Nude Noir

This is an addition to my "Nude Noir" series. I think this story can stand on its own, however, the first three chapters of "Nude Noir" will provide background and context. My apology, but this chapter runs somewhat longer than my usual story.

This story is a work of fiction. Some real places and institutions are mentioned or implied, but they are used fictitiously here. Insofar as the author knows, no real person affiliated with any of those places or institutions has done anything akin to what is described in this story. Any similarities between any character in this story and any real person are coincidental and unintended. I encourage comments on this story, both favorable and unfavorable. Thank you for reading.

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My rent-free lease on Unit 7 at The Cove far outlived my relationship with Allison Nance. The age difference and her parents' implacable opposition to our relationship were too much to overcome. I saw it coming and understood. Given my history, how else could the relationship end? I helped Ali pack her car. She gave me one last hug and got on the road to Gainesville to start law school.

With Ali was gone, I felt completely empty. I had felt almost as empty when I'd been fired from the Bureau several years ago. Then, at least, I could rationalize that I'd been screwed for doing the right thing. I lost Ali because of things inherent in me. There was no one else to blame.

Paul and Lilith were as supportive as they could be. They got me a referral client. Ron and Jeanette Kester had made a lot of money in real estate development; although my sense was that wasn't difficult in Florida. They had been converted to the nude lifestyle during vacations in the Caribbean and had finally bought a resort near Orlando. Lake Zephyr was large, clean, and very family oriented. They were, however, experiencing pilfering from their bar and from their onsite shop. Some carefully placed miniature cameras identified the culprits who were promptly let go. The "shrinkage" problem disappeared.

Ron and Jeanette were roughly twenty-five years older than me, but we hit it off. They owned a small barrier island near Ft. Myers which they and friends frequently used as a nude beach in nice weather. Not long after we solved the pilfering problem, they invited me to join them one Saturday. I met Ron and Jeanette at a marina on Sanibel Island. A woman about my age was with them, their daughter Julia. Jeanette explained that Julia liked to join her parents and their friends for a naked day by the seas occasionally. Her husband, a surgeon in Ft. Myers, wasn't interested. I was invited to be a purely platonic partner for Julia.

I liked Julia Fairchild. She had probably once been very attractive, but the passage of time had added flesh around her middle, hips, and thighs. She still had a lovely face, and she was intelligent, witty, and quick to laugh. Despite the difference of opinion about social nudity, Julia was happily married. She was, nonetheless, good company for a day at the beach. I guess she enjoyed my company too because I started getting regular invitations to the island if Julia was coming.

It was August, the start of Ali's second year of law school in my mental calendar, when I saw a news item about a shooting on a barrier island in Lee County. There wasn't much information, but it caught my attention because that type of violence in the Gulf Coast islands was very rare. I momentarily wondered whether it wasn't Ron and Jeanette's island but quickly dismissed that possibility.

My cell phone rang on Monday. A very distressed Julia Fairchild asked if I could come to her house and meet with her right away. I dug out my sport coat, which almost still fit, and got in the car. Over two hours later, I pulled into a concrete driveway of a large, new house on Captiva Island. Apparently, Dr. Fairchild was very successful.

Dr. Fairchild was there. I had not met him before. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a soft calm voice. I was thinking the voice might be helpful because Julia had obviously been crying. She seemed to be holding it together, barely.

The three of us sat in an expensively furnished room that looked out on the Gulf. Dr. Fairchild began, "Mr. Beck, did you see a news item yesterday about a shooting on an island here?" I nodded affirmatively. "Unfortunately, that was the island owned by Julia's parents."

Julia broke in, "they killed Mom and Dad!" I was very sorry to hear that. I liked the Kesters. I'd also hoped they might be a source of more work or, at least, referrals.

Dr. Fairchild resumed, "you know that Mr. and Mrs. Kester and their friends use the island recreationally. I believe you've been there. They and some of their friends were there Saturday when, the police tell us, a boat came up on the Gulf side and started shooting with an automatic or semi-automatic rifle."

"They had asked me to go with them," Julia said, "but I had a meeting of the hospital auxiliary board that morning."

"Thank god for that," Dr. Fairchild said with some feeling. "To make a terrible story as short as possible," he continued, "the Kesters were killed along with six of their friends. One couple survived. They're both in Lee County Memorial, but they are, I understand, the primary source of the information the police have."

Julia got herself more under control. "Ian," she said, "I want you to investigate this. The police are thinking drugs and, I think, don't care that much about a bunch of nudists anyway. I think this is something different. Dad has been telling me for about six weeks that someone had been badgering him to sell them the resort and the island. Dad always said no. He and Mom don't need the money and they love both places, loved, I'm sorry." She paused. "I think there is a connection."

"You've told this to the police, of course?" I asked. Julia nodded.

"Detective Shermer of the Lee County Sheriff's Office told us he thinks it is just coincidence," Dr. Fairchild said.

I asked for details. What I got was that, roughly six weeks earlier, a lawyer in Orlando had contacted the Kesters saying he had an undisclosed client who wanted to buy their resort and island. The initial price offered was low. The Kesters had said no. The lawyer persisted, raising the price significantly in each call. The Kesters continued to say no. They also checked out the lawyer, a solo practitioner with a storefront office who usually handled criminal matters. That raised the Kesters' discomfort. Julia told me the lawyer had last called her father a few days before the shooting. He offered roughly double what the resort and island were worth. Julia said her father had told her that, when he rejected that offer, the lawyer had said his client "will not take this well."

I talked with Lee County Detective Brad Shermer. The Fairchilds' perception was accurate. "I understand the daughter is distraught," he said, "and we all prefer conspiracy theories to thinking loved ones were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. We're pretty confident this was part of a drug deal gone bad and the shooters just made a mistake about their targets."

"If I may," I asked, "why do you think that? Why would the shooter think a bunch of naked people were his target?"

"We have our reasons," Detective Shermer said, ending the conversation.

People I talked to around Orlando told me that lawyer who had been pestering Ron Kester was a borderline sleaze. I finally called him pretending to have some land outside Orlando to sell, saying I had heard he had a client who was interested. That got me nowhere.

With Julia's permission, I went through her parents' papers, e-mail, and texts. I found the contacts from the lawyer and negative responses from the Kesters, but nothing identifying the would-be buyer, much less tying him, her, or it to the killings. A follow up call to Detective Schermer produced a rather icy statement that his office was satisfied the killer had left the country. I was nowhere.

I gave Julia my entirely negative report. I agreed that the police view seemed too easy, but I had nothing to contradict it except very vague suspicion. I didn't send a bill but, a couple weeks later, I received a check from Charles Fairchild for $ 5,000. I deposited it.

For about a month, I didn't do much besides miss Ali. In early October, Julia called again. Julia had inherited the resort, the island, and some other of her parents' property. The same lawyer who had pestered her father had just called her with an offer for the resort and the island of about double what they were worth. "It's a lot of money and Charles is dead set against owning a 'nuddie resort.' Unless you have something new to tell me, I guess they're going to get what they killed my parents for." I didn't have anything new to tell her.

Around the time I thought Ali was finishing her second year of law school, my friend at the Tampa PD, Beth Potter, called. Apart from the occasional lunch, I hadn't seen Beth in the last year. I knew she'd been promoted and was now deputy commander of the Major Crimes division. That status, I assumed, made it too risky to be seen at The Cove anymore.

"Could you come Downtown for a meeting at 11:00 tomorrow?" Beth asked.

"What about?" I asked.

"It is complicated," Beth replied. "Best to wait until tomorrow when you can hear the whole story."

"Well, I think I had...." I started to evade.

"Ian, we're not arresting you," Beth said sharply. Her tone softened a little, "as my friend, please come. Oh, would you also dress nice?"

Once Beth made it a matter of friendship, I had no choice but to go. Her request to dress nice would be tougher. I found a pair of khakis that only had one pocket ripped. My one white shirt had scorches from when I'd last tried to iron it. My sport coat fit well enough to cover those. After an hour, I found my tie.

I showed my photo ID and waited about ten minutes, before I was escorted to an upper floor conference room at Tampa PD headquarters the next morning. Beth gave me a friendly hug. I was the only male in the room. I recognized one of the other women: Sally Stancik, SAC of the FBI's Tampa field office. Sally was Beth's very close friend. The two of them had visited The Cove a few times while Ali and I were together. For two women my age or older, they both looked good naked.

The third woman was introduced as Special Agent Laura Kelly. She made a strong impression. Copper-colored hair framed an intelligent-looking face that had green eyes; a small, upturned nose; prominent cheekbones; and a strong jaw below, at that moment, a broad smile. Her business suit precluded any conclusions about her body, but she projected the confidence of a very attractive woman.

After the introductions, Sally Stancik said, "Ian, I know you are familiar, or used to be familiar, with the Lake Zephyr resort near Orlando. You knew the former owners and tried to investigate their murders for their daughter."

"Yes," I said, "and came up with zip."

"Don't feel too bad," Sally replied, "no arrests have been made for the murders on that island that day. I assume you also know that their daughter, Julia Fairchild, sold the resort and the island."

"I knew she was going to," I answered. "Who'd she sell to?"

Sally smiled. "A Nevada company called 'Bare Enterprises, LLC. We haven't gotten any farther than that. I'm going to let Agent Kelly pick up the story."

"Lake Zephyr," Laura Kelly said, "is now 'Club Sensual.' It is still a nude resort, but adults only with, we think, a tolerance if not encouragement of overt sexual behavior. It's private property. They can do what they please. The entire staff of Lake Zephyr was let go when the resort changed hands. However, the state's records show Club Sensual pays worker's comp and unemployment comp premiums for about 30% more staff than Lake Zephyr had. The staff live onsite but local merchants report that they all seem foreign. Reports are that they speak English, but with a 'Russian' accent."

Sally jumped back in. "Club Sensual and Bare Enterprises do not have any foreign employees holding lawful visas. ICE did an inspection. They questioned one woman, a thirty-two-year-old named Katya Thompson, who got citizenship by marrying a US citizen named Chad Thompson two years ago. My impression is that the ICE agents weren't very comfortable in a nude resort so that was satisfactory to them."

"We were not interested until Miami-Dade found a badly beaten up hooker a couple of months ago," Laura said. "The woman survived. She told Miami-Dade she had been recruited in Almaty, Kazakhstan with the promise of a good-paying job at a resort in the US. She said she was flown to a very warm country, Venezuela we think, was put on a large boat with some other girls. They were on the boat for several days before being offloaded onto on a smaller boat off the coast of what she later realized was Florida. The small boat took the girls to a small island. The girls' things were taken from them. They were given jeans, tee shirts, gym shoes, and Florida driver's licenses. Then, they were taken from the island on a short boat trip to the mainland. On the mainland, they were loaded into a van and, a few hours later, unloaded, at Club Sensual."

"How did she get from Orange County down to Dade?" I asked.

"I haven't spoken to her directly," Laura said. "Miami-Dade says she said that the manager at Club Sensual told her she wasn't working out after a few weeks. She worked a lot in the nude, but she has a birthmark on her ass. The manager told her customers had complained but he had found her another job where customers wouldn't care. The next day, she was driven to Miami and turned over to a pimp. Of course, Club Sensual denies knowing anything about the girl. Their lawyer told us they'd be happy to furnish their employment records as soon as we get a warrant." After a pause, Laura added, "Lee County tells us that the Kesters' island now has no trespassing signs posted all over and that armed men have been seen on the island at times."

"We think the Kesters' resort and island are being used to bring foreign women into the US illegally to be sex workers," Sally said. "ICE isn't interested because of the nudist resort angle. That was good thinking on someone's part, practical immunity. We're not interested in the immigration violations per se, but we are very interested if women are being brought in illegally and forced to be sex workers."

"This sounds plausible to me," I said. "How do I merit a briefing on this from the Tampa SAC?"

Sally Stancik smiled. "I think this is where I should leave," she said. She and Beth hugged, and she left the room.

Beth glanced at her watch and said, "It's lunch time. Let's get something to eat and talk about this outside the office." Instead of our usual lunch spot, we followed Beth several blocks to an Italian restaurant. Beth told the host she wanted her "meeting table." He led us to a four top in a small alcove.

Once we'd ordered and the server left, Laura said, "SAC Stancik has given me responsibility and authority to investigate. I think we need to start by learning a lot more about what goes on at Club Sensual, but we need to do that surreptitiously."

"That means someone will have to pose as a customer, which means they'll stick out like a sore thumb if they don't take everything off," I said.

"I know," Laura sighed. "That's why I can't ask anyone else to do it."

Beth chimed in, "A single woman alone will constantly be harassed by men. When Laura goes in, she needs to pose as a couple with a man."

I'd not noticed any wedding ring on Laura's finger. "Boyfriend?" I asked.

"Sucky timing," Laura replied. "I just broke up with someone." She paused before adding, "It can't be a guy from the Bureau. If I do that, the story, no doubt embellished, will be on the Bureau grapevine all the way to D.C. Goodbye career. Maybe goodbye to Sally's career too."

"Ian," Beth said, "you did something similar with Ali. That's how you met her. Ali told me more than once that she didn't think she could have done it, go undercover at a nude resort, with anyone but you. When Laura went to Sally with her problem, Sally immediately thought of you. She called me and I agreed you are perfect. You're trained as an agent, but you are completely outside the Bureau."

"I know what happened to you," Laura added. "You got screwed for being an honorable man. If you'd kept your mouth shut and just gone along, you'd probably still be in the Bureau today. If I must pretend to be part of a nude couple, I think you're the kind of man I want to pretend with."

This was flattering, but the idea sounded terrible to me. I was still very wounded from the break-up with Ali. Going naked with a very attractive woman in a pretend relationship would be salt on the wound.

Beth knew enough of my history that I think she knew exactly what I was thinking. "You can do it Ian," Beth said. "Please do it as a favor for Sally and me."

"And me," Laura added.

Beth had been a friend for several years. She was the only significant person in law enforcement community who had stood by me after the FBI fired me. Ali and I had spent some very pleasant hours naked with Beth and Sally. If I owed anyone anything, I owed Beth Potter. My sense of self-interest also told me that doing a favor for a senior Tampa PD officer and the Tampa SAC could pay dividends in the future.

Laura closed the deal. I looked into her eyes, and she looked straight back into mine. There was a message in her look, but I was too old and beaten up to understand it. The little voice in my head told me I'd regret it if I didn't play this out and see where it went. Of course, my little voice specializes in bad advice.

"Ok," I said, "what do we do first?"

With more affection than I'd ever heard in her voice before, Beth said, "thank you Ian."

Laura reached out, put her hand over mine on the table, and said, "thank you very much." After a pause and another direct look, Laura added, "I'll report orally to the Sally. Starting Thursday, I'm officially on leave. That won't seem odd, I've got over a month of vacation coming. Do you want to get us reservations for Friday through Sunday at Club Sensual, just to scope the place out?" Laura asked. Then she corrected herself, "No, I should make the reservations."

I had lunch with Beth and Laura on Tuesday. Laura called on Wednesday. "Club Sensual isn't cheap, but I got us a room for Friday and Saturday," Laura said. I focused on the singular "a" room. I'd be in close quarters with Laura for an entire weekend and, for most of that time, we probably wouldn't be wearing any clothes. We would pretend to be partners. There would be touching, laughs, and hints of intimacy. This was not going to be easy.

"Given traffic," Laura continued, "I think we ought to allow three hours to get there. I'll pick you up at 2:00 p.m. Friday afternoon up there in Pasco County. What's the address?" I told her. "You live in a nude resort? I suppose you'll be able to teach me the etiquette, then. See you Friday. Oh, one more thing. Can you e-mail me a digital picture? Your face is all I need."

My rational brain knew I'd been recruited into this bizarre task only because Beth Potter thought I could be professional. It also knew I was at least a dozen years older than Laura Kelly and about as attractive to her as a garbage can. Despite the insights from my rational brain, I was getting excited about spending a weekend naked with an attractive woman. I needed to reel my irrational brain in.

Since I didn't own that many clothes, what I needed all fit in one bag. I opted not to take a gun on the theory it would blow my cover, although it sometimes seemed like everyone in Florida carried a gun then. I spent Friday morning going over our security procedures with The Cove staff who would fill in for me for the weekend. Paul and Lilith weren't excited about my being gone for a weekend, The Cove's busiest time, but they understood that I had to comply with Beth's request.