Chapter 20

Mitchell’s Creek, Sunny Corner, New South Wales, Australia:20

Abbie was delivered as per court order. The DNA testing unit was on scene and swabbed us both. In cases like this determination was made almost instantly. Normal circumstances require a two week wait but since the court was protecting us against state sponsored shenanigans ... the determination was made that day.

I had hired a wet nurse before court in the event that I was successful in my quest. She was carrying the child.

The State waited until we were outside the court before she rounded on me. “This isn’t over,” she said with quite a bit of rancor in her voice.

“What?” I said as I flicked the switch on the briefcase concealed camera with voice recording.

“I said, this isn’t over.”

“Why not?”

“You are patently unfit to father a child,” the ACFCSS representative continued. “What do you intend to do with your daughters benefits. It must be quite a windfall for you.”

“I don’t know ... how much is it?”

“Like you don’t already know,” she said.

“You must inform me,” I suggested.

“Surely,” she spat, “If you insist. It’s 1754.20 a month paid out twice a month.”

“Eight hundred seventy seven dollars and ten cents every two weeks?”

“Quick with your figures, I see.”

She was getting madder by the second. She spun, I ducked. She laughed. “Nervous?” she asked.

“God deliver me from righteous females,” I muttered. “I plan on adding it to her interest bearing Trust account every month.”

“Oh ... surely you jest. You’ll be like all the other freeloaders ... beer and smokes and loose women.”

I don’t know how she managed but she didn’t strike me. I could see it in her eyes.

Almost immediately after we arrived home, the New South Wales Child Protection Council representative came calling.

“As our right we must inspect your arrangements for the care of Orphan Girl. Please step away from the door.”

I did.

“And where would the child be at this moment?”

“I assume she is with her nanny.”

“You assume? You mean you don’t know?”

“Excuse me a moment,” I said.

I tried the land line but ... lo and behold ... it had no dial tone. The representative gloated.

Guess what? My cellphone was out of service.

The knock at the door came as quite a shock.

I opened the door expecting an Australian Federal Police (AFP) Specialist Response Group (SRG) complete with Canine Assistance to be on my front porch ... but it was just Jim and Jenny Wren.

“Come in, come in. How nice of you to call.” I said.

In the background I imagined the gnashing of teeth and the popping of jaw muscles.

“I saw the car pull up and called Jenny,” Jim said.

“My phones don’t work,” I said.

Jenny made a mad dash to my outside landline connection. The wires were outside the box. She touched nothing but dialed the State Police.

I was unaware of who she called but response was immediate. A video was made; fingerprints were taken.

A call was placed to Telstra, who responded that the cellphone at my address had been ordered discontinued by a State Agency.

The next call Jenny made was to the judge. SJ issued an immediate Order of Protection in favor of Abby and against Any and all persons or agencies acting against the Court. Officials were restricted to contact by invitation only.

Fingerprints matched and the representative was taken into custody.

Jenny’s next act was to call WINTV ... the privately controlled station ... and suggested a reporter repair to this address to document yet another case of Governmental misdoings. The crew arrived in time to see the New South Wales Child Protection Council representative being led away in cuffs. Minutes later a detachment from the Agency descended on my property wanting to know what I had done with their representative. They were arrested for violating the Order of Protection and it made absolutely no difference that they were unaware of the courts decision. All this made the Evening News.

“Well,” said Ms Wren. “That was fun. We’re petitioning the court for monitory redress against the Agency.”

“No kidding?”

“Yup,” she grinned. “My fees and 20 million dollars. Harassment and mental anguish. You do feel harassed, don’t you?”

“As soon as I get over the audacity of the state, I’m sure I’ll feel harassed. The mental anguish is by the way.” I broke down.

The TV crew caught just enough of my mental anguish to document the fact. They packed up and left.

“Have they gone?” I choked.

“Yes,” Jim said.

My laughter must have reached Sunny Corner.