Deathstroke spent an entire day finding the ice cream truck in an abandoned lot. He had been so busy that he'd lost his head.
He had forgotten to get Wade out before ditching the truck, leaving him in the toaster oven.
Wade cursed him out for a full half hour.
For the rest of the time, Wade made no sound, because Deathstroke had sewn his mouth shut. The world became much quieter.
A fight was a fight, and fooling around was fooling around, but once the money had arrived, Deathstroke's professional standards were trustworthy. He was the benchmark of the mercenary world.
The original target had been adjusted slightly: Batman and Batwoman. There was now one more gender specification.
Still, considering the humiliation Falcone had suffered, along with the overwhelming newspaper coverage and color photographs...
Deathstroke understood it well enough. But there was far too little information on Batwoman; she seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
Deathstroke suspected Batman had something to do with it, so he came directly to force answers out of him. Wade, however, seemed to have noticed something.
Deathstroke did not want to hear it. He merely promised Wade thirty percent of the payment after the job was done.
"Are you kidding? Why would I sell out for such a little... How much is this?"
Wade stared at the zeros on the check, counted on his fingers, and considered the vacation spot Deathstroke had offered.
"Cousin, I love you!!!"
Wade immediately hugged Deathstroke's thigh and planted a hard kiss on his modified .50-caliber pistol.
Then he took the gun away...
If it weren't for the mission... Deathstroke's eye narrowed dangerously as he raised a hand and put on his fully enclosed alloy helmet.
Its black-and-yellow striped color scheme was as dangerous as a warning sign.