Chapter 18: Red, Red

Ma Ma Zhaodi could actually somewhat understand his colleagues' fear of this guest.

As mentioned before, Gotham has a Dark Knight, often regarded as a freak in a tight suit or some kind of urban legend. But there is also a White Knight; he is no legend, illusion, or ghost—he truly exists, and he is iron-faced and relentless.

Harvey Dent, the District Attorney of Gotham City. If one were to ask who in Gotham currently steadfastly defends justice, there are probably only three: a bat, a police commissioner, and the last one is the White Knight standing right before them.

This trinity combination sees one responsible for the work of meeting violence with violence in the night, one responsible for arresting criminals before the public and bringing them to the station, and finally, Harvey Dent, who is responsible for prosecuting with all his might, ensuring those scum criminals receive their due punishment.

Because Harvey Dent's methods and mind are extremely firm, every gang, big or small, in Gotham City now knows the name of this unyielding prosecutor. Everyone has a few leverage points held in his grip, and several gang members have been sent away by him; while they are like water and fire, incompatible, there is also a hint of admiration for him mixed in.

In Gotham, the number of people who want to be good is countless, but those who can withstand reality's heavy punches and persist in being good are few and far between.

But the problem is, Ma Ma Zhaodi is damn well afraid of him too.

When the White Knight becomes hope, he is the brightest existence; after falling into darkness, he becomes the most twisted and fractured existence.

You are afraid of Harvey Dent, but what about me? Am I not afraid of Two-Face? Am I not one of your colleagues?

"Mr. Dent, hello, please come with me."

Harvey Dent nodded at him, his sharp gaze fixed on his face for a few seconds, before suddenly asking, "I notice your smile seems a bit stiff; are you feeling unwell, or perhaps a little nervous?"

"No, no, my spirits are excellent; I just love my job very much, so I'm just a bit excited, hahaha."

Ma Ma Zhaodi struggled desperately to make his smile appear natural, lest he leave an impression on this future super-villain.

"Oh, is that so?" He smiled meaningfully. "I was under the impression that you folks didn't much like me."

"How could that be? The Red Dragon sincerely welcomes every visiting guest; I am honored to serve you, hahaha."

I was truly foolish, truly; I only knew that basically no superheroes are rich, and those who are rich wouldn't come to a place like this, but I didn't know Harvey Dent had the bad habit of slapping people in the face with his presence.

If today he wasn't here to mock the Falcone family and simultaneously probe for information, then my name, Ma Ma Zhaodi, can be written upside down.

Looking into Harvey Dent's bright and sharp eyes, Ma Ma Zhaodi felt slightly nervous.

I hope that after he becomes Two-Face, he won't remember me; otherwise, if he casually tosses a coin, landing heads means Superman today, landing tails means Superman tomorrow, and wouldn't I definitely get screwed?

Speaking of which, will a fight break out later? It shouldn't come to that, right?

"Then bring the menu; a few pieces of scum were dragged into the police station yesterday, so my mood and appetite are both quite good today, and I'm considering just how many years of prison sentences I should prosecute them for."

"Ah, this..."

Ma Ma Zhaodi handed over the menu, then glanced back stealthily; in the crowd, several faces turned red at a speed visible to the naked eye. This gave him a vague, ominous premonition in his heart.

Don't screw me over, damn it.

"Those pieces of scum are just like rats—have you ever seen a swarm of rats?" He flipped through the menu with lingering relish, speaking with apparent enthusiasm: "I've seen quite a few; the big ones are very cunning, hiding in their holes during the day and not coming out, only daring to emerge at night to bite people."

This time, about half of them had turned red.

Stop talking, stop talking; Ma Ma Zhaodi was trembling with fear; if he kept going, everyone would turn red.

"However, rats in the sewers have no sense of loyalty or family values to speak of, and the small ones are all very stupid; catch a few, and you can drag the whole nest out."

Everyone is red now, hahaha.

Ma Ma Zhaodi despairingly scanned the surroundings to see where could serve as cover, and carefully felt the Beretta under his suit.

If a fight breaks out later, don't let the blood splash on me.

Fortunately, after Harvey Dent finished ordering his food, he did not continue to torment Ma Ma Zhaodi, merely asking a few casual questions about the dishes and wine, questions that were clearly written in the guidebook.

The red wine in this kind of establishment is mostly about selling stories; for a bottle of red wine from a specific year and brand, its region, its grape variety, the weather of that year, the winery's history, the unique flavor within the wine, and so on, are all meticulously recorded in that thick guidebook; no matter how interesting the story, it merely becomes capital for selling at a high price.

Since there are dozens of wines, naturally there are dozens of stories; rather than testing the wine, it tests the person; being able to memorize all of these and fluently introduce them to guests is where an old waiter's composure lies.

As for observing and responding to customers, Ma Ma Zhaodi had originally intended to temporarily bluff his way through with sheer presence, but meeting Harvey today saved him that trouble. Most of the time, he was using the opportunity of talking to Ma Ma Zhaodi to provoke other gang members.

Ma Ma Zhaodi served the dishes plate by plate, trembling with fear, and several times saw his colleagues reach their hands toward the position under their suits at their waists, only to be restrained by others.

"Ding ding ding—"

The phone suddenly rang; Harvey, who was in a good mood, was suddenly interrupted; he hurriedly answered the call, said two words, and then directly paid the bill and left the restaurant.

Ma Ma Zhaodi was completely baffled, unable to figure out exactly what had happened, but his first tip, along with the asset points, had indeed arrived in his hand, which made him quite happy.

The restaurant members also seemed to breathe a sigh of relief; if Harvey Dent had continued to stay, they might not have been able to control their anger.

No one knew why Harvey Dent was so good at seizing opportunities; he had just happened to book a table for today a few days ago, while Maroni's men had just happened to be thrown into the police station yesterday.

If this was a coincidence, just a chance collision, then Ma Ma Zhaodi had truly hit the jackpot.

Fortunately, the subsequent guests were all normal people, and the supervisor's judgment regarding Ma Ma Zhaodi was not wrong; his appearance and temperament could indeed cover up much of a novice's awkwardness.

Coming and going in the restaurant, there were hundreds of various upper-class figures; Ma Ma Zhaodi received one after another, truly broadening his horizons.

Whether they were picky and harsh elites, or menopause sufferers with fiery tempers, self-important jerks, or arrogant and domineering idiots, those colleagues could handle them all with ease, even though their main profession was being gang members and being waiters was just a part-time job, which made Ma Ma Zhaodi couldn't help but exclaim, "Professional!"

However, he wasn't without any contribution either; that menopause sufferer with the fiery temper was the one he was responsible for receiving; he had only just shown his face, and that lady's anger vanished completely.

Perhaps he was born with the stuff for this line of work.

(End of Chapter)