Jack drove around Gotham aimlessly to try to clear his head, and returned to his apartment to find Sal already there waiting for him. He didn't bother to ask how he got in – you didn't ask questions like that from a man like Sal Valestra. He merely shut the door and headed to the kitchen.

"Drink?" Jack asked, pouring a glass.

"I already helped myself," replied Sal, holding up a glass of whiskey. "Hope you don't mind, but you were late, y'know."

"Five minutes," replied Jack.

"I'm a busy man, Jack, I don't like being kept waiting," said Sal, softly. "Even for five minutes."

Jack said nothing, offering Sal a cigarette, which he took, and lighting it for him. Jack took one for himself, and then sat down opposite Sal. The men smoked in silence for a moment.

"So what kept you?" asked Sal at last.

"What does it matter? I'm here now," retorted Jack.

"I wanna know what you thought was more important than my company," replied Sal.

Jack looked at him. "I was with a dame," he muttered.

Sal grinned. "Yeah? Hot?"

"I wouldn't do an ugly dame," he retorted. "Anyway, she was a little reluctant to let me leave right away."

Sal chuckled. "Well, all is forgiven, then," he said. "I understand what it's like to be in the middle of things with some thirsty slut begging for more. Not that I'd call your mother a thirsty slut, God rest her soul."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Nice place you got here," he commented.

"Thank you," said Jack. "I bought and paid for it, fair and square."

"How much did it set you back?" asked Sal.

Jack puffed on his cigarette. "It's rude to talk about money, Sal," he murmured.

"Of course. I should be watching my manners with Mr. High and Mighty Jack Napier, who pretends he's so much better than everyone else," said Sal, sarcastically.

Jack didn't know how to respond without annoying Sal further, so he didn't.

"So how's your job, Jack?" asked Sal at last.

"Fine," replied Jack. "Good."

"Yeah? You like slaving away every day for a pitiful salary?" asked Sal. "Or is that too close to talking about money for you?"

"I like getting paid a reasonable amount for the hard work I do, yes," retorted Jack.

"Yeah, but the whole 9-5 gig, that's for suckers," said Sal. "You know that, doncha, Jack? Your parents knew that. Your Pop did a couple hits, a couple times a month, and that's all the work he had to do for weeks."

"And of course we lived in the lap of luxury," said Jack, sarcastically.

"You would have, if your old man hadn't spent it all on booze," retorted Sal.

"You'll forgive me, Sal, if I don't think of my parents as people to look up to," retorted Jack. "I'd rather stay in line and work 9-5 than end up as a corpse riddled with bullet holes."

"Speaking of which, have you kept up your shooting?" asked Sal.

"I go to the range occasionally," said Jack, nodding. "Just for recreation, of course."

"Of course," agreed Sal. "Well, don't blame me if you never wanna have any real fun. But if you do…"

He leaned forward. "I'm planning a little job and I need a good marksman. It'll be a big haul, fifty grand each at least…"

"No thanks, Sal," interrupted Jack. "I'm not going to commit anymore crimes."

Sal smiled, leaning back. "Is that a fact? Little Jack Napier, staying on the straight and narrow, pretending to be some kinda angel…"

"I'm not pretending to be an angel," snapped Jack. "But I'm not going back to that lifestyle. And no amount of money you can offer will make me. I've got more important things than that in my life now, and I won't risk losing them."

"Really? What kinda things?" asked Sal, smiling as he inhaled from the cigarette. "This girl of yours? Don't tell me she's some naïve little goody goody who wouldn't like a strong, powerful man to buy her lots of diamonds and jewels…"

"It's none of your business who she is," retorted Jack. "My life is none of your business anymore, Sal. There's nothing criminal about it, so it really doesn't need to have anything more to do with yours."

Sal smiled, exhaling his cigarette. "Well, think it over," he said, standing up. "If you ever get tired of the 9-5 gig, and if you ever wanna earn a lotta money fast. It'd be a shame to waste talent like yours, Jack, if you're half the marksman your Pop was. And if memory serves, you were, even as a boy. And you know me – I just like people to use their talents and reach their potential. Kind and selfless and generous, that's me."

He patted Jack's cheek. "Bye bye, Jackie boy. See ya around."

Jack heard the front door shut and leaned back in his chair, exhaling a cloud of smoke. That could have gone worse. But he had the feeling that Sal wasn't going to give up that easily in his efforts to convince him to return to crime. Fortunately he didn't know about the Quinzels, or he dreaded to think how he might use them to force Jack to do what he wanted. At least Harley was safely away at college, whatever happened…

He downed his drink and then headed into his bedroom, reaching under his pillow and removing his handgun. He examined it carefully, making sure it was loaded, and then replaced it. He hadn't needed to use it to defend himself since the day he had threatened Mr. Quinzel, but he was terribly afraid that he would be needing it very soon.