Ma Zhaodi's Loss-Stopping Method

The thug in the tuxedo remembered Cobblepot's exact words clearly: "Give them a taste of their own medicine, let them know it's best not to mess with the Iceberg Restaurant."

In other words, don't kill anyone, just issue a warning.

Batman was currently going all out, beating up Falcone's men. Cobblepot didn't want to make enemies with them at this point; he just wanted to protect his own interests. Smashing up a restaurant was about saving face. If he actually killed someone, who knew if Batman wouldn't go after Falcone, and then Falcone would come after Cobblepot.

I can't deal with Batman, but can't I deal with you, Cobblepot?

So, when the fight started, they only brought submachine guns for suppressing fire, and they didn't aim at people.

As the fight went on, a loud wail suddenly came from the other side.

"The supervisor's down!"

There was even a hint of glee in the sorrow.

Everyone looked at each other: "Did their leader fall?"

"Looks like it. Should we keep fighting then?"

Cobblepot's tuxedo-clad henchman looked up sharply: "Holy crap, who did it? Who shot their supervisor dead? Stop firing!"

One side stopped firing, and the other followed suit, only the wailing continued to echo in the empty space of the restaurant, making it exceptionally conspicuous.

"Someone! Someone! The supervisor's down! Call an ambulance!"

"Cough, cough." The supervisor, clutching his heart, breathed his last, spitting out a few words with difficulty: "Damn it, I'm not dead yet."

"Supervisor, please don't die like this, sob sob sob."

"You're crying, you"

"Supervisor, whatever you want to say, I'll definitely deliver it to your family, sob sob sob."

The supervisor coughed a few more times in anger. The previous choking pain intensified, making it difficult for him to speak.

"Santos! Rick! Castro! Come and see him, sob sob sob!"

"Bang!"

The supervisor could no longer stand it. He came to his senses, grabbed his pistol, and fired a shot, interrupting Ma Zhaodi's wailing.

"If you keep howling like that, I'll shoot you too, cough cough."

"Holy crap, that's great! Their supervisor isn't dead!"

Everyone looked at Cobblepot's men, who were now cheering. After Ma Zhaodi's mournful cries, he became the second most eye-catching person on the scene.

The tuxedo-clad man's expression was quite complicated. Although he was relieved, it was obvious that cheering for the enemy on the spot was incredibly outrageous.

"Idiot!" He slapped him and, bracing himself, berated him: "That's their guy! What are you so happy about?"

Cobblepot's henchmen nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, yeah, what are you so happy about?"

"It's best if he's dead."

"Cough cough!" The tuxedo-clad man suddenly coughed loudly, interrupting his subordinate's provocative remark. Facing the strange looks from everyone in the restaurant, he braced himself and loudly declared: "Today is just a lesson for you. Remember this, Cobblepot and the Iceberg Restaurant are not to be trifled with!"

"Let's go!"

Cobblepot's men, who seemed to have won, beat the retreat, but the restaurant staff, who seemed to have lost, had different expressions, feeling no sense of loss from the skirmish.

Because the highest damage in the entire scene was dealt by their own personnel, using only one bullet throughout the entire ordeal, shattering their supervisor's mindset and blood pressure.

"Ma Zhaodi," the supervisor, after being helped to a chair and resting for a long time, finally caught his breath and roared at Ma Zhaodi: "Do you know how expensive that chandelier was! I told you to shoot at people! Not at the lamp! You trashed the place more than Cobblepot did!"

"You pay me back within a month, or you're finished!"

The reason he didn't fire him was that Ma Zhaodi's professional skills had indeed improved rapidly. He now had several new female customers he had hosted who frequented the restaurant. Most importantly, he had a connection with Donald.

"Supervisor, I don't have money to practice shooting, and didn't you just tell me not to worry about it and to shoot him?"

"Get lost!"

Maledicted, Ma Zhaodi sighed and took out his worn-out phone to check the time.

Ten o'clock, exactly quitting time.

"Hooray."

He went home with a melancholic expression, leaving behind a group of stunned colleagues and a supervisor whose face had turned red again.

The next day, Ma Zhaodi came to work as usual.

"The damage report from yesterday is out," the unhappy supervisor reported to Donald: "No casualties, the loss of tables and chairs was not significant, a few bottles of red wine were broken, and the biggest loss was that high-end chandelier."

"No brothers injured? That's good."

"We only fought for a few minutes before stopping, so there were no casualties. The total loss for the restaurant is only about thirty percent of previous skirmishes, but if it weren't for Ma Zhaodi, we wouldn't have"

"Phillip, I promised that I wouldn't let Ma Zhaodi go around killing people. This bullet is on me."

Donald patted the supervisor's shoulder: "And he's been driving that Death Car recently."

"Ah?"

"This guy has some weird luck. I don't know if the chandelier incident counts as a loss—but let's keep him for now." Donald said, then turned and sat back in his seat: "This matter ends here. The family will get back the honor sooner or later."

"We're going after Penguin."

"It's not decided yet, don't speak carelessly," Donald waved his hand. "The Godfather said we deal with the Bat freak first, and then Gordon and Harvey Dent."

"Go rest. You need to remember, he's not family yet. Don't let him shoot – be careful he doesn't hit our own people."

Hearing this, the supervisor's mouth twitched fiercely. He recalled the scene where Ma Zhaodi aimed at Penguin from behind and ended up shooting one of their own. He shivered involuntarily and wiped away a cold sweat.

If that situation really happened, if they were lucky, only an ordinary henchman would be shot dead. If they were less lucky, he himself would be shot by Ma Zhaodi. The worst-case scenario would be Ma Zhaodi taking out their own boss with one shot.

Ma Zhaodi was eating the employee breakfast provided by the restaurant when he saw Phillip walking over. He quickly put down his knife and fork and gave the supervisor a fawning smile.

"Hey, Supervisor, how did you sleep last night?"

The supervisor, who had worked all night directing the cleanup, immediately felt his vision darken. He desperately suppressed his surging blood pressure and said coldly to Ma Zhaodi, "Donald said he'll let you off for the chandelier incident."

Ma Zhaodi breathed a sigh of relief. At least Donald kept his word, which meant he wouldn't have to look for a second job or find a way to get money for compensation.

"Thanks."

"Thank Donald," the supervisor frowned. "Also, that car you were driving isn't very safe – what happened to the wheelchair you used for commuting?"

"It was stolen," Ma Zhaodi shrugged. "I live in the East End."

"Find a way to get a different vehicle to come to work. Try to drive that car as little as possible," the supervisor sighed and shook his head. "Ma Zhaodi."

"What is it?"

"Go practice your shooting more often. You can even use my name. You'll get a 70% discount."