"Unless you’re already a bigshot, henchmen are almost always a losing proposition," I told her.
"They’re huge money sinks. First, you gotta pay them a decent wage at the best of the times, unless they’re religious fanatics or you mind control some randos. But even that’s not going to work out so well.
On top of that, you’re probably going to end up on the hook for their medical bills, have to house them, keep them outfitted, and deal with their drama.
All good if you’ve got a flying fortress or a giant cocoon of evil in... I dunno, Brazil or something.
"But freelance villains? We can’t use them like that," I said. "Most of the time, I’ve got no use for minions. I’m a solo super, and that’s much easier to work.
Henchmen take a big investment of time, money, and management, and unless you’re out to conquer the world, they aren’t any good most of the time.
Plus, if things go wrong, they’ll be the first ones getting killed, or worse, you get arrested, they’ll flip on you the second the prosecutor gets their hooks into them. Trust me. It’s not worth it."
"Then why hire any at all?" she asked.
"Prestige, partly," I said as Riggin came by and dropped off two cool mugs for us.
"Thanks," I told the scarred old bastard, then turned my attention back to Glacia.
"Henchmen look good for both you and the hero. You, because it builds up your menace by having goons in coordinated outfits obeying your every command.
Heroes because it gives them someone to beat on before moving on to you as the main event.
Plus, it makes your loss look better. If a hero beats the shit out of four guys built like they chew iron all day, you being forced to flee doesn’t look so pathetic."
"I see," Glacia said thoughtfully, pulling her mug close.
"Exactly," I said, taking a swig of my own beer. Damn that’s good stuff.
"And Steve is perfect for that. His doubles are temporary. After twenty four hours, they poof away, and he doesn’t feel anything.
He can handle about two dozen at a time, so even if they get killed or the shit kicked out of them, he’s fine and dandy, and you don’t have to worry about paying medical bills, them selling you out, or anything like that. Win win."
Glacia nodded. "Most convenient, sir," she said.
"Exactly. It’s all business."
I took another drink, and as I did so, I noticed someone coming up to our table.
He wasn’t a face I recognized, but that told me more than he probably thought it did.
I was an old hand in villainy, and when a newcomer comes into the business, they always thought it was like prison.
You knock down the biggest guy there, and that helps your rank shoot up. Which was accurate, if I’m being honest, but didn’t make it any less of a pain.
And I could tell this guy was one of those newbies. He had it all. Top-heavy, likely did construction, wearing a wifebeater to show off the guns and the tattoos that crawled all over him.
He had the flush of a few bottles of liquid courage, and a face I’d charitably call pugnacious. Dear God, he was even wearing thick linked chains around the neck and wrists.
Ohh! And a couple nice rings. But what type of moron threatens me looking fresh out a steel mill.
"Hear you’re the big guy in town," he said, resting his knuckles on the top of the table, leaning over so his bulk blocked out the light.
"First I’ve heard of that," I said.
"Yeah? Then I’m telling you. You think you’re hot shit?"
"Not really," I said.
"I think you’re a pussy."
"Really? That’s a surprise."
"Excuse me," Glacia said icily, glaring up at the man’s bulk. Had to hand it to her, she didn’t show even a hint of nervousness before the big gorilla. "Sir and I are in the midst of a private conversation."
"Yeah? Just became public," he said. "Name’s Earthshaker—"
"If only you were an indie’s metal band that would’ve made some sense."
"Shut it." He said, showing off his hand, tightening it meaningfully. "And I got a bone to pick."
"Do you?" I said philosophically as I took a drink of my beer.
"Yeah," Earthshaker said, planting his hands on the table again. "I gotta ask what makes you think you’re hot stuff? Getting your ass beat everyday? Tossed around by a bunch of fuckin’ capes? Where I’m from, that makes you a pussy."
I put down my beer, eying him.
Yeah. That was always the problem with my life. You don’t exactly get much respect outside your group when your job is to lose.
Sure, other villains in the game can respect the effort, but heroes, non freelance villains, and most civvies see that and think you’re weak.
Well, that was unavoidable, but like today, also inconvenient.
"Hey!" Riggin shouted from the bar. "No fights in here!"
"I know, I know," I said, pushing out of the booth and jerking a thumb at the door. "Come on. We’ll take care of this outside. Sound good?"
"Don’t want me to humiliate you in front of your girl?" he asked.
"Sure, let’s say it’s that," I said.
"I—" Glacia said.
"This won’t take long," I said, making my way towards the rear exit, Earthshaker following, the joints in his fists popping and cracking as he flexed them.
Too many get like that when they first get their powers. They think they’re invincible and started looking around for convenient punching bags, wanting to make a name for themselves without having to actually go through the proper work.
Well, time for a lesson.
I opened the door and stepped into the alley, scanning it in a glance.
Ah, excellent.
Garbage day.