This chapter is dedicated to Secret Headquarters in Los Angeles, my drop-dead all-time favorite comic store in the world. It’s small and selective about what it stocks, and every time I walk in, I walk out with three or four collections I’d never heard of under my arm. It’s like the owners, Dave and David, have the uncanny ability to predict exactly what I’m looking for, and they lay it out for me seconds before I walk into the store. I discovered about three quarters of my favorite comics by wandering into SHQ, grabbing something interesting, sinking into one of the comfy chairs, and finding myself transported to another world. When my second story-collection, OVERCLOCKED, came out, they worked with local illustrator Martin Cenreda to do a free minicomic based on Printcrime, the first story in the book. I left LA about a year ago, and of all the things I miss about it, Secret Headquarters is right at the top of the list. Secret Headquarters: http://www.thesecretheadquarters.com/ 3817 W. Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90026 +1 323 666 2228
B
5
ut it was Van, and she was crying, and hugging me so hard I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t care. I hugged her back, my face buried in her hair. “You’re OK!” she said. “I’m OK,” I managed. She finally let go of me and another set of arms wrapped themselves around me. It was Jolu! They were both there. He whispered, “You’re safe, bro,” in my ear and hugged me even tighter than Vanessa had. When he let go, I looked around. “Where’s Darryl?” I asked. They both looked at each other. “Maybe he’s still in the truck,” Jolu said. We turned and looked at the truck at the alley’s end. It was a nondescript white 18-wheeler. Someone had already brought the little folding staircase inside. The rear lights glowed red, and the truck rolled backwards towards us, emitting a steady eep, eep, eep.