At the far end of the hall, down aisles hemmed in with display cases, and behind a large booth that blocked his view of the reception desk, Patrick Dix struggled with a box full of Superman comics and wondered how the hell he’d ever gotten himself involved with this mess. He didn’t even like comics all that much, not really—he only helped out at the shop whenever his friend Leena Dodson needed an extra hand. So he’d thought nothing of it when his friend called him up earlier in the week and asked if he’d come to the comic book convention. “It’s here in Richmond,” Leena had said. “We don’t have to travel anywhere. We’ll just set up a booth for three days and try to get rid of some of my overstock. I’ll pay you even, okay? How’s that, Pat? Come on, please. I’m begging here.”
Because he had
