It looked so inviting.She tore off her jeans and stood up, modeling for an imaginary boy. Her minds' eye conjured up Kenny Wilson. "You should be here... Kenny," she giggled. "We could swim in the was... I'd play with your cock, just like I did with Laddie." She bent over and scratched the dog on the head.Leaving her jeans and sneakers at the foot of a tree, she eased into the cool refreshing water up to her waist, then floated on her back to the deepest part. Her blue eyes sparkled when she saw. I don’t think they’ve ever made so much money on a show before. Not without stealing the art and reselling it later.”“How the hell do they stay in business?” I asked.“I think they launder money for some mob,” Al said. “The artists in the gallery pay to have their work on display. Caldwell calls it paying for shelf space. He doesn’t buy any of the art in the gallery. It’s all on consignment, so he doesn’t have anything invested in the stock. Your stuff is here on consignment. And your agent paid. More

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