Chapter Thirteen

Hero's Call: Chapter Thirteen

As it turned out, henchmen were not as easy to come by.

In the Golden Age of Heroes and Villains, henchmen were a dime a dozen, sometimes literally depending on what decade they were hired in. There was decent money and steady work in the henchmen business. Of course, there was a high degree of danger and risk of personal harm in the field considering the job. It was nearly impossible for a professional henchman to procure himself health insurance for such reasons. Yet, the position of henchman had great drawing power. Something about the prospect of being a part of an army that took over the world would bring men from all over the world to take up arms against all that is good and pure.

As the world evolved, so did the business of henching. It stopped being about the cause, the total destruction of all established governments and the idea of freedom, and began focusing on the all-powerful dollar sign. Any good hencher worth his salt would come at a pretty penny and quickly rise through the ranks, his pay rate climbing with him. By the time The Dreadnaught Virus was released on the world, henchmen were nothing more than mercenaries, lending their arms to the highest bidder and walking out if they felt they weren’t getting paid enough. Their greed slowly dissolved the henching community into a rabble of sellswords and beatniks who’d kill their own grandmothers for a fiver.

After Heroes and Villains disappeared, the demand for henchmen quickly disappeared with them, albeit not completely. While there were no more Villains to wreak havoc on the world, there was still plenty of opportunity for war. And war meant business to the henchers. But one man within the henching community recognized the need for organization. All henchmen could earn a decent living if they banded together and came to an agreement on terms of operation. Some of henching’s greatest leaders were brought together for a conference in the summer of 1983. Three days after the conference began, The Alliance of Henchmen, Mercenaries, and Ne’er-do-wells was formed. Only three stabbing incidents occurred.

The AHMN had cornered the market on henching in only a few short months. As a member, any henchman, merc, or NDW was entitled to a standard rate of pay which was non-negotiable, a basic level of health insurance that covered most any medical incident except shingles, and a pretty nice looking patch that was attached to every uniform no matter who the employer. Henchers had unionized and bureaucracy was now their governing body. Generally speaking, the henching community was rather pleased with the outcome once they got used to it.

Czar Destructo found himself in a rather uncomfortable chair in the waiting room of the Manhattan chapter of the AHMN, and he wasn’t exactly happy about it. He despised bureaucracy and everything it stood for. Yet, after an hour’s searching for a good henchman, he knew he had no choice. His plan could not possibly come to fruition without at least a small contingent of men to do his bidding. He was desperately trying to complete a set of standard forms that was at least as thick as a short novel. Much of the information he simply made up, as he didn’t have a legitimate answer. The rest of it, he answered only to a suitable level of comfort. The idea of having information about his base of operation and general master plan just sitting in a file cabinet seemed ridiculous to him. He grudgingly supplied the information required when he read the confidentiality clause on the last page. It put his mind at ease at least somewhat.

When he had finally finished filling out the ridiculous stack of forms, he returned them, along with the clipboard and pen, to the receptionist. She was a young woman, not more than twenty-three. Her chestnut hair was cut incredibly short. Destructo thought it would be more fitting on a man, but couldn’t bring himself to think it made her look bad. She was quite a pretty young thing. Her lithe movements as she filed his paperwork made something primal stir inside him. It wasn’t a feeling he’d felt in a very, very long time. He was aging rapidly, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little personal fun before he was too old attract a woman like that.

“Is there something else I can help you with?” the receptionist asked when she noticed Destructo leering at her dumbly.

He composed himself immediately and gave her a warm smile. “What’s your name, miss?” He half sat on the edge of the desk, leaning slightly toward her. He focused all his energy into putting out a welcoming air. It had been a long time since he’d attempted to woo a young lady, but his methods seemed to come rushing back naturally.

“Xena,” she answered him coquettishly, adding, “but not like the warrior princess.”

Destructo thought she might be referring to an old Hero, but couldn’t match the name to any he’d ever heard of. His lack of recognition didn’t show on his face for a moment.

“A beautiful name,” he said with a sly smile, “for a beautiful woman.”

Xena the receptionist blushed. Her steel blue eyes twinkled as the porcelain skin of her face turned pink. The small patch of freckles under each eye darkened and made the primal fires inside Destructo roar. He had her on the hook, all he had to do was reel her in. Before he could say anything more, a sharp buzz cut through the empty waiting room, slicing through the sexual tension like a warm knife through butter. Xena, flustered and startled, hit the button on the intercom.

“Yes, Mr. Melendez?”

“Send in my appointment please,” a voice said on the other end of the intercom.

“Right away,” Xena answered and released the button on the intercom. She looked at Destructo with a playful gleam in her eye. “He’ll see you now. Maybe I’ll see you later?”

Destructo smiled. He pulled one of his old business cards out of his suit jacket and handed it to her.

“I could use some company for dinner,” he said smoothly. “Call me when you leave this dreadful place.”

Xena took the card and slid it into her purse that was hanging from one of the desk drawers. “Just down the hall.”

Destructo thanked her and walked down the short hallway to the only other door in the office. He opened the door without knocking and stepped into Melendez’s office. It was a pitifully small room complete with faux wood wall paper and a plastic ficus in one corner. Melendez himself was seated behind a cheap metal desk that was rusting at the corners. He was a portly fellow, bordering on morbidly obese. His gigantic belly was testing the structural integrity of the buttons on his white short sleeved button up shirt. His light brown skin stood in a stark contrast to his jet black hair and mustache. A bead of sweat was running down his forehead, Destructo noticed, and he wondered if it was too hot in the office or if the man’s sheer size made even being alive an exertion. It could have gone either way.

“Have a seat, Mr. Destructo,” Melendez wheezed, motioning to another of the cheap plastic chairs that was in front of his desk.

Destructo had provided his real name when he called to make an appointment and on all of the forms. This was one place he wanted to be sure knew who they were dealing with. He was dismayed, however, to find that no one seemed to remember who he was or what he had done in his life. It mattered not. He would shortly be making a name for himself once again. He took a seat as instructed.

“I see here you’re looking to hire a squad of henchmen to assist in your plan for…” Melendez flipped to the next page of the forms, “world domination?” He eyed Destructo suspiciously.

“That’s correct,” Destructo answered him flatly.

Melendez’s brow creased deeper.

“Only one squad?” he asked with interest. “Seems to me like taking over the world with a single squad of adequately trained henchmen would be pretty difficult. Do you disagree?”

Destructo smiled amicably. “Yes. It seems to me that taking over the world with a single squad of henchmen would be impossible.”

“Yet you would still attempt it?” Melendez countered.

Destructo shook his head. “I said no such thing. I stated that they would aid in my plan for world domination, not achieve it for me. Their services will only be required briefly. No more than one month, tops.”

Melendez wiped the bead of sweat off his face and flipped through the forms, reviewing the information Destructo had provided.

“Ah, yes,” he said as he perused the forms. “I see now. My henchmen will not be intentionally put into danger during any of this?”

It was part of the AHMN’s creed that no henchmen be willingly sacrificed by an employer for the success of any goal. Destructo knew that much. He also knew that there was no possible way for them to possibly argue with intent.

“Of course not,” he said placatingly. “Your men will not come to harm so long as they follow my direction.”

Melendez took a long moment to assess Destructo’s words and demeanor. Satisfied, he shut the folder on his desk and smiled at Destructo.

“Well, everything seems to be in order here,” he said indifferently. “There’s just the matter of your security deposit.”

Without a word, Destructo picked up the briefcase full of money that he had brought along with him and set it on the desk. Melendez opened it and briefly counted what he could see. He shut the briefcase and set it on the other side of the desk next to him.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Destructo,” he told the Villain. “The henchmen you requested will report to the specified location on the date requested. The AHMN wishes you the best of luck in all your endeavors.”

Destructo stood from his chair and shook Melendez’s offered hand. He wished the fat man a good day and walked back to the reception desk where he caught Xena staring at his business card like a child who had just found a twenty dollar bill on the sidewalk. When she saw him, she hurriedly stashed the card in her purse and blushed. Destructo smiled at her as if he hadn’t seen anything. It was almost too easy.

“I look forward to your call, my dear,” he said politely and winked.

She smiled seductively back at him. “I look forward to calling.” She bit her lip shyly and Destructo had to force himself not to take her right then and there. Instead he bid her a good day and left the office.

 

Later that night after he had bought Xena dinner and took her on a stroll around Central Park, they made love twice in the small office he had turned into his personal quarters in his new base of operations. It had been decades since he’d felt the touch of a woman, and Xena matched him toe for toe in ferocity. He had vowed never to become too attached to anyone when he decided he would take over the world. Personal connections would only weaken his resolve. Now, as he stood naked in front of the cloning tank watching his DNA slowly rebuild itself into a new body, he couldn’t help but picture her by his side, the empress to his emperor.

She wrapped her arms around his chest, her bare feet allowing her to sneak silently up. She kissed his neck gently and looked at the cloning tank as well. “So this is how cloning works?”

He smiled. “If you do it right, my dove.”

They stood in silence for a long moment and watched the DNA as it recreated cell after cell.

“I’ve been thinking,” Xena said finally.

“Of what?” Destructo said, turning to face her.

“About the mission you hired those henchmen for,” she answered him, averting her eyes bashfully.

“Surely you mean not to dissuade me?” Destructo said. He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her head so their eyes met. He knew then that he was wrong.

“Of course not,” she said sternly. “I was thinking that maybe you sit this one out. Let someone else take the lead.”

Destructo looked at her suspiciously. “And why would I do that?”

“Think about it,” she said, stepping away from him. Her naked form perfect in the light of the cloning tank. “Why reveal yourself so soon? Stay in the shadows a little longer. Build the fear. Build the suspicion. A Villain is terrifying, yes, but the unknown is much more so.”

It had never been the way Destructo had operated before. He loved making his presence known, loved watching citizens cower in fear. But when he thought about it, Xena did have a point. Watching a Villain destroy a city would terrify any normal citizen. But not knowing what it is that’s causing the destruction instills a fear that is unrivaled. There was only one issue.

“And who do you suggest lead this operation?” he demanded. “Surely not one of the henchmen? They couldn’t tie their shoes without someone telling them how and handing them a paycheck for doing it. Number 1 isn’t battle capable, so he isn’t an option either. So what criminal mastermind do you propose lead these hired goons into the fray and out into victory and riches?”

The answer donned on him almost before he’d finished speaking.

“That’s simple,” Xena said, smiling wickedly. “Send me.”