Read an excerpt from Alex Segura’s Secret Identity, a tale of ’70s noir set in the cutthroat world of making comics

It’s every budding comic author’s not-so-secret dream to finally make their mark on the industry and have their name emblazoned on the cover of their very own original book. But for Carmen Valdez, the protagonist of Alex Segura’s latest book Secret Identity: A NovelThis nightmare becomes a living hell.

An assistant working at Triumph Comics, Valdez is given the opportunity of a lifetime when she’s enlisted to help one of the company’s head writers create Triumph’s very first female superhero, “The Lethal Lynx.” All seems to be going well, until the writer turns up dead and all the scripts for the new hero are turned into the publisher without Valdez’s name.

Valdez is desperate to make her claim to Lynx, and to piece together the story of her boss. She finds herself in a web of secrets, when Valdez gets a call from a determined cop to visit her Miami house. He presents her with a mystery straight out of pulp comics.

To celebrate the book’s release this week, we’re publishing an exclusive excerpt from Alex Segura’s Secret IdentityHere at Polygon. You can also find bits from the Lethal Lynx comic, created by Sandy Jarrell and lettered by Taylor Esposito.

CHAPTER 20-SEVEN

“Just pretend it never happened.”

Detmer’s voice was haggard, each word crawling out of his cigar-chomping mouth. Carmen watched intently as Detmer leaned against his drawing table and his left hand quickly brought to life an animated sketch of the Lynx. Her face was determined, she was soaring through the streets. Restored in her original outfit, she looked more toned than ever. They knew this was the Lynx. Carmen imagined that this was the true Lynx.

Detmer was the opposite. He had experienced many changes since Carmen’s last visit. Detmer’s already slim frame looked a little thinner now. His skin was pockmarked, stretched and darkened, along with the faint smell of having had one too many missed showers. The studio was still empty — no sign of any new artists moving in to share the burden or keep things going. The beer bottles had been swapped for liquor bottles. Overflowing ashtrays. A thickness to the air Carmen didn’t want to place. Her mind flickered back to the envelopes she’d spotted stacked near the door — more past due notices than she’d ever seen in her life.

Detmer’s abrupt departure from Legendary Lynx was something she knew. He had not been able to find work since then. Even with the buzz surrounding the series’s success, it wasn’t enough to get him steady employment. Sure, some offers came in — inks on an issue of Defenders, a fill-in on Sub-Mariner, a short story in House of Mystery. He could not live on that. He could not sustain himself. He’d burned the final bridge, it seemed. Though the man was apparently unfazed by this development, it was clear to Carmen that comics — inasmuch as you could describe the fading industry in singular terms — had passed Doug Detmer by. Detmer became an artifact despite his decades-long work, which ranged in quality from solid to superlative. A name that might come up at a convention or in conversation between two hard-core fans. A “Whatever happened to?” query that might go unanswered more often than not. He was a recluse — by default, not design.

“Just pretend what didn’t happen?” she asked, bringing the conversation back to Detmer’s earlier comment. “What did you mean by that?”

“I mean, we just pick up where we left off,” Detmer said, not looking up from his table, adding a few motion lines to the pinup before tossing it onto a nearby pile of pages. “We do a whole issue — script, art. We do everything we can. When Tinsler and Jensen both fall apart, it is time to swoop in. Carlyle has no other choice. He’ll need the issue to keep the gravy train rolling, so he runs with it. Then it hits and people will go wild.”

Carmen paced around Detmer’s desk, fingers rubbing her temples. “But what if they don’t?” she asked. “What if they keep going? It’s selling very well. Carlyle appears to be overjoyed. They might not give this up.”

“They will, trust me,” Detmer said, grabbing a new sheet of paper and starting to doodle. “Those hacks can’t keep it going. Two ideas are all they have. They keep rubbing them together until they exhaust themselves. You just need to be prepared. Start a story. Reference what they’ve done — but negate it. Take it apart. Make it the bad dream we all know it is.”

Carmen smiled. This was what she liked. A friend. An ally. She’d missed it, in the wake of Harvey’s death. Detmer’s plan was sound, too.

“What if it is a bad dream? Like you said?” she asked.

“Too easy,” Detmer said, starting the preliminary lines that would eventually make a person. It was a villainous pose — a tall figure with a hand outstretched. “Too trite. You can’t have her just wake up and it’s all gone. Even to hacks like Jensen and Tinsler, it’d be a slap in the face.”

“What if it’s a dream caused by a villain? Someone who has an ax to grind with Claudia?”

“Now that’s something,” Detmer said, nodding. “Some kind of mental trick.”

“Mindbender.”

“What?”

“That’s her name — that’s the villain.”

Detmer smiled as he erased some of the lines around the figure — deftly turning what he’d envisioned as a man into a woman. He began to explore details. A black cloak, white; pupil-less eyes; a pale, angular face.

“Mindbender . . . I like that,” he said, more to himself than to Carmen. “I like that a lot.”

Carmen picked up her pace, walking along the office’s long center aisle. It was November, and it was crisp. The Thanksgiving holiday was just around the corner. Carmen avoided thinking about where she’d spend it. It was obvious that she had been avoiding many things. It was also a lot of people.

“She’s a crime lord, a psychiatrist, maybe? Someone professional and skilled who takes a dark turn,” Carmen said. Detmer was still drawing out of her corner. “She wants to step in to fill the, ahem, void left by Mr. Void’s defeat.”

“Why, though?” Detmer asked.

“Why what?”

“What is the question,” Detmer said. “What made her go from a professional career, maybe a family, to being a psychopath? A person who dresses up and makes use of their knowledge to gain ill-gain? And don’t tell me her parents are shot outside of a theater.”

They had a quick laugh.

“I mean, why can’t it just be greed?”

Detmer was raising an eyebrow. It wasn’t critical. It was just that he was interested.

“She wants to make money?” he asked.

“Maybe she’s tired of always having to answer to anyone, to have to be a cog in the machine,” Carmen said, walking up to Detmer’s art table. “But instead of choosing the path of good — like Claudia — she decides she can use her knowledge of medicine and the human mind to cash in. She snaps. Perhaps she’s fired, finds out the truth about her industry, or is made to question her core. Then she goes the other way, and the Lynx just happens to be blocking her path.”

“I hope you have a good memory.”

“Why?” Carmen asked.

“Because this is good,” Detmer said.

He lifted up the piece of paper he’d been doodling on. It was her. Mindbender. Her tall stature makes her seem ethereal, and even menacing. A mix of the evil queen from Disney’s Sleeping Beauty and a street-brawler — dark, sinewy lines surrounded her. She looked straight at you with her beautiful eyes.

“How did you . . . just do that?”

Detmer chuckled.

“It’s what I do,” he said.

Carmen believed she sensed a slight catch in her throat when Detmer said the final word. Carmen didn’t respond, so Detmer spoke, as if trying to push the conversation away.

“Think we’ve got enough for you to get started,” he said, sliding a stack of sketches into a drawer near his large drawing table. “Think you can get me a plot to start sketching out this week?”

“Sure, I’ll bring it by tomorrow,” Carmen said.

“Great,” he said, slapping his drawing table gently. “Then I’ll put the visuals together and we’ll have a book. With your damn name on it this time.”

Carmen noticed her eyes widening. She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected this moment. This is her story. Detmer was yet to write the book she imagined. The thin, flimsy paper was slippery under her fingers. The loud reds and greens and blues of the image — the Lynx hunched over, hands on her skull, as floating versions of her closest friends and enemies hovered around her, taunting her. The Lynx is hiding something. It would be the following: two big, bolded question marks that cap off the query. It’s hard to believe you wouldn’t want the book open. That was what she thought. She imagined a dynamic, panels-shattering image of the Lynx kicking off the issue. Drawn by Detmer — in his crisp but quirky style, no line or shadow wasted, a perfect balance of light and dark — a fluidity of action that was mesmerizing and deceptively simple. Master at what he does. He was drawing Carmen’s poem.

He smiled at her. She could see she was weeping. She could see that her eyes were watering. But she didn’t care. This was going to happen, and the rest didn’t matter right now.

Detmer nodded. Before he could speak again, there was an odd silence.

“What do you think happened?” Detmer asked. “To your friend? To the Stern kid?”

Carmen’s brow furrowed.

“He was shot.”

“I know that,” Detmer said, trying to rein in his incredulous tone. “But what else? Why? Stern was a person I had a little contact with. His personality was mostly benign. He was a nice, caring kid that wanted to be a success. Why would someone kill him in cold blood?”

Carmen shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ve tried to figure it out. It was to talk with people he had known. I feel like there’s something else — something about him just beyond my reach. I know he upset someone, and that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Yet, it’s hard to know where I am going wrong. Yet, it still feels extreme. Harvey would be shocked at someone doing that. But then I also feel like I didn’t know him all that well to begin with. That there was — ” Detmer raised a hand. Carmen stopped speaking and stared as the tall, lanky man walked along the vast office area to reach a collection of file cabinets. The cabinets were worn out and looked broken. They had not been in use for years. Detmer opened his bottom drawer, and he heard a loud clicking sound. Detmer seemed to quickly find the item he was searching for, and then he closed the drawer before returning to his chair. Carmen received a tiny piece of paper with an inscription. “Give that number a call,” Detmer said. “Friend of mine. Marion Price, a woman by that name. Warren is her employer. Know her?”

Carmen nodded.

“A bit, we met at a volleyball — ”

“She knows everyone — Marvel, Charlton, DC, you name it,” Detmer continued. “Smart. Personable. Great editor. She’s too good for our world, honestly. Although she didn’t feel bad, she gave me work whenever I was in need. She knew that I was capable of delivering. She might know some of the skeletons in your friend’s closet.” Carmen took the paper and slid it into her purse. She saw Marion’s face for a moment, warning her about Harvey several months back. There she was once again.

“There’s always more to people than what we know,” Detmer said, his voice hoarse. Detmer reached for a silver flask in a drawer. After a short swig, he continued. “Secrets. Vices. Darkness. Tap that vein — that takes you to their heart. And the truth.”

Detmer stared at Carmen with darkened eyes. She didn’t know what to say. She made her way towards the studio door.

“Don’t look so worried, okay? The industry’s done anyway,” Detmer said, changing gears. “I can see your face. I’ll find work. Maybe I’ll be a janitor, but I’ll find some work.”

Carmen ignored Detmer’s lie. She’d seen this happen to many men in her life before. She included her father. The long fade-out instead of the burst of flame. Her tolerance for it was gone, she realized, even if she did feel some fleeting sympathy for this once-great talent.

“What?” Detmer asked, meeting Carmen’s expectant gaze.

She shrugged sheepishly. She couldn’t believe she was going to do this.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just — this is silly,” Carmen said, her nose scrunching up for a second. “But would it be crazy if I asked you to take a photo . . . Are you with me? I just want to — I guess, remember this?”

Detmer couldn’t hide the smile sneaking onto his face. Detmer got up quick, his movements fast and mechanical. He moved toward the desk, pulling open a large drawer. He found what he was looking for immediately: a large, bulky camera that couldn’t have been less than a decade old. He set it up in front of them — balanced on Detmer’s own desk rather precariously. He moved over to Carmen, and draped his arm across her shoulders. He felt both hot and clammy on his skin. As the flashed bulb blinded her, she tried to forget about it. She was hoping she smiled. He didn’t bother to take another shot.

“I’ll send you the print when it’s ready,” he said, not meeting her eyes as she started to move toward the door.

“I’ll bring by the plot tomorrow,” she said, opening the door and looking back. Detmer was at the computer. He was feverishly moving the pencil along the page.

She thought he must have heard her.

He didn’t look up as she left.

And now, here’s a glimpse at some of the Lethal Lynx comic pages featured throughout the novel!