Catfish Finds Old Gold 5 By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have, comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com
My adventures with the White Legion had been a waste of time. It reminded me that greed and stupidity were always a problem. I had been looking for a carefully planned plot and found a bunch of jerks at a muddy farm. I might have saved a crazy millionaire from trouble and perhaps murder, but he was still crazy.
Back at my office, my geezer squad was hard at work and the state forensic teams were finishing up their investigations. That afternoon, I went to a briefing with Livingston and Wilbur. The medical examiner confirmed that skeletons outside the vault were indeed Civil War era. They had been killed execution style.
"Was it a firing Squad or mob hit?" Wilbur asked.
"Well, they were not wearing uniforms. The few remains of their clothes were buttons and a belt buckle. It was civilian. Three of the men were Negroes, one white. I we found the remains of a homemade shoe and several wood peg-like things."
"Buttons were expensive," Wilbur said. "Slave clothing might use pegs."
"The white man was Catholic and had experienced starvation earlier in his life," the examiner explained.
"Perhaps the potato famine of the 1840s?" Wilbur suggested.
"We might be able to do some tests to locate his place of birth. The medal he wore was made in England," the examiner said. "The black men were use to both heavy labor and intermittent periods of malnutrition. One of the men was nearly fifty and had arthritis. He had several broken bones that had not been set professionally. I assume they were slaves."
"The bullets that killed them were typical Confederate issue. They came from a government manufacturer. There was a lot of homemade armaments and ammunition toward the end of the war, but these were official CSA stuff. I have to thank Wilbur for this information. He found the experts in this area."
"We found some rusted metal objects under the bodies. Rodney identified these as mason tools. There was a pick, several chisels, and some trowels," the examiner continued. "This is not my business, but I think these were the masons who were sealing the vault. If this was a modern event, I would have no problem saying this is a murder."
"And what about the other body?" I asked.
"That too is a murder. The man was shot in the back, and the police haven't been able to find a weapon. That effectively rules out a suicide or an accident. He had been dead for a while, 20 to 15 years. He was in his late thirties or early forties. The sneakers provide a way to date the death. They were manufactured for only a year and then they were discontinued. They were only slightly worn. They were made in 1993."
"It would be possible his murderer is still alive," I said.
"We have just started looking into disappearances in the 1993-1997 period," Miller said. "Sneakers don't have a long lifespan."
"The man's clothes were all made of handmade fabric. That means he was into reenacting big time. He had a foot injury that would have been painful. That explains the sneakers. Period shoes would have been a trial for him."
There were no real surprises in the briefing. It confirmed most of my suspicions. The police weren't going to release this information until they had a chance to identify the most recent body. The media did not need any real information. They produced numerous "experts" who speculated on the situation without information.
By this time Richmond was awash in fake officers mostly Majors and Generals many sporting Confederate regalia of one sort or another. These were mixed in with some modern militia members and a scattering of Neo-Nazis. Some lived in a fantasy world, others were deeply troubled. While there were some who were historians or Civil War biffs, most were racial bigots, anti-Semitic or anti-government.
The Richmond and county police forces were overwhelmed with bar fights and drunk and disorderly complaints. There were some nasty racial incidents a few cross burnings and swastikas painted on walls. The big, uniformed security firms were raking it in. They were guarding synagogues, Jewish schools and temples. The University police forces were stretched to the limit. The students and the erstwhile Confederates did not seem to get along.
Catfish & Company did not provide uniformed security, but I did provide undercover services. I had every man and woman on my staff working and watching.
Jarvis was playing the internet like a master pianist. He had some credibility from his interlude with the White Legion and he became the disappointed former member looking for real action. He was soon involved with the Sons of the South. He talked on line with a man named Beauregard DeMille. It did not take my high powered detective skills to know that Beauregard was a fake name. It was a name that was too corny to be a minor character in Gone with the Wind. Beauregard wanted to recreate the old south, complete with southern belles and slaves.
My geezer squad was good. They were tireless and many had police contacts and access to some governmental databases. If they couldn't get in, they had friends who could. They were the kind of men who did favors for their friends.
They discovered Beauregard was from Columbia South Carolina and had no known local connections. His real name was Lucius Giles. He had it changed ten years earlier. He had a self-published book titled "The Golden Tomb." It was available on Amazon, but was miss categorized. It came up in the search for Egyptian tombs. The book was about Confederate States gold, hidden under the ruins of a building in Richmond. That is what is technically known as a clue.
There was one other clue. Giles' father was a well-known historian and professor. Dr. Norman Giles had disappeared in the early 90s. His abandoned car was found in Norfolk, Virginia. The case was unsolved. Beauregard's mother had died a few years after his father vanished.
I decided it would be good to get to know Beauregard better. I had an operative hanging around with the Sons of the South, Stonewall James. Stonewall was smarter than he looked, but that didn't take much effort. Let's just say his looks didn't inspire. He looked like the sort of man you needed to remind to zip up every day. He also liked sex and was casual about it. I asked him to try to meet up with Beauregard. That was not a problem. They had met.
"He's a friendly sort once you get by the Southern Gentleman act," Stonewall said. He thought Beauregard was odd. On the good side, he wasn't a racist bigot. He didn't give a shit about that. He was deeply into the gold, but not in the treasure hunter way. It seemed to be a quest. He was looking for the Holy Grail, not the cash rewards. He was flamboyant and seemed to know everyone in the neo-Confederate camp. He was connected. Stonewall thought he was a high-functioning lunatic and liked him.
We had been trying to get in with the leadership of the S.O. S. organization, but they were paranoid and that wasn't easy. Beauregard was a way to get close to the S.O.S. Everyone seemed to like him. His uniform complete with feathered hat and a cape was a godsend for the publicity needy. Stonewall seemed to think he was a decoy. Where ever there was a cameraman, they would focus on Beauregard, not on the actual leaders of the neo-confederate groups.
Normally the leadership wanted exposure. Publicity was meat and potatoes for them, but the S.O. S. leaders were publicity shy. Jarvis was checking on them, but without much success.
Stonewall and Beauregard met again and they later exchanged the secret gay handshake. Stonewall was born to be a pal and a buddy, not the love of your life. You knew it wasn't going to be the beginning of a torrid love affair, but it would be a good half hour of fun.
"Can you work out a little introduction for me to meet him?" I said. A day later, Stonewall called me and asked me if I would like to drop by his RV that night. Beauregard would be here. "I told him I had a pal who was playful and hung. He asked me how hung. I said like Godzilla."
"He liked that?"
"Oh yes. He's more than interested," Stonewall said. "Come by at 8:00."
I got to the RV a little before 8:00. Beauregard arrived on time. He wasn't wearing his Confederate officer's uniform. I discovered a few things right off the bat. He was much younger than he looked. He sported a badger sized, reddish-brown beard that made him look older. He was thirty five or so. He wasn't very experienced and he was more of an academic size queen who admired from afar. He wanted it bad, but hadn't found a big enough cock to ring his chimes.
I understood why he wore the uniform. He needed that to look impressive enough for his role.
We talked about the gold. Since he wasn't a native of Richmond my knowledge of the city was useful to him. No information about the dead bodies had been released, and Beauregard was unaware that one was potentially his father. He was preoccupied by the prospect of sex. I was wearing old jeans and the wear marks seemed to attract him. He was staring at the outline of my cock.
We had a few beers and we all relaxed. I rearranged my cock a few times.
We ran out of beer and Stonewall went off to the store. I went to piss. Beauregard came along to help.
I admit I like size queens. Beauregard was no exception. We got naked as soon as Stonewall left. Beauregard wasn't shy. He was eager and enthusiastic but not that experienced.
At first, I thought he was a score keeper. Some size queens like to check off each cock they play with as if it was a bird watcher's master list. After a few minutes, his manner changed. Every once and a while my cock seems to cast a spell. Beauregard seemed to be mesmerized by it, almost worshiping my tool. There was no need for me to maneuver him into a sexual situation. He was ripe, an apple ready to fall off the tree.
We sucked at first and I asked if he wanted me in his ass. He said maybe, but I was real big. I told him I would just ease my knob onto his hole and massage his anus and then I might test his sphincter a little. I wasn't that sincere, but he fell for it. I lifted his legs to my shoulders and as soon as my cock head touched his hole, he began to shiver.
"Open up just a little bit for me," I whispered. "Just let me in a little. Has Stonewall been in you? He a nice boy, nice and friendly like. I bet you liked it. I'm just as friendly but my meat is just a wee bit bigger. Just open a little." I wanted a lot more than my knob in him. He knew what I wanted. "Just open a little!"
Beauregard relaxed and a second later, my knob was on the dark side of his sphincter. He moaned and his eyes crossed. Sometimes I like to work the hole. My head was in him, and his sphincter was tightly clamped on the shaft. I popped my cock head in and out a few times. After maybe six or seven times his sphincter was no longer clamped, it was more like a firm grip. I pushed deeper searching for his prostate.
With some men it's hard to tell when you reach the magic nut. Beauregard suddenly gasped, and pulled his legs closer to his chest and spread them a little. That was the sign of total surrender. It was pure cock-prostate communion. I went deep. He all but passed out in pleasure. I thought about pulling out a little and working over his prostate, but that wasn't needed. My cock was thick enough to keep pressure on the little gland.
When Stonewall came back is saw us. He stripped naked, opened a beer and fed Beauregard his cock as he drank it. He was one of those guys who could go with the flow. I flipped Beau over and did him doggy style. Stonewall got me a beer. This may not have been a romantic interlude, but Beau was on a different planet as long as my cock was in his ass. He beginning to shiver and shake as he ejaculated. His rectum twitched as he shot off. That was really good for my cock. I pulled out when the ejaculations stopped.
When he recovered he apologized to Stonewall. "I made a mess on your bed."
"Don't worry," Stonewall said. "It will dry out. I'm still fully loaded. Do you think we could go at it again once you get your breath back?"
"I'd like that," Beau replied. He looked at me. "Are you interested?"
"I sure as shit am," I said. "We have all night. Let relax a while and go at it when we all can build up a full head of steam."
"Do you both want to fuck me?" he asked.
"Sure, I kind of like sloppy seconds," Stonewall said. "After watching you guys, my ass is feeling lonely. It would be nice if you would like to give me a poke."
"I'm willing," I said.
Stonewall burst out laughing. "I wasn't planning to be split in half. I was thinking Beauregard might like to be the filling in a fuck sandwich," he explained. That was fine for all of us. We drank a few more beers and talked.
I had noticed in the past that an intense sexual interlude can make a guy trusting. That was the case with Beauregard. He told us his whole story. I discovered I trusted him. Anal communion can sometimes effect my judgment, but I was pretty sure he was genuine.
Beauregard's father, Lucius Giles, was a college professor who specialized in the Civil War era. He lived in Columbia and the local libraries focused on the war in South Carolina. He found a small local library had a local collection of memoirs and letters. Lucius it included a small collection of items in a box. They were miscellaneous items dealing with other states.
"Dad found a diary of a Treasury Clerk who fled Richmond with the government. He made as far as South Carolina and then died. Somehow the diary ended up in this little library," Beauregard said. "The clerks name was Horace Truman and he was not flattering in his accounts of the Confederate government. Horace was a realist and had a clear vision of the Confederacy's prospects."
"The diary was good, but Dad discovered the binding was better. Horace had hidden the real dirt in a few pages that were hidden in the binding," Beauregard said. "He said most of the top men realized the Confederacy was going down to defeat and they had a slush fund to allow them to escape. The money was to either bribe their way out of what remained of the Confederacy and/or live well in Brazil or Europe after their escape."
"These men were no fools. Confederate greenbacks were worthless; all bribes had to be in gold," he continued. "Most of them expected to be hanged as traitors after the Union victory, so they were very serious about the gold hoard. It wasn't just officials involved, they allowed prominent citizens to contribute."
"That part of the scheme was just a scam. The ringleaders of the group were planning to take it all. It was every man for himself and there was to be no waiting for stragglers. Horace was smart man and said there were three problems with the plan," Beauregard explained. "First, Jefferson Davis was delusional and wouldn't allow them to plan openly for the escape. He seemed to think God would make his face to shine upon them and all would be well."
"The second problem was Grant, Sherman and Sheridan as well as the Federal Navy. The actual military situation was deteriorating so quickly, they couldn't keep their escape plans up to date. They hoped they could get the gold out by sea, but no ports remained open. The Feds had them all. Horace said there was a crazy scheme to load them on the ironclads under construction in Richmond and then send them through the entire Federal fleet blocking the James. They seemed to have overlooked the Union Monitors."
"The third problem was their own greed. If they had amassed a couple of dozen bags of gold coins all was well. You could snatch the bags and run," he said. "You could wear a money belt, or sew coins into the hems of your clothes. However, most of the escapee gold was in the form of ingots, heavy gold ingots. That would be difficult to transport and hide."
"Horace knew the gold was in or near Richmond. He said it was between the water and rail. Dad didn't know what that meant. Dad began to visit Virginia to try to figure out the puzzle. Unfortunately the railroad stations and the naval yard were completely destroyed by the evacuation fire. He was worried that some Federal soldiers might have found it, but as far as we know, there weren't any multimillionaires in the occupying forces."
"Of course Horace could have inflated the amount of gold that was in the city," I said.
"Horace was a boring and uninteresting accountant. Dad checked everything that could be checked and was 100% accurate. Dad was convinced the gold was still in the Richmond vicinity," Beauregard explained.
I told him what I knew. Beauregard knew nothing about the dead bodies since the police hadn't released any of the autopsy information. I gave him some information. I told him I got from a lab technician at the medical examiner's office. I said one of the bodies was modern and might have dated for the 1990s.
"You mean there is a recent body in the vault?" he said.
"Yes, it seems to be modern. The funny thing is that it's wearing a Confederate uniform. It was a real authentic uniform, complete to home spun cloth, but it was modern," I said. "It was wearing sneakers."
"There is nothing in the news about that," he said. "I would have noticed that."
"Ronnie, my pal in the examiner's office didn't tell me anymore," I said. "They are trying to identify him before they let the news out.
Beau's story had the ring of truth to it. He had been close to his father, and his death destroyed his family. His mother never got over it. He was afraid his father was dead, but even more afraid he was alive. He was 12 when his Dad vanished, and in the back of his mind he feared he had done something to drive his father away. My father had died young too, but my mother was resilient and strong. I tended to roll with the punches.
When I combined Beau's story of the treasury clerk and what I knew of the gold filled vault, the two parts of the story fit. There was a good chance the modern body was Beau's father. I also thought that there was a good chance that there were some people in Richmond who were very uneasy about at least one of the bodies.
When I told Beau about the modern body, I saw he immediately suspected who it was. He was smart. He also told me some of the S.O. S. group's plans. They were only slightly more sensible than the White Legion's plans. The drunk and disorderly activities and the problems with the college students were not coincidental; they were diversionary. They wanted to keep the police occupied.
The head of the SOS, a man named Jonathan Jones, owned a plantation house on the James. He was planning to send a boat up river to take the island by surprise. The moon was waning and in three days there would be no moonlight. There was a tour boat at the city dock that was fixed up to look like an old paddle steamer. He had rented it and it would sail up river to give block the view from the shore.
I could come up was a dozen ways this scheme would fail. There was one aspect that was puzzling. Beauregard mentioned there was a financial corporation, called the Southern Exploration and Mining Company that was selling shares. Officially it was an oil and gas exploration company. Secretly, it was selling partial ownership of the gold. The shares were sold for $10,000.00 per share.
Southern Exploration was incorporated in some Caribbean island country. Beau mentioned this in passing. For some reason I began to hear the tune for "Springtime for Hitler" in the back of my mind. The scheme for stealing millions of dollars of Confederate gold was clearly impossible. If the scheme failed, the investors would be lucky if they avoided jail. It was all a scam.
The whole thing was crazy, but that wasn't a problem. There were lots of crazy white guys running around Richmond in Confederate uniforms. For many of them reality was fake. They believed Elvis was alive, ghosts prowled the earth and alien abductions were commonplace. They had watched an airplane crash into the World Trade Center live on television and believed it was faked. They were worried about black helicopters, the Loch Ness monster, crop circles and Bigfoot.
I would bet few of the men believed in evolution or global warming and thought that sex education in school just gave kids ideas. For these men sending money to an off shore bank to pay for a nautical attack on an island in the James in the middle of Richmond made sense.