Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 432: Barrage of Black Pots

"Right now, get someone to clean this place up. I'm giving you one minute, and I want to see the menu in front of me."

Su Ming casually tossed Penguin onto the floor. The high-end marble tiles clearly offered no cushioning, and Penguin's body made a dull thud as it hit.

But feeling the pain coursing through him, Cobblepot no longer had the slightest doubt about the Batman standing before him.

He'd always known Batman was a nutcase, a guy on the same level as the Joker, just with better self-control and some strict moral lines.

But today, it seemed one of those lines had snapped.

The Cobblepot family had been living in Gotham for over a century, and he himself had been in the game for decades. He knew one thing for sure: in this city, you didn't mess with crazy people.

Since Batman wanted to eat, fine, let him eat. What, was he going to bankrupt the Iceberg Lounge single-handedly? Still, next time, that plan to build an offshore Iceberg Casino needed to speed up—surely Batman wouldn't stoop to gambling, right?

For now, just serve him his meal, act compliant, and he'd be on his way.

Penguin scrambled up from the floor, straightened his clothes, and forced a smile. He limped quickly to the bar, grabbed a menu, and placed it in front of Batman.

He stood there like a waiter, waiting for Batman to order.

"Vegetable salad, tomato bisque, creamy escargot," Batman flipped through the menu at lightning speed, pointing out three dishes.

"Oh, Batman, there's no need for us to be enemies. Today's setup works just fine," Cobblepot jotted the three dishes on a napkin, bowing slightly with a flattering grin. "I'm just a businessman, running a small operation. You've got plenty of lunatics to deal with."

Su Ming wasn't even listening. He was a fake, just here to scam some food and drink.

"Scratch those three. Bring me one of everything else."

"Hic."

Cobblepot's smile froze. That was hundreds of dishes—could Batman even finish them?

His breathing quickened, like he was about to lose it, but then he laughed again, swallowing his anger.

Right now, Batman's fists ruled. In the underworld, might made right. Forget hundreds of dishes—if Batman demanded cash outright, Cobblepot would have to pay up.

But Su Ming wouldn't go that far. Posing as Batman to freeload was more of a prank, a way to unwind.

Robbery? Too low-class. He wouldn't stoop to that.

"Is the lobster fresh? It better be at least four feet long."

"...Fresh. My restaurant's the best," Penguin's smile returned. He started animatedly describing the food to Su Ming, pinching his fingers together and mimicking the motion of bringing it to his mouth, acting out the explosion of flavor on his taste buds.

"Then hurry up and serve it. First, get someone to drag this trash out—they're ruining the vibe."

Su Ming tossed the menu aside, leaned back in his chair, and waited for his meal.

This was Penguin's lair, so naturally, he had more goons. Soon, a few of them hauled the battered henchmen off to a hospital.

After arranging everything, Penguin sat across from Su Ming, sizing up Batman. All he felt was dread.

This unpredictable Batman was way scarier than the one who just showed up and started throwing punches.

Had the Joker been poking at him again lately?

"Band, dancers, and a singer," Su Ming tapped the table again, his face blank. "You can't host a guest for a meal like this."

Penguin was about to crack. You're an uninvited guest! It's 4 a.m.—what restaurant's still open? Bands and singers need sleep too!

But Batman's fists hit too hard. He fished out his phone and made the arrangements. A band? Fine, throw some extra cash at it and get this Bat-star out of here faster.

A few minutes later, chefs yanked from their beds arrived at the restaurant. They could hardly believe their eyes.

Penguin and Batman sitting together, about to eat?

But Penguin was the boss. Working for him was always a head-on-the-line gig—best not to ask or look at anything you weren't supposed to.

Soon, appetizers started flowing out in a steady stream, and the high-priced band Penguin hired kicked into gear.

Since it was so late, Penguin could only snag a nightclub fill-in band. The rock music clashed with the Iceberg Lounge's glitzy, golden vibe.

But Su Ming didn't care. His goal was to eat and mess with Penguin for fun.

He couldn't kill Gotham's rogues—those were Batman's prized catches. The Dark Knight knew every villain's habits, haunts, and quirks like the back of his hand.

Eating for free at Penguin's joint, roughing up his goons, even tarnishing Batman's rep? All within Batman's tolerance.

But break one of Batman's toys? He'd flip, and Su Ming would end up facing the Justice League. No upside there.

Su Ming wasn't about that.

For now, though, peeling giant lobster to rock music was pretty dope.

"Batman, if you can't finish, I can pack it up for you."

Penguin watched Batman eat agonizingly slowly, like he planned to camp out here. Every second felt like a year.

"The seafood sauce is solid," Su Ming said, head down, eating. He only took one bite of each dish. The rest looked like it reached his mouth, but really, it got shredded by his hidden powers. "Cheers."

Penguin's fine wine? Su Ming chugged it like soda, downing a big glass in one tilt.

Cobblepot's lip twitched, but he forced a smile and sipped his own glass lightly.

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"Two guys drinking's no fun. Call some ladies over," Su Ming tossed out another demand.

Penguin sucked in a breath. Had Batman caught some virus? Dinner with escorts?

But under Batman's piercing stare, he caved almost instantly.

Soon, a few dolled-up dames strutted in, swaying their hips as they approached Penguin.

When they spotted Batman, they froze, flustered.

Sure, they kinda owed Batman—sisters in the trade often got mugged or harassed in dark alleys, and he'd swoop in to save them.

But they were working girls. Their clients were mostly corrupt officials or mobsters—Batman's targets. When he took those guys down, their cash dried up, and so did the girls' paychecks.

And they never imagined Batman would call for company. It was blindingly unreal.

Su Ming gave them a quick once-over. All cheap paint and powder—nothing compared to a stunner like Albedo, or even Hawkgirl.

But he was here to mess with Batman, so this worked just fine.

"Pour."

He yanked two of the girls over, one on each side, making them sit close and serve him.

The Iceberg Lounge's seafood was legit—lobster and crab weren't just fresh; they were cooked to perfection.

Better yet, he didn't have to shell them himself. The girls did it for him, and it pinned another black mark on Batman's name. Thinking about it made him grin.

This was how you rested—doing something that made you happy. Whether Batman liked it? What did that matter to Deathstroke?