“Of course. I got my degree from the California College of the Arts in Oakland. I work freelance—currently with a couple of guys I went to school with. My buddy Jocko does the writing. I’m what they call a penciler. There are two other fellows who do the inking and the coloring.”

“I read a lot of comic books when I was a kid. Tales from the Crypt and the like.”

Willard smiled. “I know that one well. The company was originally Educational Comics. William Gaines inherited the business from his dad. In 1947, he and an editor named Al Feldstein came up with the concept, which was a smash success and generated hundreds of imitators. Weird Chills, Weird Thrillers, Web of Mystery. I have hundreds of those old classics.”

“Is that right? And now you’re writing them yourself.”

“As part of the team. I also do freelance editorial cartoons as well. I’m lucky circumstances allowed me to pursue my dream. My parents are still convinced I’ll starve.”

“Well, I admire your gumption. I’ll have to take a look at your work sometime,” he said, hoping the fellow wouldn’t jump right up and fetch his portfolio.

“I think of this as my bread-and-butter money until I can launch the project closest to my heart.”

“And what would that be?”

“A graphic novel. Are you familiar with the form?”

“I’m not, but I’d imagine it’s much like it sounds. Comic book starring a superhero of some type?”

“The graphic novel’s actually a separate genre. A version called manga’s been popular in Japan for years and encompasses all kinds of stories. Action-adventure, horror, detective. I’m not saying mine’s manga. That’s strictly of Japanese origin.”

“Is that right? And yours is about what, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’ve created a character called Joe Jupiter, who’s been crippled in an accident.”

“Writing what you know, so to speak.”

“Except I take the setup in a different direction. He enrolls in an experimental protocol and ends up acquiring supernatural abilities after being injected with a powerful new drug that’s supposed to regenerate nerves and cells. Through some fluke—I’m still working on that aspect—instead of being cured, Jupiter develops unusual powers of telepathy and mind control.”

“No telling what kind of adventures that might lead to,” Pete remarked.

“My wife thinks it’s too much like science fiction, which isn’t my intent. Of course, there’s an element of fantasy, but the premise is reality based.”

“Not my area of expertise, but I can definitely see the possibilities. Is yours a lucrative trade?”

“If you hit it big, absolutely,” Willard replied. The pink in his eyelids had intensified, like a curious form of blushing. Pete wondered which he was exaggerating—the earnings potential or his chances of making it.