Chapter 72 : Deadpool And Venom
"Guy came in here looking for you. Real Grim Reaper-type. I don't know. Might further the plot."
~Deadpool
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After indulging in the last traces of his ice cream, Jude exhaled a frosty breath. The 10 billion US dollars served as a stern lesson for Stark, and Jude couldn't simply stash this sum into his pockets without consequences. Even if he did, given enough time, it would undoubtedly be traced by the bank or Tony Stark. That much was clear.
Withdrawing the colossal sum in cash was an even more implausible notion. Rather than letting it sit idly, Jude decided it would be more worthwhile to put it to use, aiding Stark in noble endeavors. Setting a plan into motion, he directed the funds to the NGOs of autonomous regions, a charitable act worth millions. Tony, blissfully ignorant, continued his philanthropic endeavors in Jude's name, unbothered by any scrutiny.
Having concluded these financial affairs, the evening had descended upon Jude. He promptly reached for his mobile phone, dialing Ivy to inquire about the day's developments.
"How's it going, Ivy? Did the first day at the Daily Bugle go smoothly?"
Ivy's jubilant voice resonated, "Very well, smoother than anticipated, except for a minor hiccup, but that's been taken care of."
"A minor hiccup? No big deal. You're merely the honorary president, not responsible for the newspaper's day-to-day operations. Just say the word if you encounter any issues in the future."
"Yeah, that's how I handled it."
"Well, I underestimated you. I thought you might feel uneasy. By the way, I've got plans for tonight; I might not be back early."
"Go ahead, it works out because I also have to attend the dinner party held by the newspaper."
"Well, don't overindulge in drinks."
After the call, Jude hailed a taxi. Curiosity led him to inquire, "Which bar in New York hires killers?" The driver glanced back at him, prompting Jude to wear a harmless expression, "Don't worry, just curious. No ulterior motives. Are we clear?" Sensing unease, the driver subtly reached for the door handle, ready to escape.
In an instant, Jude's demeanor shifted from harmless to heartbroken, "Alright, buddy, my wife cheated." The driver's countenance relaxed, nodding in understanding as he returned his hands to the steering wheel.
"Don't worry, pal, Black Rose Bar; they've got the best folks there."
The taxi traversed the city for half an hour, finally halting on a desolate street adorned with graffiti—a quintessential impoverished neighborhood. Jude alighted and faced the three glowing letters of Black Rose. Honest admission: it seemed a bit seedy, the pulsating rock music audible through the entrance.
Pushing the door open, the dazzling lights and throbbing music assaulted Jude's senses. Amid the dim ambiance, people congregated, dancing and mingling. Advancing to the bar, Jude casually claimed a stool, catching the eye of a young female bartender adorned with tattoos and gothic attire.
"Another handsome soul seeking thrills; what'll it be?"
"I have something to discuss."
"This is a bar, not an office. Once more, what's your poison?"
Jude tapped the bar, remarking, "Well, I didn't expect the American way of business to involve a drink before negotiations. Give me the strongest and finest wine."
The female bartender, eyes filled with challenge, retorted, "Another challenger, splendid."
"What?"
"Prepare for the baptism of Death Rose. If you're still standing after downing it, I'll answer any questions, even the ones about my choice of underwear."
"Wow... can't wait. Bring it on."
In no time, a cup of dark red wine materialized before Jude, emanating an aura of intensity. Before Jude could inquire further, the female bartender halted proceedings, announcing, "Hold on; someone's stepping up to challenge Death Rose." The patrons ceased their activities, assembling around the unfolding spectacle.
Jude lifted the glass, remarking, "Seems like this wine is quite the challenge."
"Indeed, it'll scorch your throat like magma and pierce through your stomach like a bullet. Over 30 people landed in the hospital because of it."
"Really, then I have to savor it even more."
Thunk, thunk!
To the horror of onlookers, Jude effortlessly downed the so-called death rose, the aftermath evident in a drunken hiccup.
"OM, he drank it in one gulp. Call an ambulance!"
"Can't call an ambulance; it's too expensive. What if he can't foot the bill?"
"Uh... makes sense."
Jude pushed the glass to the female bartender, quipping, "Another round, and I've finally found the taste of Black Star beer."
Curious, she asked, "What's Black Star Beer?"
"A high-end drink from a past life; let's save that story for another time."
Jude, displaying an impressive sobriety, continued, "I need a killer." The atmosphere shifted instantly; guns were drawn, and some even brandished heavy weaponry.
The female bartender shrugged, "As you can see, everyone here is a killer."
"Fascinating, but it's not them. I'm looking for the best. His name is Wade Wilson, known as Deadpool. Ring a bell?"
The female bartender nodded, "According to you your target isn't an easy one, but his price is steep."
"Money's not an issue; I need to meet him for an interview."
"No problem, but he's currently on a job. Leave your number; I'll contact you when he's available."
Leaving his contact details, Jude downed another Death Rose and exited the Black Rose Bar. With few individuals having insights into the real-world editorial department and five-dimensional beings proving elusive, Deadpool emerged as the sole option.
Given the circumstances, Jude opted for this strategy. It might be inconvenient for Deadpool, but studying the routines would be a small price. An unscrupulous mercenary like Deadpool, willing to undertake any task for money, would surely agree to reasonable compensation.
With a plan in mind, Jude returned to the hotel. Ivy had yet to return. After a refreshing bath, he delved into the study of Tony's Mark 5 battle armor design.
Meanwhile, in a church, Eddie Brock was kicked out from the Daily Bugle and sought refuge. The empty church witnessed his despair as he contemplated the injustices he felt.
Little did Eddie know, a black, sticky substance wriggled ominously above him, hinting at an impending change in his fate.
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