Chapter 30: Ma Ma Zhaodi's Loss-Cutting Method

The henchman in the tuxedo remembered clearly: Cobblepot's exact words were, "Give them a taste of their own medicine, let them know they'd better not mess with Bingshan Restaurant."

In other words, no killing, just a warning.

Batman was currently launching a heavy assault, grabbing members of the Falcone gang and beating them mercilessly; Cobblepot had no desire to incur too deep a grudge with them at this moment, wanting only to protect his own interests. Smashing up a restaurant was to save face for himself; if people were actually killed, there was no guarantee Batman wouldn't chase down Falcone for a beating, and Falcone would then chase down Cobblepot for a beating.

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

So when this battle started, everyone brought only submachine guns for suppressive fire, and none of them aimed at people.

But as they fought on, a loud, dramatic wailing suddenly came from the other side.

"The supervisor has fallen!"

There was even a hint of cheerfulness in the sorrow.

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

"Seems like it, so should we keep fighting?"

Cobblepot's tuxedo-clad henchmen suddenly looked up: "Holy crap, who did it? Who shot their supervisor? Cease fire immediately!"

One side ceased fire, and the other followed suit, letting their flags drop; only that wailing voice continued to echo in the restaurant's vast space, standing out as unusually conspicuous.

"Someone! Help! The supervisor has fallen! Call an ambulance quickly!"

"Cough, cough, cough..." The supervisor, clutching his heart, gasped weakly, struggling to spit out a few words: "Damn it, I'm not dead yet..."

"Supervisor, don't just die like this, waaah waaah waaah..."

"Why are you crying, you..."

"Supervisor, whatever you want to say, I will definitely deliver it to your family, waaah waaah waaah..."

The supervisor was so angry he coughed violently again; the earlier stitch in his side hurt even more, leaving him temporarily unable to speak.

"Santos! Rick! Castro! Come look at him, waaah waaah waaah!"

"Bang!"

The supervisor could no longer bear it; coming to his senses, he snatched up his pistol and fired a shot, cutting off Ma Ma Zhaodi's wailing.

"If you wail one more time, I'll shoot you too, cough, cough."

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

Everyone turned to look at the Cobblepot gang member who had cheered out loud; following the wailing Ma Ma Zhaodi, he became the second most conspicuous person on the scene.

The tuxedo-clad man's expression was quite complex; although he felt a sigh of relief in his heart, it was obvious that cheering for the enemy right there on the spot was utterly outrageous.

"Idiot!" He slapped the man across the face and, gritting his teeth, scolded: "That's their guy! What are you happy about?"

The Cobblepot gang member nodded in agreement.

"Right, right, what are you happy about?"

"It would be best if he died..."

"Cough, cough!" The tuxedo-clad man suddenly coughed loudly, cutting off his subordinate's provocative remark; facing the strange gazes of everyone in the restaurant, he gritted his teeth and shouted threats: "Today was just a lesson for you; remember this: Cobblepot and Bingshan Restaurant are not to be messed with!"

"Let's go!"

The seemingly victorious Cobblepot gang members sounded the retreat, but the restaurant staff, who seemed to have lost, wore various expressions, feeling no sense of having suffered a defeat in the brawl.

Because the highest damage in the entire scene was dealt by their own personnel; the whole thing used only one bullet, shattering their own supervisor's morale and blood pressure.

"Ma Ma Zhaodi!" The supervisor, having been helped to a chair to rest for a while and finally catching his breath, pointed at Ma Ma Zhaodi and roared: "Do you have any idea how expensive that chandelier was? I told you to shoot at people! Not at the lamp! Cobblepot hadn't even finished wrecking the place before you damn well wrecked it first!"

"You damn well pay it back within a month, or else get ready to be finished!"

The reason he wasn't fired was that Ma Ma Zhaodi's professional skills had indeed improved rapidly; now several female new guests he had served were frequently visiting the restaurant; most importantly, he had a connection with Donald.

"Supervisor, I don't have money to practice shooting, and didn't you just say I didn't need to worry, just shoot the damn thing..."

"Get out!"

After being thoroughly scolded, Ma Ma Zhaodi sighed, took out his broken phone, and checked the time.

Ten o'clock sharp, just off work.

"Yay."

He went home with a gloomy face, leaving behind a group of colleagues looking at each other and the supervisor, whose face had turned red with heat again.

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

"The loss statistics from yesterday are out." The gloomy supervisor reported to Donald: "No casualties among personnel; damage to tables and chairs was minor; a few bottles of red wine were broken; the biggest loss was that high-end chandelier..."

"No brothers injured? That's good."

"We only fought for a few minutes before the truce, so there were no casualties. The restaurant's total loss is roughly thirty percent of what a typical brawl would cost, but if not for Ma Ma Zhaodi, we wouldn't have..."

"Philip, I promised I wouldn't let Ma Ma Zhaodi go around cutting people; this bullet counts as my expense."

Donald patted the supervisor's shoulder: "Besides, he's been driving that Death Car lately."

"Huh?"

"This guy has some weird luck; I'm not sure if the chandelier incident counts as a loss—but let's keep him for now." Donald finished speaking, turned around, and sat back in his seat: "This matter ends here; as for the matter of face, the family will get it back sooner or later."

"We need to deal with the Penguin..."

"It's not decided yet, don't talk nonsense." Donald waved his hand: "The Godfather said, deal with the Batman freak first, along with Gordon and Harvey Dent."

"Go rest; remember, he's not part of the family yet; don't let him fire a gun—be careful he doesn't hit one of our own."

Hearing this, the corner of the supervisor's mouth twitched violently; thinking of the scene where Ma Ma Zhaodi aimed at the Penguin from behind and ended up shooting one of their own, he instinctively trembled and wiped away cold sweat.

If that situation really happened, with good luck only a regular henchman would get shot dead; with bad luck, he himself would get shot by Ma Ma Zhaodi; and with the worst luck, Ma Ma Zhaodi would take out their own boss with a single shot.

Ma Ma Zhaodi was eating the employee breakfast provided by the restaurant when he saw Philip approaching; he quickly put down his knife and fork and flashed a sycophantic smile at the supervisor.

"Hi supervisor, how did you sleep last night?"

The supervisor, who had been busy all night directing the cleanup of the scene, immediately felt his vision go black; he desperately suppressed the blood pressure surging up again and said coldly to Ma Ma Zhaodi: "Regarding the chandelier, Donald said he'll let you off."

Ma Ma Zhaodi felt a sigh of relief in his heart; Donald at least kept his word, which meant he didn't have to look for a second job or figure out how to get money to compensate.

"Thanks."

"Go thank Donald," the supervisor said, frowning. "Also, the car you're driving isn't very safe—what about the wheelchair you used for commuting before?"

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

"Try to get another vehicle for work and drive that car as little as possible," the supervisor sighed and shook his head. "Ma Ma Zhaodi."

"What is it?"

"Go practice shooting more often. You can even give my name; you'll get thirty percent off."

(End of this chapter)