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A Chance Meeting	By : kamjin Category: DC Verse Comics > Vigilante Views: 1335 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Vigilante,nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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**Vigilante is © 1983 DC Comics. Peacemaker, Sabre and Cannon, Negative Woman, and Cyborg are also © DC Comics, but I wrote this story**

Union Square Park had long been a trouble spot at night for campus security at NYU, but tonight was about to get a whole lot worse. The three young students who talked and laughed on the bench were your average college freshmen. Kind of short, with stringy, unwashed hair (on two of the boys bordering on dreadlocks, and on the other already there) As they laughed, one of the boys bounced a silver 24oz. beer can off a nearby oak tree.

As the conversation inevitably turned to girls, a blue Nissan pulled up slowly in the grass just by the road. Stopping, two men got out. They approached the boys on the bench. In the glow of the bright lights, they couldn't tell who had approached them. Convinced it was campus security, one of the boys sighed in a singsong way, "BUSTED".

Then he noticed the man standing before him. He was black, about six-foot tall, with a short trimmed fade. He was massively built, his arms bulging from the shoulders of his sleeveless shirt. Black racing glasses were perched tightly above his nose. Recognition suddenly struck the boy.

"I haven't got the money, Blow," he said nervously, "my parents haven't put any in my account yet," Looking to his companion, Blow bellowed "Profile said if he ain't got the money, we know what to do, right Jolly."

The second man stepped forward. He was short, not powerfully built (unless you consider Olive Oil muscular), and white. Dressed in jeans, t-shirt, ball cap, and slick cowboy boots, he stepped closer, "Yup."

Pulling a pistol from his waistband, he fired one shot into the face of the first boy. With impressive speed, he shot the second student as well. Taking aim on the third, he smiled as he placed the automatic pistol against the boys' forehead. Moonlight glinted off the shiny barrel, as Blow's voice cut through the fog that had just become this kids life; "We'll be back in a week for our money. If you don't have it then," he let the rest of that sentence hang as he turned towards the car.

As Blow turned, he was left no time to react as a heavy white boot took him square in the breadbasket. He fell to his knees in agony as Jolly whirled to face his attacker.

Halfway through his turn a pair of numchuks twirled around his wrist, followed with snakelike quickness by a white-gloved hand. Jolly cried in agony as his wrist shattered, but his as yet unseen assailant did not relent.

Jolly felt a hard rabbit-punch to his kidney; followed by a blindingly painful head-butt. The gun discharged once, blinding one of the headlights. With a swift, high side-kick, the killer was sent tumbling backwards over the now vacant bench, with the numchuks, as the pistol fell right into Blow's grasp.

The thug grinned as he looked up, and suddenly his face was a mask of confusion. Before him stood a wiry-built man in a black ski-suit, with blue under white stripes running in a V over the head. The same pattern ran all the way up the arm, over the deltoids, and around the pecs to meet in the center of the chest, just at the sternum. A yellow police-style belt and holster held a revolver, and numerous pouches. Heavy white boots, and nearly elbow length white gloves completed the ensemble. He couldn't even see his attacker's eyes beneath the red tint of the mask's goggles.

Blow hesitated just long enough to allow the would-be hero to follow Jolly over the bench. Undeterred, the thug fired six shots at where he saw his assailant dive, and the slide on the auto-pistol snapped forward.

Without warning, the masked attacker rolled out from the side of the bench and fired a single shot from the .38 revolver now in his hands. The thug was thrown from his feet, and writhed on the ground clutching his stomach in agony.

Unfortunately, Jolly was back on his feet and offered our beleaguered hero no chance for celebration. The heel of his boot caught the assailant square across the face. A second kick sent the .38 flying. As Jolly's boot came down to crush his opponent, the nimble devil rolled away and sprang to his feet, "You won't take the Vigilante that easily."

As Vigilante danced back further into the darkness of the park, he took a moment to assess his opponent. At nearly two inches shorter than the six-foot hero and with a broken wrist no less, Jolly should prove no challenge. Then, as if his luck couldn't get any worse, Vigilante noticed his numchuks spinning wildly in Jolly's good hand.

The killer lunged forward, slashing left to right in a wide arc with the weapon. Reacting quickly, the masked hero did a round off, his chest rolling back just below the chain's sweep. Vigilante followed up with a jump spinning back kick, knocking Jolly into a tree and blasting the air from his lungs. The chain clanked heavily as the numchuks hit the grass.

Vigilante rushed in with an elbow. Impossibly, the killer ducked, and the elbow smashed hard into the tree. Coming up fast and hard, Jolly landed a solid uppercut beneath his attacker's jaw. As the hero staggered back, clutching his elbow, Jolly's lungs drew a mighty breath. Then he followed up with a right hook.

Ducking the blow, the hero sprang up with an elbow from his good arm to the back of the thug's head. A quick round kick sent his hat flying, and Vigilante followed up by dropkicking him square in the chest. Jolly groaned once, and sprawled out, unconscious.

Vigilante rolled to his feet just in time to hear the sirens. Grabbing his Service-Six and ramming it into its holster, he ran through the smoke obscuring the Nissan's remaining headlight. Leaping into the driver's seat and slamming it into gear, he sped off, scant seconds before the thoroughly confused Campus Police arrived to put together the pieces.

Montana Lang hit the coffee machine hard, and shook it for all she was worth. The flickering light above her head only served to add to her building aggravation. It was the first day of yet another year at NYU, in the twenty-three year olds quest for a Masters in Criminal Sciences. She let her pageboy cut, brown locked head slump forward against the machine.

Her green eyes lit with a deep malice as she leaned back. "Give me coffee," she cried as she moved to kick the machine. "Work damn it, you¡Kow¡K" she trailed off, pained, and began to hop on her now injured foot.

"Can I help?" came a timid voice from behind. Whirling, she saw a handsome young man, with short cut blonde hair, round wire-rimmed glasses, and deep blue eyes. A large blue bruise rested just below his left eye.

"Yes, please," she replied, cheeks reddening. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life. The young man approached the machine, and she couldn't help but eye him up and down. Wiry-build, not too tall at five-ten, compared to her five-eleven, and well dressed.

He leaned behind the machine, giving her ample view of his firm rear end. She snapped back to reality with a wince as she realized he was talking to her, "with these old machines. There. That should about do it."

A single cup dropped into place and began to fill. "Voila," he said handing it to her. A second cup dropped into place and began to fill. "A bonus," he cried, taking the cup and bringing it to his lips. As she was about to thank him a third cup fell from the dispenser, and a fourth, and the machine began to spray coffee everywhere.

They spent the next few minutes frantically trying to stop the psychotic vending machine. He finally relented, and unplugged it. Now it was his turn to be embarrassed.

After about five minutes of raucous laughter, the two began flitting their eyes about, lost in a terse silence. She finally broke it. "I'm Tana," she offered. "Paul," came the expected response after a few moments hesitation. 'And shy, too,' she thought with a wry grin.

They spent the next few minutes before they had to leave for their respective classes sipping coffee and getting to know one another. She learned that Paul was a Freshman Engineering Major. 'Of all the luck, a kid,' she thought. They exchanged numbers, and she reluctantly agreed to meet him for lunch.

As she walked to class, her mind drifted. 'What am I doing? He's nearly six years younger than I am. But he's so wonderful. And cute. Shut up you cradle robber, throw away the number and forget about him.' Her mind made up; she pulled the number from her pocket and walked towards the trashcan. Then she saw the name. Paul Chase.

"Omigod," she blurted out. She flushed when she noticed everyone in the corridor staring at her. 'That was Paul Chase,' she thought to herself. 'His father, Adrian Chase, was the one who got Uncle Dave involved in all that Vigilante mess that got him killed.'

"I have to talk to him," she blurted out, again. Then she hurried off to class, amid the laughter and stares of her fellow students.

Later that afternoon, Tana moved expertly through the packed lunchtime crowd at McDonalds. She quickly scanned the burgeoning mass of urban youth for her target. She gagged as she passed through a thick cloud. 'Didn't they ban smoking indoors last year,' she thought to herself. Then she saw the source of the smoke was the employees, and they weren't passing a cigarette back and forth.

She finally spied her quarry. Paul Chase. 'If he weren't so young, I could just eat him up,' she mused. Shaking that thought away, she moved to the outdoor table where he sat. They had important things to discuss.

Paul smiled as he saw her approach. Tall and willowy, she had to be the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. He hoped the stupid bruise didn't put her off. He didn't want her to think he was a thug. At the last moment he remembered his manners. He stood up politely, then helped her get seated.

They greeted each other and ordered lunch. They made small talk for a few minutes before Tana finally cut to the chase. "Paul, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Shoot," he blurted out carelessly, without even a millisecond's consideration of the possible repercussions. "What's it like to be Adrian Chases son?" Tana queried. All color drained from Paul's face. She had really come out of nowhere with that question.

Did she mean Adrian Chase the District Attorney, or Adrian Chase the judge? Or perhaps, like most, she meant Adrian Chase the alcoholic, who killed himself and left his wife and unborn child behind. Then there was the worst case scenario. What if she didn't want to know about Adrian Chase at all, but that blasted alter ego of his? The Vigilante!

After a few moments consideration, the young man replied, "I never really knew my father. He died before--" "Hey, kids. How's it going?" came a voice from behind, abruptly putting a halt to Paul's practiced speech.

Paul turned to see a man in his forties, short and slightly overweight, with balding brown hair shot through with grey. He wore an earthy brown suit, with an NYPD detective's badge hung from the breast pocket. The restaurant now stood, not suprisingly, nearly empty.

"Mikey," Tana yelled, leaping up and catching the man in a childlike embrace. He said tersely, "Michael, Tana. How tim times do I have to ask you not to call me Mikey?"

Extending a hand to Paul he said "Michael Pirrez, NYPD." Tana didn't like the sound of that. "Have a seat, kiddo. We need to talk." Tana dutifully complied with his request with little more than a nod.

"What an interesting surprise to find Paul Chase and Montana Lang together. Oil and water, I guess." He ignored the heat that rose to the girls' cheeks. Without missing a beat, he threw a pair of numchumchuks onto the table.

"I'm only going to say this once," he began harshly. "If either one of you is wearing that damned suit, it had better disappear, straight off. Those were found at the scene of a murder. One of the suspects has several broken bones and a concussion. The other was shot in the stomach. Ballistics hasn't finished its report yet, but unless I miss my guess, it was a Smith and Wesson .38 Caliber Service-Six revolver. None of the suspects was killed, but with Vigilante involved, it's just a matter of time."

Detective Pirrez judged the reactions on the young adults faces before continuing, "Paul, your father would never approve of that." Then he swung his gaze on the girl, "Tana, I was Dave's partner for five years on the beat. If it was you, I'll bet he's rolling over in his grave. Your uncle was a good cop and a great friend. Don't screw up your life like he did."

The young couple had already begun sputtering and stuttering when Michael unceremoniously snatched the weapon off the table. "If either one of you has that suit, it had better never be seen again. I've gotta run. Keep your grades up, Tana. I'll see you soon."

As the detective turned to leave, Paul's voice broke the silence with the unmistakable strength gifted to him by his father, "My old man once told Cyborg that the justice system had failed the very people it was designed to protect. I have never believed that more than over the past few years. But I decided long ago that I would not fight that argument, not Adrian Chase's way, not Dave Winston's way, and certainly not the Vigilante's way. I can assure you of that, detective."

After a short pause, the boy added, "I don't want all that craziness in my life." Fully believing him, the detective took one last glance at Tana before leaving. She was chewing her lip, just like when she was a little kid and had broken something precious.

When Michael was fully out of earshot, Paul opened up, "So, you're Dave Winston's niece?" Tana nodded weakly in response. 'So that's what this was all about,' he thought to himself. Without warning, she lunged at him and attacked, pounding his chest furiously.

She sobbed as the words spit forth with venom; "I just want to know why. Why your father lost his nerve and talked Dave into it? Why Peacemaker killed him? Why your father did nothing to stop it? And with every chance he had, your father never took Peacemaker down. NEVER!!!" The pounding of her fists on Paul's chest was gradually slowing.

"Never," her words trailed off into sobs as Paul caught her hands and held her to him. "I'd like to know a lot of things myself, but Dad never gave me the chance to ask."
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A Chance Meeting