Accidental Villainy 21 (Patreon)

The door opened, and the first man strutted in, which, to my surprise, was the henchmen of the Slasher rather than the old man, and the bodyguards surrounding him. 

It surprised me, but only for a moment, and only because it was too simple. It was a test. 

I decided to counter it in a way they didn’t expect. “No weapons in my bar, either leave them out, or stay at the door,” I said, deliberately not looking at any one of them as I carefully carved a grapefruit to put the finishing touches to my cocktail. Not the usual recipe, but the twist would allow further highlighting of the qualities I had prepared. 

The bodyguards looked surprised at that statement, but they didn’t do anything, waiting for the signal from the old man, whose index finder rose slightly before tapping his middle finger twice. An order, and a very subtle one. 

Still, the bodyguards waited until the henchmen spoke. “You can leave, we don’t need you,” he said, and the bodyguards left, trying to give the impression that he was the one in control. From his sudden smug expression, I guessed I wasn’t the only one they were playing. 

The henchmen walked forward smugly and leaned against the bar. “So. I heard that there was a misunderstanding between our forces, but I’m sure we can discuss it like adults, right?” he started. His words were peaceful, but his attitude was smug. 

A good disposable pawn to test my attitude. 

“I’m guessing you have trouble hearing,” I commented casually. 

He looked surprised. “What do you mean?” 

“I told you that no weapons are allowed,” I said, pointing at the large blade that he carried proudly, one that marked as one of the leaders of the Slasher’s gang. “That pathetic bread cutter counts as one.” 

“You —” he said, too shocked to say anything, clearly not expecting me to point that out, and certainly not for me to mix with an insult. 

While he was too shocked to say anything, he wasn’t too shocked to act. He reached for his knife, while I kept my gaze on him, confident that he wasn’t going to attack me. He was afraid. Not from me. 

Not from Tara; though that was because he was too focused on me to even pay attention to the figure in the corner, showing he wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer. 

No, he was clearly scared of the old man, showing that, unlike his delusion of thinking he was superior to the bodyguards that followed him, he had a much clearer idea of where he stood compared to the old man. 

I didn’t do anything until he pulled it completely, tempted to ignore it even more. But, I could see Tara tensing in the corner. Subtle enough to be missed — only because her clothing covered every inch of her skin including her fingers — but I didn’t have any illusion that she would be able to maintain that while I was seemingly under immediate danger. 

So, I raised my fingers and tapped against the bar, one of the codes we had agreed on, one that ordered her to throw the offender out without harming him. I didn’t bother acting subtle as I gave the order, instead smiled smugly. 

The old man raised an eyebrow, but before the henchman could even react, Tara used her super speed to appear next to him, dragging him toward the door like a trash can. 

Though, before throwing him out, she pulled his blade from his hand, and snapped it in four with incredible ease like the blade was made of paper and not high-quality metal. He flew out of the door, and his scrapped blade followed. 

She looked at the old man, but I gave her another signal to take her seat back. 

She walked back calmly while I turned my attention to the old man. “Please,” I said, gesturing him to take the seat. 

He smiled softly as he started walking, but his attitude showed me that he wasn’t particularly impressed by the show until now, clearly treating it as amateurish theatrics. The ease he displayed toward Tara’s display of super strength was not good news … nor was the ease the bodyguards had been displaying at the move. 

I expected them to look alarmed at least. But they did not, meaning they were absolutely confident in the safety of their charge. 

I carefully glanced at my phone, which was under the bar to prevent him from seeing the security feed. 

And saw a small team of three waiting at a corner, each wearing suits as well, but only two of them had weapons. One of them didn’t have any guns, but the other two didn’t position like they were protecting him. 

Another super. 

I immediately adjusted my expectations about the visitor. I had already expected him to work for one of the major players … but for one that was strong enough to have another villain as a subordinate, not so much. 

The stakes got even higher. A mistake and everything would be ruined. 

The old man said nothing as he sat down, and I pushed the drink toward him. He reached toward it confidently, showing he had no fear of a poison. 

Despite my headache, I tapped my power once more as he took his first sip, watching the shift of his emotions. 

The first thing I noticed was pleasure mixed with pleasant surprise, the kind someone might have when they take a bite out of a bruised strawberry, only to realize it was just perfect. Enjoyment followed soon. 

Then it went away, leaving its place in a deep suspicion. And, for the first time, actual alarm. 

It was glorious. 

My bluff worked. 

“Amazing cocktail. Perfect for me,” he said, his tone forcefully calm. 

“I take my hobbies as seriously as I take my job,” I answered, my tone calm, yet just the right amount of smug for a young man who knew he was in perfect control — my ability to observe working well to boost my acting as well. 

I deliberately threw out that statement, leaving him to wonder what was my hobby, and what was my job. 

“I see,” he said. He stayed silent for a while, enjoying the sharp yet delicious cocktail. If it wasn’t for my powers, I would have been getting worried, wondering whether he bought my trick or not. But now, even without overcharging it, I could easily read that he was using the silence to try to unbalance me.

For all the trouble they created, my powers could be really useful in the right circumstances. 

He spoke only when he finished his cocktail. “Truly a fascinating drink. Just this is enough to make the trip worth it.” 

“Good to hear,” I said even as I decided to push my luck a bit. It felt reckless, but staying passive and letting him control the discussion wouldn’t work well to my benefit. “It’s always good to see my hobby and passion being appreciated. It gives me a break from … tasteless monotony of my day job.” 

“I see. It’s good that a young man like you has found his passion. But this is an interesting place to open a bar. Your skills deserve a better place.” 

“Needs of my day job, I’m afraid,” I said. 

“So close to our business,” he countered, confirming something I had been suspecting since he arrived. That warehouse didn’t belong to the Slasher, but he was defending it for a bigger villain. 

“I’m afraid it’s the opposite,” I said, and he quirked his eyebrow. “You’re the one that opened a business near our establishment.” He said nothing. “You’re lucky that my … friend is the understanding sort.” 

“Your friend. And should I assume you have a friend that picked the location,” he said. 

I smirked, but said nothing, letting him feel frustrated a bit, but not too much. I was trying to look intimidating enough to make sure they wouldn’t target us blindly, not trying to anger them to attack us. 

A difficult balance to maintain, especially since I had no idea who he was working for yet, blindly working on my cold read. 

“That would be a reasonable assumption,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a confirmation. A deliberate double-speak. 

“And, how about if I assume that your friend is interested in the sudden change in the supply lines after the most recent conflict, and wants to take an active hand,” he added, his tone sharp. 

“That would be…” I said, deliberately adding a lingering silence to test his attitude, his tenseness suggesting it was the real question he wanted to ask. “Mostly inaccurate,” I completed. “Our presence had nothing to do with such labor-intensive businesses. With that answer, I also implied that our presence might be still about the conflict. 

“Interesting. So we can assume no interference from your friend to our business,” he said. 

“Assuming they don’t do anything to ruin my little hobby here,” I said. Another loaded word, one that implied that I had the ability to make executive decisions about it. 

“Good to hear,” he said as he stood up. “How much do I owe you for the drink?” 

“On the house. Think of it as a welcome to the neighborhood gift,” I said, subtly reminding him that we were here first, and they didn’t even realize it before they opened their business. A subtle power-play and a threat bundled into one. 

He nodded and started walking away. Happy and satisfied. I overcharged my power once more, ignoring the potential cost as I read his attitude deeply once more. A tense attitude, but also confused. 

I realized it was about the last part, the fact that I didn’t ask for any kind of payment. 

I waited until he reached the door. “However, I have to charge you for garbage disposal,” I added just as he reached the doorknob. “My friend doesn’t like littering.” 

“And, how much it would be.” 

I smirked. “Oh, I’m sure a distinguished gentleman like you would be able to come up with a satisfactory cost. After all, none of us wants the streets to get dirty, right?” I said. 

“Of course not,” he said, and left, leaving me alone.