The tuxedo-clad enforcer remembered Cobblepot's exact words very clearly: "Show them what we're made of. Let them know they'd better not mess with Iceberg Restaurant."
In other words, don't kill anyone—just issue a warning.
Batman was throwing heavy punches at that moment, beating the life out of Falcone's men. Cobblepot had no intention of making a deep enemy of them; he only wanted to protect his own interests. Smashing up a restaurant was just a way to save face. If someone actually died, there was no telling whether Batman would chase Falcone down and beat him senseless, only for Falcone to turn around and do the same to Cobblepot.
If I can't deal with Batman, can't I at least deal with you, Cobblepot?
That was why, when the fight began this time, everyone had brought only submachine guns for suppressive fire, and no one had aimed at anyone's body.
But as the fight went on, a loud wail suddenly came from the other side.
"The supervisor's down!"
There was even a hint of cheerfulness in the grief.
Everyone stared at one another. "Did their leader go down?"
"Looks like it. Do we keep shooting?"
At that, Cobblepot's tuxedo-clad subordinate jerked his head up. "Fuck, who did it? Who shot their supervisor dead? Cease fire!"
One side ceased fire, and the other side followed suit. Only the wailing continued to echo through the restaurant's spacious interior, making itself impossible to ignore.
"Someone! Somebody help! The supervisor's down! Call an ambulance!"
"Cough, cough, cough." Clutching his heart, the supervisor breathed weakly and struggled to spit out a few words. "For fuck's sake, I'm not dead yet."
"Supervisor, don't just die on us like this, waaaah."
"You cry—"
"Supervisor, what were you trying to say? I'll definitely pass it on to your family, waaaah."
The supervisor was so enraged that he broke into several more violent coughs. The stitch in his side hurt even worse, leaving him unable to speak for a moment.
"Santos! Rick! Castro! Come take a look at him, waaaah!"
Bang!
The supervisor could take it no longer. Once he came to his senses, he snatched up his pistol and fired, cutting off Ma Zhaodi's wailing.
"If you keep howling, I'll put a bullet in you too. Cough, cough."
"Holy shit, that's great! Their supervisor isn't dead!"
Everyone looked toward the Cobblepot thug who had just shouted in celebration. After the wailing Ma Zhaodi, he had become the second most eye-catching person on the scene.
The tuxedo-clad enforcer's expression was extremely complicated. Although he had secretly breathed a sigh of relief, openly cheering for the enemy was clearly too outrageous.
"Idiot!" He slapped the man, then berated him through gritted teeth. "That's one of their people! What the hell are you so happy about?"
The Cobblepot thug nodded vigorously.
"Yeah, yeah. What are you so happy about?"
"It'd be best if he died."
"Cough, cough!" The tuxedo-clad enforcer suddenly began coughing loudly, interrupting his subordinate's attempt to provoke another fight. Facing the strange looks from everyone in the restaurant, he forced himself to shout threats. "Today was just a lesson for you. Remember this: Cobblepot and Iceberg Restaurant aren't to be messed with!"
"Let's go!"
The Cobblepot thugs, who had seemingly won, sounded the retreat. Yet the restaurant staff, who had seemingly lost, wore all sorts of expressions and showed no sense at all that they had come off worse in the clash.
That was because the greatest damage in the entire fight had been inflicted by one of their own people. They had used only a single bullet, and it had shattered their supervisor's composure and sent his blood pressure through the roof.
After the supervisor was helped into a chair to rest for half a day, he finally caught his breath and pointed at Ma Zhaodi as he roared, "Do you know how expensive that chandelier was?! I told you to shoot at people! I didn't tell you to shoot at the lights! Cobblepot hadn't even finished wrecking the place before you went and wrecked it!"
"You'd better pay back the money within a month! Otherwise, you're finished!"
The reason Ma Zhaodi had not been fired was that his work performance really had improved at a breakneck pace. Several female customers he had once served had already begun frequenting the restaurant. More importantly, he had a relationship with Donald.
"Supervisor, I don't have money for shooting practice. Besides, didn't you just tell me not to worry about it and to shoot the bastard?"
"Get lost!"
After being thoroughly chewed out, Ma Zhaodi sighed and pulled out his battered phone to check the time.
Exactly ten o'clock. His shift had just ended.
"Yay."
He went home with a gloomy look on his face, leaving behind a group of coworkers staring at one another and a supervisor whose face had turned red with rage once again.
The next day, Ma Zhaodi came to work as usual.
"Yesterday's losses have been tallied." The sullen supervisor reported to Donald. "There were no personnel casualties. The tables and chairs weren't badly damaged. A few bottles of red wine were smashed, and the biggest loss was that expensive chandelier."
"No brothers were injured? That's good."
"We only fought for a few minutes before calling a truce, so there were no casualties. The restaurant's total losses were only about thirty percent of what we'd suffer in a usual turf war, but if not for Ma Zhaodi, we wouldn't have—"
"Phillip, I promised I wouldn't let Ma Zhaodi go around hacking people up. Count this bullet as my responsibility."
Donald patted the supervisor on the shoulder. "Besides, he's been driving the Death Car lately."
"Huh?"
"That man seems to have some strange luck about him. I don't know whether the chandelier counts as a loss, but let's keep him around for now." Donald finished speaking and turned back to his seat. "This matter ends here. As for our reputation, the family will get it back sooner or later."
"We're going to work with the Penguin—"
"Nothing's been decided yet, so don't say things carelessly." Donald waved his hand. "The Godfather has spoken: deal with the bat freak first, along with Gordon and Harvey Dent."
"Go get some rest. Remember, he's not one of the family yet. Don't let him fire his gun—be careful he doesn't hit our own people."
At that, the supervisor's mouth twitched violently. He thought of the scene where Ma Zhaodi had aimed at the Penguin from behind, only to shoot one of their own men instead, and instinctively wiped away a cold sweat with trembling fingers.
If that really happened, the best-case scenario would be that an ordinary underling was shot dead. With worse luck, he himself would take Ma Zhaodi's bullet. And in the worst-case scenario, Ma Zhaodi would shoot their own boss dead with a single round.
Ma Zhaodi was eating the employee breakfast provided by the restaurant when he saw Phillip walking over. He hurriedly put down his knife and fork and gave the supervisor a fawning smile.
"Hi, Supervisor. How did you sleep last night?"
The supervisor, who had spent the entire night directing the cleanup, immediately felt his vision go dark. He desperately suppressed his rising blood pressure and said coldly to Ma Zhaodi, "Donald said he'd let you off over the chandelier."
Ma Zhaodi breathed a sigh of relief. At least Donald kept his word, so he would not have to find a second job or figure out how to raise money to pay for the damages.
"Thanks."
"Thank Donald." The supervisor frowned. "Also, that car you drive isn't very safe. What happened to the wheelchair you used to commute before?"
"It got stolen." Ma Zhaodi shrugged. "I live in the East End."
"Find some other way to get to work, and try to drive that car as little as possible." The supervisor sighed and shook his head. "Ma Zhaodi..."
"What is it?"
"Nothing. Go practice shooting more when you have nothing else to do. You can use my name and get thirty percent off."
Before you continue