<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/3e88/4udf1zl8amlhhha6g.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Nan Rapido</span> </strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><div align="center">_____<br/><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Det. Kantonspolizei Zürich</span></strong></div></div></div><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/07d9/26i7lgh1zps71ke6g.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">I could push her hands away or wiggle out of her touch, but that’s not what it’s about.  It’s nice to be the focus of desire.  I hope she’s being honest in all this.  That’s funny—honest, . . . right.<br/><br/>Baby?  “Well baby I’ll go with vodka, but . . . ” I look at the bartender, “Absinthe martini, olive stuffed with onion obviously.”  <br/><br/>I look around and smile.  “I have to remember I’m not working—no arrests unless there’s mayhem.  (Smile) Mayhem I have to stop.” <br/><br/>I play with my hair.  I never play with my hair!  Baby playing coyly with her hair.   Really?  “I love your outfit.  It shouts money—real money.” <br/></span>