Paolo was ripping apart an orange. What the... ?! "No. Not yet. Must clean the smell off you. The lions..." he whispered harshly. He pushed the orange...at my crotch. He was right again. I grabbed some of the orange and began wiping myself where I could reach. His rough caloused hands were already there. Rubbing the juicy orange into my pubic hair, between my legs. Squeezing it against my thighs. There were no sexual thoughts in either of us. Just a need to erase the smell ... overpower it with. " How so?" asked Wilson, who was leafing through witness statements."The crack pipe," Miller read, "contains Buckingham's fingerprints only. Not even a smidgen of someone else's. How is that possible? Even assuming that there was no floozy smoking out with him, some stocker at whatever store that jar was bought at had to handle it. Someone cleaned that glass before Buckingham smoked out of it. The rock vials are the same way; Buckingham's prints only, none from the freakin' dealer that sold it. More

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