No need for the pitchforks and torches, folks. I had to restore my computer, which means I lost everything. Also, running my own theatre, working two jobs, and going to school have taken its toll. I decided to take the semester off and focus more on work and writing original material and running the theatre. SO…here we go! This is Part 2 of Bird of Prey.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even Yoda…you'll see what I mean.

Part Two

Chapter Fifteen

Bodyguard

Tuesday, 3:50 p.m.
3 months later

Sal's business was an extraordinary one. He was perhaps the most muscular man I had ever met. The looks he could conjure to potential threats of his clients were menacing, and, for lack of better words, would make a grown man wet his pants.

He was 56 years old. His hair was in the beginning stages of graying and receding. I didn't know much about his personal life, nor did I ever intend to ask him. I put together the little things he said and a few things about his appearance. Sal never wore a wedding ring, so I could only assume he wasn't married; but he's not too rough around the edges to not have a girlfriend. In fact, he was a rather friendly man—as long as you weren't a danger to him or his clients. I had a feeling that Sal had a soft spot for women. He would never intentionally hurt one of us.

Three months ago, I was stuck in a hospital suffering injuries inflicted by a raving lunatic. After I was released, Ricky, editor of the Gotham Gazette and my boss, demanded that I take a temporary medical leave from work. It was either that, or be fired. And this time he wasn't kidding.

Lieutenant Jim Gordon posted an officer outside of my apartment when I returned home. Jim was looking out for me, however annoying it was. The cop followed me everywhere I went. At the time, gasoline was expensive, so I insisted that I carpool with the officer. Jim wasn't too happy with that idea. I was supposed to "go on with my everyday normal routine," and that did not include saving money or gas.

I met Sal a few days after I was released from the hospital. I attended physical therapy at a place close to my apartment in order to regain strength in my injured shoulder. Sal was there for a leg injury he obtained during kickboxing. We sat in the waiting room a good 20 minutes before both of us were called back for our therapy sessions. I asked him how he hurt himself, and he, in return, asked me the same thing.

"Do you know who it was that did it?" The man asked me.

"Yeah, and he's still out there somewhere…terrorizing the citizens of Gotham City."

"The police haven't caught him?"

"No. The Joker is too elusive, even for the police." I could see disdain in his dark eyes as I mentioned the 'Joker'.

Our therapy sessions were scheduled in different rooms, so we temporarily parted ways. I didn't see him again until I was outside of the building, getting ready to walk back to my apartment.

"Helena!" He exclaimed. The building's door closed behind me and I could smell the cool, dank, and musty scent of the city once again. "I'm glad I caught you."

The man was huge. There really wasn't any other way to describe him. To think that he needed physical therapy almost made me laugh. Almost. He didn't frighten me—not in the slightest. And if anything were to happen, a cop was parked right across the street, watching his every move.

"How's the leg?" I asked.

"It'll be sore in the morning. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something. I, uh, I own a business. Well, sort of. It's not really a business, per se, but more like a, uh…I don't know what you would call it exactly. A training facility?" For such a huge guy, he was shy.

"Training facility?" I repeated.

"Sure, we can go with that. I, uh, I teach self-defense and workout routines that build muscle mass. "

"Like kickboxing?"

"Hence the injured leg. You see, I used to be a bodyguard for some political figures back in my youth."

"Why are you telling me this, Sal?"

"I hate to see creeps like this guy who hurt you get away. You need to be prepared if something were to happen again. It's not always about defense. It's about offense, too." He knew what he was talking about—there was no more stuttering or hesitation in his words. I'm sure he gave the speech to a hundred women before me.

…Which brings me to where I've been today. I was getting my ass kicked by a man just as huge as Sal. Although this guy was a lot younger than Sal and smelled a lot more like sweat. For some reason, Sal thought I was ready, after three months of training, to wrestle a bear—a smelly bear that was trying to rip off my leg

"Sal, get this guy off of me!"

"You can get out of this situation. Don't think. Just do it!" He was the referee in the pretend fight, just in case if things were to go awry. My face was being smashed into the blue padded mat beneath me. The smelly bear was in some weird position where he had both of my arms locked behind me and was pulling my leg out of my socket. At least, that's what it felt like. I couldn't exactly see what the large man was doing or what appendage he planned on hurting next. But I suddenly had an absurd thought. If I were to ever get into another altercation on the streets and wasn't able to save myself, would Batman swoop down and save my neck again?

Forget it, I thought to myself. You haven't seen him in months. He's got bigger fish to fry now. The Joker is not even a bleep on his radar anymore. And neither are you.

The very thought made me angry—that the man whom everyone in Gotham had considered their savior, the dark knight, would give up on me. I immediately kicked the sweaty man off of me with my free leg.

"Good, Helena!" My arms were free. I flipped over on my back, now able to see the man coming back for another attack. I kicked again, this time connecting with his face. "All right, that's enough!" Suddenly, Sal was hovering over me. "This guy actually needs his face for his job. Don't go messing it up." He grabbed my hand and lifted me to my feet.

"Sorry," I mumbled to the guy. He was pinching his nose to stop the trail of blood from escaping it.

"It's okay," he said back. "Nice kick."

I tried not to smirk at the comment. Sal wrapped his arm around my shoulder and let me away from the blue mat. "Don't worry about him. He'll live. But you…" he turned my body to face him. "You've got to act faster. I let the fight continue, but in a real life situation, it would have been over long before I called it off."

"I'll try harder next time."

He shook his head. "No, no, no. There is no try—only do."

I squinted my eyes. "Is that some sort of reference to Yoda or something?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "Maybe."

"I better go. My friendly cop is probably getting ready to bust down this door to see if I've been taken captive."

"I'll see you tomorrow? Same time?"

"Sorry, Sal. I officially am off of medical leave. I start my job again tomorrow. Can I come by afterwards?"

"Of course." With that, I left the building and noticed that my cop was getting out of his squad car.

"Hey, Henry—how's it going?" Officer Henry, as I began to calm him, worked 2nd shift watching my every move…and the move of everyone I came into contact with.

"You had me worried to death! That's how it's going! Do you know how long you were in there? Since 1 o'clock! Now get in your car and go home before I have a heart attack!" I laughed as the man's face turned a purple color. He dove back into his car and followed me, rather closely, I might add, until I got back to my apartment.