Half Off at Kraft & Schnell Collectibles!

As I mentioned back in the Roommates ish (which you can read here), not everyone in the Living City is a sex lich or a politician or daeva assassin or whatever. A lot of folks are just folks.

So here we have a collection of very short shorts about the owners and employees of a hobby shop in Azza-Jono called Kraft & Schnell Collectibles. They sell comic books, mostly, but also role-playing games, board games, collectible cards, toys, board games, sf books, and music.

As the store name might suggest, Mr. Kraft is one owner, and Mr. Schnell is another. They don’t always get along.

Pen is a young androgyne who works there part-time. It is their first job, and they are very happy about it.

A behind-the-scenes supplement for the bought in will come out next Wednesday, wherein I reveal the origins of this store and cast. Substack has added a trial option, so you can use that, too, if you want to check out the sort of thing you’ll get when you give me money. I welcome all thoughts and feedback on that, btw. I’m happy to provide more and different things. Just let me know what you want, and I’ll deliver!

Anyway, on to the stories …

It’s Not How You Open a Box

Schnell turned the box around, looked down at it, shook his head. "I don't know who opened the god damned box." He looked over at Pen, who sat on break, out front, smoking and reading a copy of Captain Azza.

He grabbed his smokes and lighter, then pushed out of the shop, bells jangling, stuck a smoke between his bristly lips, and lit it up.

He took a long pull, then said, "I showed you how to open a box, right?"

Pen looked up from the book, took a pull on their smoke, then nodded yes.

"Thought so. Tell me how."

Pen put the book in their lap.

"That better not be a store copy," Schnell said.

"It's mine."

"Don't remember seeing any Azza books on your sub list."

"I'm not subscribed. I pulled a copy when I saw the cover." Pen held it up, pointed. "It's got Shadowsnake. She's bad ass."

Schnell arched an eye, smoked, said, "Yes. Yes she is. You pulled yours after filling all the subs, yeah?"

Pen smoked, said, "Of course!"

"Good. Can't have our fucking regulars pissed off over getting shorted a god damned Captain Azza book. That shit's sucked for years, but people love their books, sucky or no."

"True. But Shadowsnake, though."

Schnell smiled and nodded. "I'm with ya. Now, tell me how to open a box."

Pen put their copy down again, then demonstrated on an invisible box. "Like this. You cut the short sides, then pull it up and ..."

"Go down the middle! Fuck! Thank you!" Schnell flicked his butt, lit another.

Pen winced, smoked, said, "Someone didn't open a box that way, did they?"

"You're god damned right, they didn't. Put a fucking slash right down the front of a fucking Catmensch graphic novel. Fifty bucks right down the shitter."

"Can't you return it to the distributor? Say it was shipped like that?"

Schnell narrowed his eyes at Pen, said through the wafts of smoke between them, "That would be rather disingenuous, wouldn't you say?"

Pen nodded. "True. What about a deep discount? You know, like, twenty bucks or something, so it's not a total loss."

"I don't sell fucked up books."

"Hmm, well then maybe ..."

"Aw, fuck it. Just throw it on the back of the shitter." He took one more drag, flicked his smoke out into the rain-soaked parking lot where it died in a hiss. "And unpack the rest. Rack 'em, pull 'em, bag 'em, box 'em. I'll be in the back."

"You got it, boss."

Schnell threw the door open, then stopped, dug some bills out of his pocket, gave them to Pen. "And go get me an Agent Orange. In a can, not a bottle. I hate the plastic taste when it's from a bottle."

"Me too."

"Yeah, get yourself one, too."

"Oh, I meant, about the taste."

"Yeah, yeah. Hurry back. I want exact change."

Pen rushed off in the rain, leather jacket pulled up over the head like a hood.

Schnell sighed, grabbed a copy of Captain Azza off the rack, went to the back.

Lunch Time at Kraft & Schnell Collectibles

"Pen, come over here," Kraft said.

Pen stopped what they were doing, breaking down boxes and sorting loose back issues, and walked over to Kraft. "Yeah?"

"What do you think about being a manager?"

"Huh?"

"Is that something you'd like to do?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess."

"Come with me." Kraft stood and walked to the cast iron door at the back of the store, opened it, held the door with his thick arm as raw sunlight poured in, he squinted. "And get my shades off the counter."

Pen pointed to the front of the store, said, "But Schnell wants me watching the store," then pointed to the boxes and unsorted back issues, "and wants me to break down these boxes and sort these back issues."

Kraft rolled his eyes. "It's lunch time, Pen. No one comes in at lunch time. And besides, Trundle is out there."

Pen nodded. "But he works music. I'm not supposed to push comics or games or cards on him."

Kraft rolled his eyes again, in a wider arc this time. "He's a full duty employee, mmkay, just like you. And he's twenty-nine and makes craft beer in his bathtub. He can sell some fucking comic books for an hour."

Pen smiled and shrugged. "Okay!" They grabbed Kraft's sunglasses, threw on their own, and skipped out into the shining sun.

You Will Want to Think More About the Future

Pen felt small in the passenger seat of the van. They were a trim person, true, and of average height. Kraft, Schnell, and Trundle were all huge, well over six feet and stocky. Pen shifted and straightened their spine to be as tall as possible.

"You can smoke in here if you want," Kraft said.

"Oh, thanks!" Pen pulled a smoke, put it between black lips, then lit the lighter, but waited, let it go out. "But you don't smoke, Mister Kraft."

"I used to. But I quit. One day you'll quit, too."

Pen wasn't sure. "Hmm. I'm not sure. I really like smoking."

Kraft nodded. "You'll quit. You'll stop wearing black lipstick and painting your nails black, too. And you'll let your hair be its natural color. Or dye it some naturally occurring shade, anyhow."

Pen's heart sank. "But when I got the job, Mister Schnell said I could look however I wanted."

"Oh, and you can! You look great. That's not what I'm saying. Not what I'm saying at all." Kraft nodded at the cigarette. "You gonna smoke that?"

Pen went ahead and lit it, reluctantly.

"Just roll the window down. Schnell smokes in here all the fucking time, so the resale value is already fucked. No more harm to be done to it, but I'd rather not smoke without smoking, if you know what I mean."

Pen didn't, but rolled down the window and kept the cherry close so the draft pulled most of the smoke out.

"No, you look great, Pen. Young, tough, and foxy. Remind me of me when I was your age."

Pen smiled at that. Took a happy puff.

"No, all I mean is that I know you, Pen. You've been kicking around the shop since you were, what? Thirteen?"

"Twelve, sir."

"Twelve, right! You spent your whole birthday wad in our store, as I recall."

"Two Why Women annuals, a Retributor-Felis crossover book, and a soft cover are pee gee, sir."

"Yeah, Portals, right?"

"Yes, sir." Pen smiled wider, smoked happier.

"So, see, I know you a bit, Pen. And I watch you, and I see a bit of myself in you. I see you out there, doing the wild thing, which is cool for a youngster, but one day, maybe one day sooner than you think, you're going to tire of all that."

"I am?"

"Oh yes." Kraft smiled and shook his head, "Oh yes. And when you do, you're going to want different things."

"I will?"

"Oh yes."

"Like what?"

"Like, well, more money for one thing."

"I do have my eye on that commemorative Superior Mind hardcover. You know, the one with art by Gren, and it's got limited edition panels numbered and signed as an insert, with a foil embossed cover ..."

"Yes, yes, it's a lovely edition. But, no, no, Pen. I don't mean nicer comic books."

"You don't?"

"No, no, I don't."

"But I love comic books."

"As do we all. But it takes more than comic books to run a collectible store, does it not?"

Pen thought it over, took a drag, then said, "Yes. Yes, it does."

"Correct. What else does it take?"

Pen thought and smoked. Then they said, "Well, Schnell spends a lot of time on the phone talking to distributors. Condita, mostly."

Kraft shook his head. "Schnell will never have at shot at Condita, that's why he talks to her so much."

"Oh ..."

"But, quite right! We have to maintain relationships with our distributors and suppliers, rarely the publishers, though sometimes on smaller books ..."

"And on KNS Comics, like Shooter!"

Kraft nearly blushed, nodded. "Yes, if you want to publish, then you have to deal directly with the artists and writers and folks over at the printers. All that shit. What else?"

Pen thought about it some more, took another drag, then said, "Payroll. And withholding and shit like that."

"Very good. And workers compensation insurance and general liability insurance. You know, slip and fall kinds of things. Also fire, flood, and theft insurance. Acts of God and things of that nature."

"There's insurance for acts of God?"

"There's insurance for everything."

"But isn't everything an act of God?"

"Let's get philosophical another time, Pen."

"Right. Sorry." Pen smoked nervously, continuing to wonder about how one could be insured against God and who would determine such a thing.

Kraft cocked his head. "You still seeing Mitz?"

Pen smiled and nodded. "Mmm hmm."

"See one day you two may want to move in together. Maybe have some kids. Get a car."

"Or motorcycles."

Kraft sighed, nodded, "Yes, or perhaps motorcycles with matching leather jackets and sparkling helmets ..."

Pen smiled and smoked.

"... the point is, you will want to think more about the future."

"I think about the future all the time." Pen flicked their butt from the window, rolled it up.

"You do?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm pretty sure robots are going to take over the world. And then they're going to try to destroy us with orbital lasers after they collapse the banking system in a nanosecond."

Kraft gripped the wheel and nodded. "Like in Halifaxer number seventy-nine. Dave Spinner. Good book."

Pen nodded. "A classic."

They rode in silence the rest of the way.

AJ 0009