Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 <H1 ALIGN=CENTER>Serendipity</H1>

   <H2 ALIGN=CENTER><i>or; How a GOOD THING Can Just Fall In Front of
You</i></H2>

   <H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Copyright 2010-2012 The Scribbler</H3>

   <em>Chapter the Third</em>

   I was thinking about all the fun (yes, and sex) I was going to be
having, when the other coin dropped.  I was going to be responsible for two
kids.  Yeah, I was going to be fucking them, but I was going to be a dad,
to them, too.

   Fuck me.

   Doctor bills, clothes, food...  SCHOOL!

   I didn't have a clue about any of that shit!

   Well, I did have one clue, anyway.  Both of them were going to need
computers.  I whipped out my cell phone and called a buddy of mine that has
run a computer store since about 1985.  I asked him if he had any desktops
ready.

   When Dave asked me what I needed, I told him that I needed two high end
Linux desktops, with wi-fi, and a server box, running Ubuntu Server, for a
firewall, and network monitor, to keep an eye on a couple of kids surfing
habits.

   "Thirty eight hundred, unless you want a separate monitor for the
server, then," he paused, a second, "Call it four K."

   "When?' I asked him.

   "How soon can you get here?" was his rejoinder.

   "If I make the lights, about fifteen minutes," I said.

   "See ya then" <click>

   A man of few words, was Dave.  I hung a left at the next intersection,
and headed for his shop.

   I met Dave, in the Army.  He and I both liked working with computers. 
He REALLY liked developing games, and hacks for other peoples games.  But
his bread and butter is building PCs for the gaming set.  He will build a
PC for any one, but his main market is hard core gamers.

   He's the only one I trust to build me a PC, for my own use.

   Dave only tolerates me, because I helped him out with the start up
capital for his store.  I don't think he knows I bought the building his
store is in, a few years ago.  Heck, He may not have even noticed that his
rent hasn't gone up.  What?  I'm just investing for the future, here!

   He was waiting at the curb, with a pile of boxes, and as soon as I was
backed in, Dave started loading them into the bed of my pick up.  "Barbie
has your invoice," he said, hooking his thumb towards the storefront.

   I slapped him on the shoulder and went into his store to pay up.

   "Hey, Barbie," I said to the twenty something blond behind the counter.
Her name is really Annette, but she looked just exactly like a Barbie Doll,
all grown up to a full five feet, three inches.  She'd been tagged "Barbie"
in her freshman year of high school, and that was the only name she'd
answer to, ever since.  She is a forensic accountant, in her spare time,
but she runs the store, so that Dave can concentrate on building the
computers.  I think they're in love...

   "What's up, Will?" Barbie asked.  "Two more PC's?  And a firewall
network server?"

   "Yeah," I replied, "Couple of kids going to be staying with me a while."

   I knew, as the words were leaving my mouth, that they were NOT well
thought out.

   Oops.

   I looked up to, sure enough, find Barbie just staring her question at
me.

   I knew the day I met her, that, even though she spent considerable
effort, Barbie was not the dumb blond she tries so hard to portray.  She
maintained a 4.0 her entire scholastic career, and might just be the
smartest person I've ever met.  Definitely smarter than me, and maybe even
smarter than Dave.

   I felt my face blushing, but I bit my tongue, and maintained my silence.

   "Not talkin' huh?" she said.  "You know I'll find out, eventually."

   "Sooner than later, if you leave it alone," I riposted.

   With one of "those" looks, she said, "Thirty nine eighty, and seventy
four cents, government cut included."

   I arched an eyebrow at her in question, and she said, "The server was
built for someone, and they couldn't come up with the whole price.  We took
off the deposit."

   "Ah," was my witty reply.  I tossed her my card, as Dave walked back
into the store.

   "For kids?" he asked.

   "Yeah."

   "Thought that's what you said." He handed me an index card that he
pulled from his shirt pocket.  "You're the administrator.  Both PC's have
the same password, there." Pointing at the card.  "The server password is
the same, except with a "3" in front of it.  No space.

   "Encryption has been disabled on the PC's, and the server will copy
every thing they do, into directories called PC1, and PC2.  You'll need to
set up their user accounts, yourself.

   "How you setting up the network?"

   I replied, "Secure wireless router, but with my PC cat5'd"

   "Set up the server, first, and get it running.  Should be plug and play.
Then your PC, and set it for root access, to the server.  Then set up the
user accounts for the kids, PC1, and PC2.  Then set up their PCs.  Any
problems, call me.  But you never do, do you?" Then he turned to walk away.

   I stopped him by saying, "That's because I got tired of you saying you'd
come over for bar-be-que, and beer, and then you don't show up."

   Barbie just laughed, because Dave and I had this exchange almost every
time we talked.  But as she handed me back my card, and the slip to sign,
she said, "I might just drag his ass over to see what you got going on,
Willie.  Don't be too surprised if we show up at your door."

   "Barbie, give me a week or two, at least.  And next time, I'll just
invite your luscious self, and that coon-ass can fend for himself." I
signed and handed back the slip.

   The Acadian just snorted, and flipped me a figure one, as he headed into
his back room.  With a wave to Barbie, I headed out to my truck.  I still
had another pick up to make, before going home.  Well, two...

   Keeping in mind Mrs.  Johnston's wisdom, I made a fast stop at a drug
store, and bought a large box of rubbers.

   ***

   I pulled up in front of Mrs.  Johnston's house, shut off the engine, and
climbed down from the cab of the truck to make my way up the walk.

   Mrs.  Johnston had more company, and I slowed my approach to the stairs,
saying, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

   "Not at all, Mr.  Jones," Mrs.  Johnston said.  "Not at all.  In fact,
this gentleman has come to meet you."

   "Meet me?" I asked, feeling a vague fear start to churn in my gut.

   "Yes, to meet you," The elder man said in a deep baritone.  (Think James
Earl Jones, here) "Mr.  Jones, My name is Asa Bates."

   He paused, like he was waiting for me to recognize his name.

   I shrugged, and said, "Sorry, I don't know the name..."

   Mrs.  Johnston spoke up, and said, "He's a retired Family Court Judge,
Mr.  Jones."

   "Ah, Shi..., sorry, Ma'am." I said.  Definite roiling guts, now, and I
felt the blood leave my face.

   With a deep, loud laugh, Judge Bates stood, and reached for my hand, and
said, "No, no, Mr.  Jones, you are not in any trouble.  At least, not yet.
I wanted to meet you, and say Thank You, for taking these two kids off the
street.  For that's where they'd have been, Monday, when that house gets
torn down."

   He had a very cultured way of speaking, with no trace I could discern of
the "black accent." Southern, yes, with the slow, rolling speech cadence,
but pure and proper pronunciation of his words.

   "I want to get to know you, a bit," He continued, releasing my hand from
his firm grip, as I finally spotted Tyrell, huddled in the corner of the
porch.

   "I want to know that Latisha, and young Tyrell, here, will be safe.

   Looking over at Tyrell, he said, "Oh, I know you'll be using them for
sex.  I would too, if I had them.  That's not what I mean."

   He said, "I mean, I want to know that you aren't going to be pimping
them on the street, hooking them on drugs, selling them off, or ruining
them for society.  I want to know that these kids are going to grow up to
be decent people.

   "I guess, I want to know just what kind of slave owner you are going to
be." That was a deliberate shot at me, and we both knew it.

   I blanched, again, at the "S" word.  I never knew exactly what the word,
"blanched," meant, until that moment.  It is a weird feeling, as the blood
tries to hide somewhere in your gut, making you feel like you've been
punched.  There is a fear, yammering in the back of your mind, telling you
to RUN!  but your feet are not taking calls, right now.

   I mean, here was a large black man, a Judge.  Retired doesn't mean no
power.  Calling me a slave owner.  I mean, who WOULDN'T be feeling panic.

   He sighed, and sat back down, his chair complaining loudly, as it again
took his weight.  "Mr.  Jones, relax.  No one is upset with you.  Edith
called me, because young Tyrell, here, was a bit afraid of leaving the
neighborhood he grew up in.

   "Now, understand that I can't reassure the boy, because I haven't formed
an opinion of you, yet.  And I won't lie to the boy, or you, for that
matter.  Edith has told me of the conversation the two of you had, and her
observations of you interacting with the kids.  So far, it's all good.  But
I have to see for myself.  You do understand, I think."

   "Yes, Sir," I said.  "I do understand.  What I don't understand, is your
even thinking about any sort of approval of this situation.  I would
expect, heck, I DO expect, that you'd have nothing but extreme objections
to a white man keeping two black kids as sex slaves.  My mind is still
trying to get my feet to run away, but they aren't listening."

   "And that is probably a good thing, Mr.  Jones." He replied, smiling. 
"I assure you, the only thing I want is for these two kids to have a
chance. To escape this neighborhood." He waved his hand gesturing to the
area surrounding us.

   "As for the slave bit?  Well, I'm a student of history, Sir, and I can
say without question that slavery IS the human condition.

   "Predators and prey, Mr.  Jones, That is all there is.  And you, Sir,
strike me as a predator, though a civilized one, a predator, none the
less."

   Leaning forward in his chair, causing it to creak alarmingly, the Judge
rested his elbows on his knees, and studied my face a moment.  Whatever he
saw must have satisfied him, because he then continued, "Slavery, in one
form or another has been present ever since man became self aware.  Men
have enslaved those weaker than themselves, and in turn, been enslaved by
those stronger.

   "All throughout history, whether the bonds were real, or imagined.  From
cave men to today, there have always been, and always will be, slaves and
their owners.

   Cave men used clubs.  My ancestors used thongs twisted from animal
hides. Romans and plantation owners used iron chains and collars.  Today,
the masters use a variety of ways.  Taxes, regulations, paychecks, and
drugs.  Oh, and let's not leave out religion.  The state of Islam is
nothing without ahl al-dhimma.

   "It doesn't matter what label you use, either.  Government, employer,
spouse, parent.  Leaders of gangs, Masters, such as yourself." Hooking a
thumb at his chest, he said, "Judges.

   "There is always a master.  And those that follow, willingly or not. 
It's all just a matter of degree.

   "And - pay attention, here - skin color has NOTHING to do with it."

   The judge paused a moment, watching me digest all he'd been telling me.
When he saw that I understood, he continued, "What matters most, is, what
KIND of master a person has.  Cruel?  Or kind?  Or just indifferent.  That
is the most important question a slave needs the answer to.  Nothing says
that being a salve has to be a terrible thing.

   "Which brings us right back to the here and now.

   "These two kids can not, by their ages or their natures, be Masters. 
They can only be slaves.

   "Since their daddy died, the have managed to stay alive.  Mainly because
they had that house across the street to live in, and some of us older,
civilized folk to help keep the jackals at bay.

   "But the city has started tearing down condemned houses, and that one is
coming down next week.  These youngsters have, therefore, run out of time.
And you, Sir, are the best chance that has come along, for them."

   Asa Bates leaned back in his chair, making it creak alarmingly, again,
and folded his arms across his chest.

   "So, tell me, Mr.  Jones, How did this start?"

   "Well, Judge," I said, "You have to understand, I wasn't actively
hunting for fresh meat, this afternoon, but, sometimes it just falls in
front of you.

   "With nothing better to do on a hot June afternoon, I was just cruising
the hood on my bike, kinda window shopping for whores, when the young black
boy ran out in front of me from between two parked cars.  I locked up the
rear wheel, and skidded sideways to a stop.  How the hell I managed to not
hit the little monkey, I don't know, because he tripped and sprawled in the
street, right in my path, at the first screech of my skidding tire..."

   I laid out the whole story of this afternoon.

   Mr.  Jones," Asa asked, "Do you believe in fate?  Karma?  How about
serendipity?" He could tell by my expression that I did not like the
direction his questions were leading.

   "I do believe in God," I replied, "But there are times, and this may
just be one of them, when I think He has an execrable sense of humor."
After a pause, and with a sour look, I continued, "And an even worse sense
of timing."

   The Judge found that quite humorous, if his huge laugh was any
indication.  Mrs.  Johnston's lighter laughter showed her opinion of my
comments, too.

   "Mr.  Jones, I can accept that," He said, after catching his breath. 
"Anything you'd like to add to show you've only good intentions?"

   With a shrug, I pointed at my truck.  "If it helps, there's about four
grand worth of computers in the back of the truck.  I just got them for
Latisha and Tyrell.  I figured that If I couldn't get them into school, I'd
home school them, and there's a lot of resources on-line."

   "So you do want them to be educated?" asked Mrs.  Johnston.

   Yes, Ma'am, Neither one strikes me as stupid, and, like you said,
ignorance is curable."

   Tyrell groaned, "I gotta go to school?"

   I snapped out, "One way or the other, yes.  And you will get excellent
grades, or whippings, and excellent grades.  Your choice.  Now, hush,
unless you're spoken to."

   Tyrell huddled back into the corner.  I do understand a bit, what he was
feeling.  Just this morning, he was a freebird, and now, he was already in
a cage, of his own making.  He made his choice, and I was bound and
determined to hold him to it.

   "Well, I think I have enough to make a decision, now," said the Judge.
Turning to the boy, he said, "Tyrell, I think you and your sister will turn
out okay, if you go with Mr.  Jones, here."

   Turning back to me, he said, "For what it's worth, you have my
blessings.

   "I also want to give you my card, so that if you have any trouble with
the bureaucracies, give me a call.I might be of some small service, in, ah,
smoothing the way, shall we say."

   "Well, Judge Bates," I said, "that is very kind of you.  I was in a bit
of a panic, when I realized some of the things I'll be responsible for. 
Like getting them enrolled in school."

   "Mr.  Jones, you never had kids of your own, did you?"

   "No sir, at least not that I know of.  I'll admit to sowing a lot of
wild oats, but I have never heard of them bearing fruit."

   "Well, Sir, you are in for one heck of a ride.  In a way, I envy you,
but in another, I pity you.

   "Edith," he said, rising to his feet, "Thank You for your hospitality.
We'll have to get together again, when we can talk about incidentals,
instead of having to fix these problems."

   He shook my hand, again, and ambled down the stairs, and then down the
street.  swinging his cane, and whistling a tune.

   I just watched him, waiting for the "Twilight Zone" theme music to
start...

   Finally, I shook myself, and got my act back together, and said,
"Tyrell, get Y'alls stuff in the back of the truck.  It's time we got on
home."

   The boy jumped up and started carrying, and I turned my attention back
to Mrs.  Johnston.  "Ma'am, I don't know how to thank you for all your
help, but," I dug a business card out of my vest pocket, and reached it
towards her, "If there's anything I can do for you, please call.

   "And if you, or the Judge ever want to check on the kids, that is my
home address, on the card."

   She smiled, and after taking my card, she said, "Just you take good care
of these two young'uns, and we'll all be happy."

   I assured her that it was in my own interest to take care of the
siblings, and then said good by to an interesting elderly woman.

   As I made my way around the back of my truck, I said to Tyrell, Well,
come on, boy, get in." I checked to be sure nothing would blow out of the
bed, then got in and started the engine.

   "Buckle up, boy," I said, "This looks to be a wild ride."
   I wasn't talking about the ride home, exactly...