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  Scott sat across from the man without being invited; he settled into the seat and sat casually, one leg crossed over the other and his hands folded across his chest. He looked at the man – Mr. Joseph Kendall – for a long moment.

  Neither of them spoke until Nivens had removed himself and shut the door.

  Scott broke the ice first. He could tell from one look that Kendall was the sort of man who would dominate the conversation if you let him. If you wanted to stay on an even footing with such a man, you had to take the initiative. “Who's your wife having sex with, Mr. Kendall?”

  He'd expected that to rattle the guy, but Kendall hardly even blinked. Those cool gray eyes stayed hard. Slowly, a tight smile flickered across the other man's lips. “What makes you think she is, Mr. Chapel?”

  Scott shrugged. “You're obviously not a man to hire just anybody. You know what I do, and you know that I'm good at it. Probably some of my pals in the police force recommended me. You had a break-in last night, but the police aren't following up. Instead, you bring me here. I do wives, that's my job. Infidelity is what pays the bills for me, so let's not beat around the bush. Who's she fucking?”

  A look of distaste crossed Kendall's features, then was swiftly concealed. “How very crass,” he said, “but you're not completely wrong.”

  “Who broke into your house, Mr. Kendall? And what were they after?”

  “Ah. Yes, well that's what we were hoping you would be able to tell us. Before we get into things, I'll require certain assurances from you.”

  “About what?”

  Kendall shifted, looking for the first time to be ever so slightly uncomfortable. “Yes, well... surely you understand that I require absolute discretion in regards to the matter at hand.”

  “In my line of work, Mr. Kendall, discretion is my number one priority. I'm sure that whoever you talked to at the precinct told you that.”

  “Indeed.” Kendall drummed his fingers on the desk, then seemed to come to a decision. “My wife has had many lovers, Mr. Chapel. I know of them and I have no quarrel with her on that. Last night, she was entertaining two men here at the house.”

  “Two?” Scott interrupted, his eyebrows rising.

  Kendall just nodded. “Two men, yes. They were interrupted sometime in the night by a masked man who, it seemed, climbed up onto the balcony outside her bedroom with a camera in order to take compromising photos of her.”

  Kendall reached beneath the desk and brought out a broken camera. The lens was badly cracked right down the middle and the casing was crushed on one side, but Scott guessed that the film itself hadn't been destroyed. He wondered just what he might find if he were to develop those pictures.

  “One of the men chased the intruder off, but was unable to apprehend him.”

  “A peeping tom, then. And you don't want the police involved because then the word that your wife was... entertaining... these two guys could get out. You want me to track him down. That about right?”

  Kendall nodded slowly. “In essence, yes.”

  Scott picked up the camera. “You see what's on here yet?”

  Kendall licked his lips, his steely exterior revealing its first crack. “We have. We had the pictures devolved in a private lab and... we were extremely disturbed by what we found.”

  Scott set the camera back down. “Who's we? You and your wife?”

  “No,” Kendall said, “not just us.”

  The man who had been standing at the window the entire time Scott and Kendall had been speaking turned suddenly around. He'd been so still the whole while that Scott hadn't even registered his presence. It was an older gentleman. He wore a very solemn expression on his face as he approached the desk.

  “I'm afraid that this case, Mr. Chapel,” the older man said, “is much bigger than it first appears. Bigger, I think, than you could possibly imagine.”

  Chapter Four

  Scott leaned back in his seat and looked this new man over. He had a thick mustache, salt and pepper hair and held a cane behind his back. He wore black gloves and had a monocle dangling from his jacket pocket. Quite the picture of a southern gentlemen.

  “I have a pretty good imagination,” he said, trying to project an air of being unimpressed. “How big could it be?”

  “Big enough,” the man said, tapping his cane in the palm of his hand. “It involves a dozen of the wealthiest families in Miami. At least a dozen, possibly more.”

  “What exactly are we talking about here?”

  Kendall grimaced. “The fact is that we're not entirely sure. I suspect blackmail is the motive, but there have been no demands made as of yet.”

  “Back up for me, alright? Who's this guy here, and what are you all doing that somebody might blackmail you for?”

  “My name is Reginald Mason,” the dapper gentleman said with a slight nod. “I am the proprietor of a local club. It is both extremely discreet and extremely exclusive. To my knowledge, no one knows about us who isn't a member.”

  “Would I be right,” Scott said slowly, “in assuming that this... club of yours is... sexual, in nature?”

  Reginald Mason nodded. “Indeed. Though I must stress that there is nothing whatsoever which could be said to be illegal. I like to think of us as facilitators. We connect like-minded people.”

  “But it's something bent, right? No offense. But you don't blackmail somebody just for having sex. What are you into?”

  Mason and Kendall exchanged a long look at one another. Mason gave a slight not, and Kendall sighed. He opened the desk drawer beside him and took out a large envelope. He tossed it across the table. “The photos recovered from the camera,” he said. “My wife's picture is on the bottom of the stack.”

  For a moment Scott just looked at the envelope. He'd seen some strange things in his time as a private detective. Most people just wanted to get their rocks off, but there were plenty who had... specialized interests. He was pretty sure he'd seen 'em all in his time, but you never knew. What fetish awaited him, captured in those photographs?

  He leaned forward and took the envelope, then shook the pictures out into his hand. Slowly, he scanned through them.

  It didn't take long to identify a theme: interracial sex, specifically between black men and white women. The first photo, slightly blurry, shot through a lace curtain it looked like, showed a woman on her knees in front of a hulking black man. They were both naked, and the woman was using her mouth on the man.

  Scott whistled, and flipped through the stack.

  It was a different woman in every picture, blondes, redheads, brunettes – all Caucasian and in various stages of undress. The man, he eventually realized, was the same in almost every picture. The same enormous guy with the rippling muscles and the huge black cock.

  The final picture, the one he'd been told depicted Misses Kendall, showed a woman on all fours between two men. She looked like she was having quite a time.

  Scott tapped the photos back together and returned them to the envelope. “I'll keep these, if you've no objection.”

  Kendall leaned forward slightly, but Mason put his hand on the other man's shoulder and spoke, “Of course, Mr. Chapel, if they're necessary for your investigation. I don't imagine I have to remind you of their sensitive nature, however.”

  “No you don't,” Scott said, “I'll keep them safe.”

  “As you may have surmised, Mr. Chapel, my organization, the Black and White Club, facilitates intimate encounters between women – usually married women – and African-American gentlemen.”

  “Who's the man? You think he's working with the photographer?”

  Mason shook his head. “Absolutely not. That's Professor James Cain.”

  “A professor, eh?” Scott didn't think he'd ever seen a professor with the body of the guy in the photos, but then, he didn't think he'd ever seen a professor quite that naked in any context.

  “That's right,” Mason confirmed, “As I said, we're quite exclusive. We don't just let anybody join. James has
been a member of the organization for years, and I have complete confidence in him. Beyond that, his own position in academia might be threatened by the exposure of his activities within the club. He stands to lose his livelihood.”

  “And the women? What do they stand to lose?”

  Mason laughed softly. “Sadly, Mr. Chapel, we live in somewhat less than enlightened times. One day I imagine a time when women can take black lovers without fear of harm to their reputations or social standing, but alas that time is not yet upon us. And beyond the individual reputation of any one woman – you'll excuse me, Joseph – it would be the end of the Club.”

  “Not at all,” Kendall said quietly, eyeing the photos as Scott tucked them into his jacket.

  “I have been building this Club from the ground up for years, Mr. Chapel. And we have always been founded upon strict guardianship of our member's privacy. If we can't offer that, it's over.”

  “Make sense,” Scott said. “So... you want me to find whoever it is taking these pictures, figure out why they're doing it and how, then stop them.”

  “You put it quite succinctly,” Mason said, squeezing his cane in his gloved hands. “That is precisely our intent in retaining your services. We'd like you to work quickly. I'll need you to set aside your other jobs, if possible. I'm willing to pay generously.”

  “Hm...” Scott hemmed, “I suppose I could work something out.” The fact was, of course, that he didn't have any other jobs at the moment. No need to mention that, however.

  “Very good,” Mason said, and tapped his cane hard on the floor, and that seemed to settle the matter in a final sort of way.

  “I'd like to speak with your wife, Mr. Kendall.”

  “Out of the question, I'm afraid,” the man said, looked away and not meeting Scott's eyes. “She was quite shaken by the whole thing. She's gone to Spain to our vacation home there and will be abroad for several weeks. I doubt she knows anything that might help you though. It's all been quite a shock, but she doesn't know a thing about it.”

  “Hm... I see. Perhaps I can arrange a phone interview... In any case, I need to talk to the professor. Seems like he's at the middle of all this.”

  “Naturally, Mr. Chapel,” Mason said, “I'll provide you with all the information you need. I'm sure that James will be able to help you unravel all this.”

  “Thanks,” Scott said, and drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair.

  Well now... this was something else and no mistake. He'd never taken a case quite like this before. He had a feeling in his gut that he might end up regretting it, but he couldn't afford to turn them down. But there was more to it, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was just that he wanted to know more about this. He'd never heard of anything like the Black and White Club, and there was a part of him that couldn't help but be intrigued.

  Scott couldn't possibly have known then just how deeply this investigation was going to end up affecting him, in more ways than he could ever have imagined.

  Chapter Five

  Scott sat in the too-small office of his too-expensive house, with a dozen pornographic photographs spread out before him. A little desk fan whirred quietly on the desk, in a vain attempt to fight the overwhelming heat.

  He stared at the images in front of him, trying to remove himself from the equation, trying to see how it all fit together. That was the first rule of being PI, as far as he was concerned: don't let it get personal. Dispassionate and objective observation, that was what would help him here.

  He'd worked a hundred cases of infidelity and the like. More than once, he'd been the person taking pictures through the window of a couple in the throes of passion. Now he was on the other side of things.

  He'd often wondered what it was that made people cheat on one another, and had found more than a few compelling answers. Boredom, lust, compulsion, even genuine love. They were all factors. But there was more. Some itch way deep down in the human psyche. A need.

  There had been at least a hundred husbands or wives in this very office over the years, sitting on the other side of that desk and holding back the tears or the rage as they forced themselves to share the bitter tale of their betrayal at the hands of the one they'd loved most.

  He'd go out, he'd follow the spouse. More often than not, the person who hired him would be proved right in their suspicions, and he'd bring back the proof. He'd take his money and wash his hands of it. Let them sort the rest out in divorce court.

  This was something else. A whole web of connected philanderers, at least some of them acting with their husbands' knowledge and approval. That was something new to him.

  He knew what made people cheat, more or less, but he couldn't understand why someone would allow their partner to cheat on them. Their wife especially. Maybe Scott was old-fashioned that way, but he couldn't imagine being okay with another man taking his wife to bed.

  It seemed like a violation of every natural order. Julie might cheat on him someday – though he hoped not, obviously – and he accepted that possibility. He didn't think he could ever help her do it, the way Mr. Kendall and the others in this club seemed to do.

  He looked at the faces of the women in the photos. Ecstasy – that was the only word for it. Pure and total ecstasy. There was an almost animalistic pleasure captured in those pictures.

  All those wealthy and upper class ladies, snooty society types with more money than God and more beauty than sense; they were each of them reduced to their basest state. He supposed that might be the attraction, the main appeal. A man who fucks so good, so powerfully, that he can overturn the social order with nothing more than his body.

  Woman who were completely in control of their whole worlds, giving that control up to a black man...

  Scott turned his attention to the man in the pictures. He was clearly not the focus of the photographer's attention, which made sense if he wanted to blackmail the women. There were only a couple pictures that captured the guy's face clearly.

  Dark and stern, intensely focused and in control. It was obvious that he was master of his domain when it came to sex. He fucked the women like he owned them.

  Scott was pretty desensitized to that sort of thing, but still... he couldn't help but feel something, some twinge of arousal.

  He wasn't entirely comfortable with it. Primarily, he thought, because he couldn't say for sure what it was in the pictures that was turning him on. The naked women? Most of them were beautiful and all of them were rich, forbidden fruit. That was true. But there was also the man...

  Scott didn't feel any attraction towards the black man himself, he didn't swing that way in any sense. But still, there was something about seeing the way he handled those women... it stirred feelings in him that he didn't want to confront just now.

  “Scotty! Scotty, are you home yet!”

  Julie's voice. He glanced at his watch. She was back early from work.

  “In here, honey!” he called out.

  A moment later she poked her head in through the doorway, her coppery red hair swishing about her shoulders. She had creamy pale Irish skin with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and a heavy swaying bust beneath her button-down blouse. She grinned at him. “Well?”

  Scott smiled, leaning slowly back and putting his hands behind his head.

  “You got the job?”

  He nodded. “I got the job. Big case, too.”

  “Sounded like,” she said, coming into the office and shutting the door behind her, “you said it was a big client.”

  “Huge. Bigger than I've ever had.”

  She looked down at the desk, her green eyes widening a little. “No kidding...”

  He glanced at the photos, then back up at her. Her eyes were fixed on a picture of the black man's sizable manhood. He swept the pictures up and tucked them away.

  “Quite a case,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah,” he said, “it's something alright. Going to set us up financially for a good long while.
”

  “Hm, that's my man,” she said, coming around the desk and sitting on his lap. She looped her arms around his neck. “Bringing home the bacon.”

  He grinned and gave her butt a squeeze. Say this for her, she filled out a pair of jeans. “You betcha. Kids okay today?”

  “Crazy as ever,” she said, rolling her eyes, “twenty little monsters.”

  “Hm, sexy teacher,” he said, and nuzzled at her neck.

  “You feeling frisky, Scott? That's a nice change...”

  He touched his lips against her cheek. “What can I say? Things are finally starting to look up around here...”

  Julie grinned at him and kissed him on the mouth. “Let's go,” she said, “take me to bed.”

  Chapter Six

  Scott and Julie tumbled into bed. Julie giggled, swishing her hair and kissing him on the neck and ears.

  He grinned, and he held her.

  She looked him right in the eye, grinned, and started to unbutton her shirt. “It's too damn hot for clothes today anyway,” she said.

  Scott tugged his shirt over his head and kicked his pants clumsily off. He grabbed hold of her before she was more than halfway done undoing her buttons and he pulled her up against himself, laughing and kissing her and fumbling at her last few buttons.

  Scott and Julie had been married now for six years. There wasn't any particular story to it, they'd just met – introduced by a mutual friend – and immediately fallen for one another. They dated for a few months. Julie had been drawn to him, she said, by the allure of dating a private investigator, since it sounded sexy and exciting. Scott had been drawn to her, in part, due to the attraction of dating a school teacher, which sounded nice and safe.

  They got married less than a year after they'd met, and hadn't looked back since. It wasn't always a picnic, Scott wasn't naive enough to expect a fairy tale, but they got along well and their life together was reasonably happy and peaceful.

  They rarely, if ever, fought with one another. She was his best friend. Almost his only friend, these days, truth be told. Their sex life was simple, which was fine by him. He didn't have exotic tastes or complicated needs.