with curly fries and a medium Pepsi for a limited time. He is the myth, the legend, known to the criminal underworld only by the whispered name: Mr. Pooters.