Every job that’s more than a job has that bar.
Cops have their hangout.
Firemen, lawyers, execs, they all have a particular watering hole that caters to them specifically, and supervillains were no exception.
Not people like the Guild. Those guys had their own swamp lair or something they could do whatever in, and to be honest, the rest of us liked it that way.
For us small to mid tier villains, we had McLaren’s.
McLaren’s was a small place on the ground floor beneath some tenement apartment buildings.
McLaren himself used to work for Dr. Malefic, actually, but when Malefic botched his scheme to crash the moon into the earth and died on re-entry, McLaren retired and opened up a bar for us villains types.
I think he just missed the life, and I couldn’t blame him. It’s not the greatest career, but it’s a lifestyle. A need. Like the military.
You might leave it, but an appreciation for a good scheme and an aesthetically appealing death ray never left you.
I got inside and was greeted to a few cheers from some of the regulars.
Guys can appreciate a good bout, and my matchup with Electrica had made the rounds by then.
I waved at a few I knew, giving a nod to McLaren himself behind the bar as I walked past.
"Good show," McLaren said, his face a mass of scar tissue that barely moved when he tried to smile.
No one said a career taking a beating from heroes would leave you looking pretty. Especially when you didn’t have some super strength or invulnerability.
"Thanks," I said, heading for a familiar corner of the bar with Glacia following.
In the booth was Steve Smith, otherwise known as Multiple Man.
He lounged back there, utterly at ease, dressed in a loose jacket, shirt partially undone, and tacky Oakley glasses shading his eyes.
With his stubble and unkempt mustache, he looked the part of the slacker druggie, but I knew better.
No one worked harder than Steve, mainly because there were so many Steves.
I took a seat and Steve stirred, tilting his head forward, glasses sliding a little down his nose.
His eyes were different colours, blue and green, and he got a lazy grin as he took me in.
"Eeeeey, if it isn’t the man of the hour," he said.
"Steve. This is Glacia," I said, nodding to the prim younger woman who took a seat beside me.
"Hello," Glacia said.
Steve aimed a fingerpistol at her and clicked his tongue. "Ey. Interesting. So, what can I do for you?"
"I’m looking for some henchmen," I said.
"Henching? Hey, sure, man! Anything for my favorite magnetic personality. Eh? Eh? So, how many you need? A couple dozen?"
"Six would do fine," I said. "Just need a couple bodies to get thrown around during a heist. Glacia here is debuting a new hero and villain arch."
Steve cocked his head, tugging his glasses lower with one finger to give me a narrow look. "Huh? For her? Then... Hey. Woah, wait a sec. I thought you worked alone. What’s all this? Huh? You taking on sidekicks now?"
"I’m not taking on sidekicks," I said. "This is a job. I’m... I dunno. Mentoring."
"Hey," he said, squinting at me. "That’s not fair, man. That’s not fair at all. You told me you don’t do that. I’ve been asking you to mentor my sister for months, and you’ve always turned me down."
"You going to pay me two million for it?" I asked.
"Still, man. Not cool. Not cool at all. C’mon. Give me a break. My sister really wants to get into this business, and you’re the only one I’d trust to show her the ropes. And now I hear you’re selling out? Man. That’s not cool. Not cool."
I massaged my brow, feeling the beginning of a headache.
Fuck. I knew this whole thing was going to be a problem. But I really couldn’t afford to get on Steve’s bad side. Temporary henchmen were tough to come by. Reliable ones, anyway.
"Fine," I said. "After I finish this job, I’ll look into your sister. Show her the ropes. But it won’t be cheap."
Steve’s smile stretched his mouth wide as a Cheshire cat’s.
He leaned back into his booth, hands spreading before him. "Hey. Hey! No problem, man. You know I’m good for it. And I’ll even do you one better. This job? On the house. No need for money, not for my friend."
"Thanks," I said, not really feeling it, that was for sure.
I preferred working alone, but now I was going to have to babysit Steve’s sister. And if she was anything like him, it was going to be a pain in the ass. That two million was looking less and less appealing every minute...
Still grinning, Steve swung his attention over to Glacia. "So you’re gonna be my boss, then?" he said with a mocking bow of his head. "Pleasure, my evil overlord."
"Steve is Multiple Man," I told Glacia. "His copies are going to act as your henchmen for this job. He knows his stuff, and they’ll do it well. So no worries about it."
"I’m a professional," Steve said, picking up his drink and noisily sucking up the last dregs of what looked like a beer through a straw.
I could never understand that. What kind of sociopath drinks beer through a straw?
"We’ll be hitting the National History Museum in a few days. Bring them to the usual place. I’ll get them suited up," I said.
"Ey. No problem, my friend. I’ll be glad to. And tomorrow, how about you come by and meet my sister, huh? Let you get a good look at her, eh?"
I sighed. "I suppose I may as well," I said.
"Nice. Nice. I’ll see it done. Glacia. Bossman," Steve said with a tip of his hat. He slid out of the booth, slumping through the bar and out the doors.
Glacia watched him go curiously, then glanced back to me. "Why did you hire him, sir? Couldn’t you have hired regular people?"
I leaned back in the booth and waved at McLaren behind the bar.
"Unless you’re already a bigshot, henchmen are almost always a losing proposition," I told her. "There’s so much you don’t know."