New fanfic: BATMAN- The Survivor's Guide to Henching (Patreon)

Yep, started something new. Here's the first chapter, first draft, for patrons only. Will post this live on fanfiction.net in about a week.

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THE SURVIVOR’S GUIDE TO HENCHING

By Kris Overstreet

Chapter 1: Penguin

It began as a piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board of several of the most dangerous dive bars down near Gotham City’s docks. Each paper was identical, a small slip printed out from some cheap disposable computer printer, bearing only a URL- a listing for a new blog on WriteIt.

Hardly anybody noticed at first. For one thing, the patrons of those particular dive bars didn’t deal with flyers or business cards. If they took on work, it was by personal arrangement. If they hired someone, likewise. And, of course, very few of them had more to do with the Internet than they could avoid. It was another way you could be traced- and none of them wanted to be on the grid any more than strictly necessary.

But a few saw it, and checked the link, and found the page, titled:

THE SURVIVOR’S GUIDE TO HENCHING.

The first post began like this:

HELLO WORLD

I am a henchman.

The first question nobody asks (because those in the business don’t like nosey busybodies, and I go to great lengths to limit my interactions with those not in the business) is, “Well, how did you become a henchman?” And my answer would be: none of your goddamn business.

But, since it’s inevitable that someone not involved in the underworld will read this, I will make the general situation plain. Some of us chose this path deliberately, but not many, because deliberately choosing a profession where your boss might kill you at any moment for no sane reason is not something people with brains prefer over less randomly lethal options.

And despite that, there is never a shortage of henchmen- or, if you prefer other terms, mooks, grunts, thugs (though that one is out of favor since it became a racist epithet- which a more educated colleague found amusing because, he said, it began as a racist epithet against a differentrace), or, as lawyers and cops like to call us, accessories.

So, why?

For some, it is because society has failed them. A third of Gotham lives one missed paycheck from eviction, and it’s not much better in other cities- it’s even worse in some, if you can believe it. Desperate for money, they go to someone who will give them a loan or what sounds at first like an easy job. Of course, it starts easy, but it gets hard very fast.

For others, they were drafted. A psycho out of Arkham puts on a costume, decides he’s going to Show Them All, and drags you off the street because you happen to be close enough to the size of the other costumes he stole from a defunct theater company. At that point the choice is: obey or die, even if obedience also means death.

And, finally, there’s that minority who seek out the business. Some of them worked for Maroni or Thorne or Falcone, back in the days before the Bat. Others just decided they wanted to watch the world burn, and they wanted to begin with Gotham, America’s biggest, blackest lump of coal. And others just realized early on that they had no use for the rules of society, either because society had rejected them (often for good reasons) or, more often, because they just enjoyed casual violence.

But the thing is, once you’re in, you’re in. Your hands are dirty. There’s a good chance you have been ordered to commit murder and have, at the least, attempted it. But even if you’ve avoided that, you have participated in numerous assaults, thefts, extortions, burglaries, and acts of vandalism. You have received the benefits of uncounted crimes. You are, in short, a criminal. You are guilty as hell, and because most of your employers are varying levels of crazy, there hasn’t even been a thought given to concealing evidence.

Once you’re a henchman, there is no longer any place for you in respectable society. The underworld is where you live, and the underworld is where you will die. And you will continue being a henchman because, unless you have some spectacular luck or brains, you simply won’t be able to find any other line of work.

And when you die, dear reader, rest assured it will not be of old age.

In fact, there are only three reasons why a henchman’s career in Gotham Citylasts longer than a week: (1) pure unadulterated luck, (2) the Gotham cops are usually far too busy to round all of us up, and (3) Batman and his copycats are more focused on taking down our bosses than rounding us up.

I am one of the very lucky ones. I’ve been a henchman for over a decade. I have worked for most of the bosses that it’s safe to work for (and several that weren’t safe to work for at all), and I still have all my limbs, fingers and toes. And, thanks to knowing when and how to vanish most of the time, and having a clever lawyer in those times when everybody got rounded up, I have never yet sat in front of a judge under the eyes of twelve upstanding citizens.

This isn’t the same as saying I’m a free man. No henchman is ever free. Even if your conscience doesn’t bother you (and for the record, nobody in the business likes working with people without conscience OR people who admit to feeling guilty- you’re expected to keep your trap shut), there is the constant knowledge that the hammer of the law could fall on you at any time. Alternately, one of your ex-bosses could come back from Arkham, Blackgate, or the grave (hey, this is Gotham-it happens!) and decide you’re indispensable to their latest homicidal plans, and they’re not interested in your opinion. Or (and, this being Gotham, this happens too often for words) you could be minding your own business on the day a new face in town decides he needs to make A Statement.

Sounds pretty rotten, right? That’s because it is. If you have any choice in the matter, I strongly recommend you do anything else. Take your last hundred bucks and buy a bus ticket to Metropolis or something. Join the Army. Hell, go apply to GCPD- they’re always hiring, and Jimmy Gordon aside, their standards don’t go much higher than, “Don’t get caught taking bribes.” You’ll live a longer, happier life, if you’re allowed to.

That said, it’s not all bad. The pay is notoriously unsteady, but it’s very good when it’s coming in. You’ll never live in a penthouse, but you’ll be very comfortable in the rathole apartments you can get without background checks. If you’re angry at the world, then congratulations- there is literally nothing to stop you from getting a few punches in for yourself. And if you’re one of those who believes you’re never more alive than when you’re on the brink of death, then lucky you, because you’ll be that level of alive every minute of every job you’re on.

But I’m not here to describe the benefits. This blog is here for those of you new to the business- and especially for those of you where were dragged into it against your will. If this is you, then I’m sorry. You are in the business for life, and I am making it my job to keep you alive as long as possible, and under the best possible conditions.

It’s still going to be a lot worse than what honest citizens get, but you and I are no longer honest citizens and will never be such again. Get used to the thought. You are not going to reform. If you go turn yourself in, confess everything, etc., then odds are you won’t live to the end of your jail sentence. (It doesn’t matter if you refuse to talk about anyone except yourself. Everyone else, especially the bosses, will think you sang like the cliché canary.) But even if you do, what then? Most businesses in Gothamwon’t touch ex-cons, and even Wayne Enterprises tends not to keep them for long. How are you going to earn a living when even the underworld won’t employ you?

So- accept it. You’re here to stay. Make the best of it. That’s lesson one.

Lesson two is: lawyer up.

No, I’m serious. It is inevitable that, even if you’re not caught in the act, some busybody will begin to wonder where you’re getting the money for that crappy apartment with the brand-new appliances and $500 suits. They’ll ask where you were on the night of April 27th. They’ll want to know if you recognize this glove. And so on. Long story short, you are going to need legal help at some point in your career if you want to avoid spending years at a time in a room ten feet square.

Of course, the trick is to find a lawyer who is bent but not actually crooked. You want someone who is willing to take dirty money, but who will stop with just taking the money he bills you for. There are a lot of lawyers who will quite happily blackmail you, or take a bribe to sell you out to whoever, and so forth.

So, how do you find a lawyer who isn’t a crook but who will work with crooks? There’s only one way that works: word of mouth. You’ll need a recommendation. (And the lawyer, in turn, will demand a reference to make sure you aren’t being used by the cops, the DA, or the state bar association.) And to get that recommendation, you’ll need to either be in the business for long enough to be recognized, or you’ll need to sign on with a crime family.

(No, I’m not giving you a referral. Sooner or later the Powers That Be will read this. And if I name underworld lawyers in print like this, that’s called evidence. If I tell you in person, it’s only hearsay- but I’m not going to, because this faceless minion intends to stay that way.)

In my case, my first job was for the Penguin- that’s Mr. C to you.

(Why am I writing this? Well, I think I’m safe enough writing on the bosses who have actually done time. And the Penguin has spent some time in Blackgate, and the newspapers refer to him as “notorious crime lord”. What I’m saying is, this isn’t really a secret, and he knows it. So, so long as I keep it polite, and I don’t give away anything that could be called hard evidence, he shouldn’t be too upset. The same policy will apply for most of the other bosses I write about in this series, by the way, so don’t expect tell-all, rat-out flame-fests here, except for the true crazies. I intend to keep breathing as long as possible.)

The good news is, if you are extremely fortunate, the Penguin is possibly the best boss to have in the Gothamunderworld. I say “fortunate” because he seldom takes in new people. He refers to his people as “his flock,” which means he re-hires them whenever he can get them and doesn’t hire anybody else unless he can’t get his old hands back on deck.

If you do get in, then get ready for the softest possible introduction to the underside of humanity. You’ll be given clothes (usually high-end suits, which you will be expected to keep cleaned and pressed, and which you will be expected to wear perfectly- Mr. C prizes snappy dress) and, if you need it, housing (usually in one of Mr. C’s properties). You will be assessed for what kind of work you are and aren’t good for, and barring emergencies, he won’t ask you to step outside your role.

The pay is very nice indeed- but be warned. Some bosses in Gotham will let their goons pocket loot as opportunity presents itself. The Penguin isn’t one of those. If you’re in on an operation, then whatever the take is, it is HIS, and don’t you forget it. Besides, don’t worry- even if the Penguin does take the largest cut, he doesn’t fail to cut even the lowest henchman in for a share.

And, finally, the Penguin will get you a lawyer. He’s had a lifetime of practice sniffing out the crooked mouthpieces from the merely bent ones. If you’ve ever wondered why so many of Gotham’s legal professionals are under the age of forty, well, rumor has it he’s a major reason why a lot of them didn’t live so long. He got me my first lawyer, and then (long after I’d left his employ) he did me the favor of lining me up with a second, and both of them were about as honest as the situation allowed. You can’t ask for better.

I can’t explain how big a deal that is. Most crime families don’t even bother to cover the hired meat- after all, henchmen aren’t really part of The Family, as such. We’re disposable. At most they’ll give us a shyster fully under the boss’s control, who will pass on orders from the boss, which will usually boil down to, “Clam up and take your two years.” The Penguin, if he does that sort of thing, is a lot less obvious about it, which is probably why he’s Gotham’s top crime lord.

That said, the Penguin expects the same kind of loyalty back. He understands and accepts failure (which is practically unheard of in any other boss you’ll find in Gotham), so long as you tried your absolute best… but you had better have tried your best. If you did a half-assed job, slacked off, or turned tail and ran, then you’re dead to the Penguin. And if you actually went so far as to disobey him or rat him out, you’re dead, period.

Of course, you need to bear in mind that, while the Penguin is quite definitely sane (except when he wants to go to Arkham instead of Blackgate), he has the kind of, well, you could call them quirks, which make him a perfect fit for this gigantic insane asylum we call Gotham City. And guess what? So do all the other bosses you’re likely to have. Don’t call attention to them. Under no circumstances mock them. YOU WILL DIE. If you want to live, just play along. If this job teaches you anything, it is how to develop the perfect poker face.

When in Society (and how he still manages to do it I’ll never understand, but even as an ex-con Mr. C can get the upper crust of Gotham into his nightclubs) he wants to be called Mr. C, but at any other time he goes by Penguin and prefers it. He loves birds (platonically, and only the suicidal joke about such things- a tenth of every take goes anonymously to the Audobon Society). If he hires you, you will get a bird-related nickname- learn to answer to it like you were born with it. He likes bird-related gifts, but only if they’re tasteful and elegant- one of my colleagues once got to experience getting beaten senseless by a plastic pink flamingo.

Penguin loves snappy dress, as I have said. He especially loves his umbrellas. DO NOT TOUCH HIS UMBRELLA, EVER. He makes each of them himself, by hand, and each one is a unique tool for, let’s just say, dissuasion. If you play with his umbrella, he will be very angry, and you will probably be very dead- most likely because you pushed the wrong spot and got a foot of spring-loaded blade in your own face.

There is only one thing that makes the Penguin madder than messing with his umbrella, and that is messing with his hat. He doesn’t always wear a hat, but when it does it is his pride and joy. If he hands you his hat (say, at the beginning of a fight with Batman), your sole purpose for existence is to preserve that hat with your very life. He has entrusted you with his image, with that respectability he has built from nothing, that respectability you or I will never attain. And if he’s not taken down or arrested, he will expect that hat back in absolute pristine condition, or know the reason why.

Having said that, do I need to explain what happens to anyone who messes with that hat deliberately?

Now, if all of that sounds, pardon the term, batshit to you, then you should not be in this business, because the Penguin is, by a mile, the SANEST of the bosses you’ll find outside the old-school crime families. If you have fallen into this business and don’t like what you’ve just read, then my advice is to go to Mr. C at your first opportunity, unburden your conscience to him- and ONLY to him- and, if he likes you, he’ll find some spot in front-of-house for you where you can pretend to the world you don’t know what’s happening behind the curtains.

And if he doesn’t like you, he’ll probably only blackmail you into doing some horrible task- which means you won’t be any worse off than you are now.

Whatever else, Mr. C doesn’t kill people randomly. Those bosses are for future posts (assuming I live long enough to make them).

School’s out for today, fellow henchman. Try not to die.

Oswald Cobblepot had known from his earliest days that, more than strength, more than looks, even more than money, information was the one true power. Money would buy you strength and looks, but information used properly would get you more money back than strength or looks ever could.

That was why, although his criminal enterprises ran from extortion to prostitution to smuggling to blackmail to outright theft, all of it rested on the foundation of Gotham’s most extensive and fine-tuned information gathering network. Information kept his periods of incarceration short. Information kept Society’s doors, which he had kicked open after a lifetime of unjust rejection, from slamming in his face again. Information, occasionally, even served to buy off the Batman, not that that ever lasted long.

The information that an anonymous blogger had said things about him, naturally, came to him within twelve hours of its initial posting.

He read it (using one of his many sockpuppet online identities). He puffed up a little at the less-than-subtle references to his criminal acts, but the overall complimentary tone of the article soothed him. The thing that annoyed him most was that he’d have to do without his topper in public for a while, and he’d have to carry his more innocuous umbrellas, because there would always be people willing to poke the bear’s nose just to see what would happen. Too many of that kind of person wore badges.

“Well, Crowver, you’ve put your foot in it this time, haven’t you?” he muttered aloud. Of course he knew who it was. The Penguin never forgot anyone he hired personally, at least not while they still lived. The nicknames helped with that more than most people understood. “You just couldn’t stay silent anymore. But it was always difficult for you, wasn’t it?”

He read the article again. On the whole, he approved. Good help was very hard to find, and anything which extended the lifespan of such people was a net benefit to him.

But he knew very well that most of his colleagues would view it very differently… and, with a cackle, he found himself wondering what would be written about them, when the time came.

He clicked the subscribe button, made a note to see to it some little donation found its way to his lost chick, and then moved on to the actual business of his day.