It got a helluva lot easier to put on that smile when he could tell she was satisfied. Whatever cent in Deadshot's paycheck that didn't go to the old couple that babysat his Zo, didn't go to Marnie for his kid's sessions, or didn't go into rent or bills or a trust-fund, Floyd spent spoiling his Zo. And he never regretted it.

"As much fungus as you want, kid," Floyd told her as he chewed on his cig and led her back to the car.