Date: Fri, 3 Jan 2014 11:09:36 -0800 (PST)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish Find Old Gold 8

Catfish Finds Old Gold 8
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 or bldhrymn@aol.com

If you enjoy these stories. Please consider giving a donation to Nifty!


The mention of the gold room and the Rembrandts set off alarms in my
mind. A gold room could contain some gold, money or just be painted a nice
shade of yellow. A Rembrandt could be a copy, a school of Rembrandt work, a
forgery or the real thing. From my conversation with Teddy, I guessed
J. J. wasn't a connoisseur, or a traditional art collector. I assumed he
was a trophy hunter. That sort of man was very susceptible to forgeries.

Since his collection, whatever it was, was private and not on view, just
possessing the Confederate ingots would have been fine for him. I liked the
thought of J.J. being the bad guy, but that was just a hunch, and there was
nothing other than a few random comments connecting him to the murder and
the gold.

My hunches are good, but I know over reliance on a hunch can cause big
problems. If you focus too much on one train of thought you can end up
lost. At my office I had the Nerd Squad do more research on our
millionaire.

J. J. was self-made; he inherited nothing. He was also ruthless and not at
all squeamish about business practices. He was deceptive, but usually not
to the point of fraud. Somehow his 50/50 partnerships tended to get him 75%
of the profits. He also developed what my nerd called a "Ponzi Scheme
Lite." It acted as a Ponzi scheme, but the fine print in the contracts left
him without legal responsibility. He wasn't popular or admired.

He was reclusive and tended to live in semi fortified compounds. The
Virginia plantation was the main residence, but he owned an island in the
Caribbean, and a house in Switzerland. He had been less reclusive when he
was younger, but after a while screwing all your business partners made
going out in public problematic.

He bought his plantation house in 1997. That caused quite a stir at the
time, since the house had been in the same family since its
construction. That was a problem, since the murder had occurred a few years
before that.  There was an article in the New York Times of him, "leaving
the Upper East Side for the Southside of the James." The article also
mentioned his acquisition of an island in the Caribbean.

My computer guys are good. Tommy, my oldest guy, was working on Confederate
and Civil War sites. He found J. J. on a list of donors to a Confederate
Museum in Richmond in 1990. It was a charity ball, and he was listed as a
resident of Queen Anne County. Queen Anne is a long way from the Upper East
Side of New York.

Tommy connected with some pals in the DMV. J. J. had a Virginia driver's
license dating from 1990. His residence was listed as Shirlington, Queen
Anne County. I had never heard of Shirlington. It was an 1880 house built
on the site of an older plantation that mostly had burned in the Civil War.

It turned out that the Attorney General of New York was opening an
investigation into one of J. J.'s businesses in 1989. Apparently he decided
to move his primary residence to Virginia at that time. J. J. had been in a
business deal with a charity. He was to be the straw man in a real estate
deal.  He was to acquire a property for a major expansion of the
institution. Apparently J. J. bought the property using the charity's money
and then tried to sell it back to them for a massive profit. As was typical
of his business deals at that time, the charity's lawyers hadn't checked
the fine print. There was some sort of an out of court settlement, but the
affair caused much comment and it ended J.J. social life in New York.

I went to my apartment in Richmond and took some time to think.  It amazes
me that a situation can change from being dire to ordinary in seconds. Once
the gold was safe in a bank vault, the nuts vanished. Even the most
delusional knew an attack on a bank was impossible. In place of an armed
attack there was a massive outbreak of lawsuits. Some of the Confederate
groups seemed to think the gold belonged to them. One man thought it should
be distributed to the heirs of Confederate soldiers. That was God's gift to
lawyers.

My job protecting island was over, but I hate loose ends. There was the
death of Beauregard's father and the missing gold. The murder was the
ultimate cold case, but I wanted to clear it up. There were several
historians and the medical examiners who were trying to figure out the fate
of the antique skeletons, but the police had their hands full with the
normal crimes of a modern city.

Something else bothered me. The entire Confederate outbreak was odd. It
appeared to be a spontaneous event but I wondered. The excavations on the
island were common knowledge. It was covered by the newspapers and the
television stations. If the man who killed Giles was still alive he could
have known that the body would soon be discovered. With the discovery of
body came the discovery of the gold.

I assumed the murderer had stolen the gold. If the gold was still in his
possession, he retained a direct link to the murder. The obvious solution
was to dispose of the gold. The allure of the gold may have been too much
to allow that. If the discovery of the gold was immanent, the outbreak of
Confederate treasure hunters would have been a welcome diversion.

I don't know what use the diversion would have been to the
murderer. Perhaps he hoped the missing ingots would not be noticed if there
was enough confusion. It seemed to me that the SOS group and the other
groups would have needed days if not weeks to get organized and set up camp
in Richmond. Were they forewarned?  Only the murderer would know what would
be discovered on the island. The Sons of the South was the biggest of the
organizations and it was first on the scene. J.J. was their leader.

I wanted to get near to J. J. but I wasn't sure how to get in. It seemed to
me that there was a chance he was connected to the Confederate
gold. Whoever was associated with the gold automatically became a suspect
in the murder.  I had connections with upper class Richmond, but J. J. was
an outsider and didn't associate with the locals. His plantation was
referred to as a compound by some of the local residents.

I do tend to be a lucky guy and luck struck that night. A fire broke out at
J. J.'s plantation house. It started in a barn and spread to the main
house. The house was secluded and it took the entire night for the fire
department to get to the fire under control. It smoldered through the next
day. There were flair ups and parts of the burned structures collapsed
during the day. The site was too dangerous to investigate.

 J.J. vanished during the fire.

I went off to see Rupert on a hunch. I thought he might know something
about the fire. Fortunately, now that J. J. was gone, the plantation
manager hired Rupert to provide security and help with the cleanup. The
right hand man had tried to keep officials off the site. The entire site
was a potential crime scene and the Sherriff and Fire Chief would have
nothing of that[BW1][BW2][BW3][BW4][BW5][BW6][BW7].  They would allow some
people to help with the cleanup.  I wanted to be a part of the janitorial
part of the group. Apparently some things in the house could not be touched
by ordinary workmen. They had to be members of J.J.'s team.

J.J. had what seemed to be an odd approach to security. He was apparently
obsessive about security, but he didn't want anyone to know how
obsessed. He was well beyond the ordinary multimillionaire's security
obsession. However, once he trusted a man, the way he did Rupert, he took
their judgment. The plantation manager knew Rupert and knew J. J. like
him. Thus I was in the clean-up crew as was Teddy.

The plantation was in rural Queen Anne County. Rural counties in Virginia
can be very rural. Due to its location their emergency services served as
back up for the Tidewater area and Richmond. They had sent people to New
York in 9/11, so the were up to date when it came to bombs and
explosions. The State Police and the ATF guys were involved too.  The
plantation was awash in investigators.

I was at the plantation the next afternoon. It was a mess. The brick
buildings were in comparatively good shape. JJ had renamed Shirlington. It
was now called Jonescroft.  The original house was now the west wing of the
plantation house. The 1880 the main house had been demolished and a new
mansion built in its place.  This turned the house into a Westover look
alike. Westover was the Byrd family seat and was very high prestige.
J.J. had souped-up the house to meet the Architectural Digest standards for
decoration.

He also added some out buildings. Some were colonial style buildings that
served as offices, a library and a playroom. The rest of the structures
were barns, sheds, garages and utility structures. The barns were supposed
to be for horse breeding, but apparently they were used as warehouses. The
ATF men were trying to find out what was in the barns. Whatever it had been
it was flammable. The intensity of the fires suggested a bomb or incendiary
device.

The east wing of the house was roofless, but the other brick buildings were
in comparatively good condition. The other utility buildings were in varied
states of ruin. The underground gallery was my prime interest.

The Sherriff was not happy to see any of J.J. minions. He wanted to run the
show. J.J had greatly offended him. Rupert, however, had a knack. He and
the Sherriff hit it off.  They had both been Marines and they must have
exchanged the secret handshake.

"We have to investigate the dangerous situation here. If it hadn't rained
so much, the fire could have burned half the county," the Fire Chief said,
"The second growth is very thick and J.J. seemed to think that thickets add
to the security of the place. He also was a bit of a survivalist. He had a
large store of gasoline. The gasoline tanks were little more than barrels,
with no safety devices or alarms at all. Eccentric millionaires are one
thing, setting the county on fire is quite another."

We went to the easternmost out building and started looking for salvageable
items, this building served as an office. It was undamaged. The roof had
burned off, but the interior of the Colonial style building was made of
cast-in-place concrete. It was fireproof and probably safe from nuclear
attack. That seemed odd to me. We moved on to the next building.

The second building was a reconstruction that was intended to look like a
kitchen. The detached kitchen was a typical part of pre-Civil War Virginia
houses. This was oddly placed, since it sat to the front of the main house.
Kitchens were always placed to the rear or side.

Rupert told me this building was the entrance to the underground art
gallery. The door was jammed.  We knocked it open and the roof was entirely
gone, and there was no concrete inner structure. There was nothing left in
the interior. The basement door remained. There was one good aspect to the
fire. The firemen fought the bigger fires and let this building burn, thus
there was no water damage. Fires burn up, and we hoped whatever was in the
basement had a chance to survive.

We went to the door. It was locked. It was a simple hardware store lock. I
opened it quickly. The top area of the stairwell was smoke damaged but as
we went down the stair, there was no sign of the fire except for the smell.

Rupert flipped a switch. There was a humming sound and the lights turned
on. "Most of the place has back up power," he said. We entered a room. The
lighting was dim, apparently only some of the lights were connected to the
back-up generator.

"Shit, it's a fucking Rembrandt!" I said when I saw the first painting. I
had seen it in a television program on stolen art work.

For a redneck I'm pretty good with art work, relics and
antiquities. Catfish & Company has many cultural institutions as clients. I
provide undercover services and security for both their patrons and
artwork. I was essentially an addition to the insurance coverage.

One of the museum curators told me that while I was dumb as shit, I had a
good eye. I also have a good memory. If I see a photo I remember it. If you
had an art historian or museum curator visit your house you would hide the
stolen goods. There is no need to hide artwork from the gardener or a
repairman.  Being small and ugly is a positive advantage for me.

"Is it real?" Rupert asked.

"That's beyond my pay grade. If you are into stolen art, you can be taken
to the cleaners by someone selling forgeries. The people who authenticate
paintings like this aren't going to get involved with a work as famous as
this one," I explained,

We went out to tell the Sherriff of our discovery. It was a mad house
above. They had just discovered a badly burned body in the
ashes. Eventually it was the first of three bodies. The stolen art work was
not in the Sherriff's area of expertise so I called the Art Museum. The
director, head curator and the European curator arrived an hour and a half
later.

We returned to the basement gallery. The second the curators saw the
paintings they knew they were real. The shock of seeing the paintings was
almost as great as seeing them in an underground gallery below a burnt out
building. The Sherriff came down and there was a brief discussion about
investigating the theft of the paintings in the basement verses taking them
to a safe place. The curators won the debate. They were sure the owners of
the paintings would rather have the paintings safe, than to catch the
thieves.

The curators returned to the museum to arrange for the transfer and the
Sherriff put a guard on the kitchen. I suggested that we put a tarp over
the roof in case of rain.

"What do you think that stuff is worth?" the Sherriff asked.

"The curator said the Rembrandt was real. I would guess it's a hundred
million or so," I said.

"Rusty," he said to his deputy, "Go buy some heavy duty tarps." We spent
the rest of the day covering the burned out roof. Rusty helped. Rusty
looked familiar. I remembered we had hooked up many years earlier. He was
heavier and had grown a beard since I saw him last.

Rusty was a good old boy from South West Virginia. He had a thick accent
and sounded like a hick. He did mostly undercover work.  He now had a
ginger beard. Beards aren't a trooper thing. I assumed he had an arrest
record that was so good, they let it pass. He was real good questioning
suspects who misjudged him. He was smart and a good investigator.

When we hooked up years earlier, I found out he had one weakness. Rusty is
a size queen. I suspected he was straight unless he encountered seven
inches or more. He is also the last man in the world who you would expect
to be gay friendly.

Rusty was nice, but I knew the Sherriff wasn't going to leave the art works
unprotected. Rusty was watching us. He was no fool. We were done at 6:00
and went to have dinner. Rusty joined us, he didn't want us out of sight.
I assumed he had ulterior motives. He was after information about J.J. and
the operations at the plantation. He was not into art theft or forgeries,
so there must have been something else.

We went to a small restaurant in Richmond and had a good dinner. Rusty and
Teddy hit it off well. They were about the same age. Teddy told us stories
about J.J. and life on the plantation.  Rusty was most attentive.  He had a
nice "Aw shucks" country boy personality, but he was collecting
information. I had talked with Teddy about many of the same things, but
knowing there was a basement art gallery filled with real old masters made
me more attentive.

Rusty soon had Teddy and Rupert telling him all about J. J.s
operation. Reading between the lines, I suspected Rusty was looking into
embezzlement and the Ponzi scheme. I think he was trying to find out where
the money was hidden. After a few beers, the conversation was cheerful and
informative.

After we ate we went to my apartment for a beer. Rupert received a call
from the museum. There was a major storm forecast for the next day in the
afternoon. The museum vans would be at the plantation by six. They hoped to
get the artworks in a safe and dry place before the rain's arrival.

I offered the men my apartment to use as a crash pad, since I was closer to
the plantation than any of the other men. We would have to leave the
apartment by 5:00 then next morning. It was 9:30 by the time we got to my
apartment, and we were filthy. Soot, dirt and ash combined with sweat is
bad. The residue left over from the gasoline fire was bad too. We went
straight to my shower.  I put our clothes into the washer to try and get
some of the worst crud off before it bonded with the fabric. By the time I
joined the men in the shower, everyone was getting along well.

Teddy was captivated by Rusty. Rusty was all muscle, hair and
testosterone. Rusty was not immune to admiration.  Rupert like his men
manly. Rusty and I aren't shy types and we were naked. Teddy looked as if
Christmas had come early.

There was one change in him Rusty I didn't know. Two months earlier his
wife had left him for a doctor. She left with the kids. He was blindsided
and shocked. This was his first sexual encounter since his wife left.  He
was ready. We also had more to drink than I thought.

Neither Rupert nor Teddy guessed Rusty was a bottom. They found that out
very quickly once we went to bed.  We were all tired, but somehow it was
hard to fall asleep. There is no better sleeping pill than an orgasm. I had
drowsed off, but I gentle rocking motion of the bed woke me up. Rusty was
on his hands and knees and was taking Teddy's cock doggy style. It was
clearly a success.

"You started the party without me," I said.

When I sat up I discovered I was already hard. I was surprised my cock
responded so quickly. I thought about going back to sleep, but decided to
solve my erection problem first. No one was surprised. I didn't see
Rupert. He had poked his head under Rusty and was sucking his cock. I had
fucked everyone in the room and I didn't know where to start. Teddy moaned
as he shot off.  When he pulled out of Rusty's ass. I took his place.

Rusty had a barrel chest; his figure was like Bluto's with a narrow waist
and a bubble butt. For big man he had a small hole. When we played years
before, it took a while to open him up. I'm not a man rammer, and if I was,
I wouldn't do it to a trooper.  Once I was in it was great. He was tight
and very appreciative.

I nudged my knob into Rusty's ass and gave a little push. A second later my
entire cock vanished in his cum filled ass. Rusty's eyes crossed and he
moaned. It was a long drawn-out moan. A friend of mine said my cock turned
tenors into bass-baritones.  It was the moan of a satisfied man.

I don't think of myself as a pervert, but I do like to use another man's
sperm as lubricant. It seems efficient and friendly. Teddy had deposited
the cream during a spectacular orgasm and I reused it. I liked the thought
of Teddy's millions of spermatozoa touching my cock as I filled Rusty's
willing ass.

As I pulled out, his tight ass pulled my foreskin over my cock head and
then peeled it back as I pushed it in. his sphincter grabbed my cock head
and then stroked my shaft. It was beautiful. We had an appreciative
audience in Rupert and Teddy.

I thought we would have a quick fuck session followed by sleep. The night
turned into a night of fucking with brief interludes of sleep. I wondered
if we had all taken insatiable pills. Luckily intense sexual satisfaction
can make up for lack of sleep. It was a relaxing night.

The alarm went off at 4:30. Teddy was next to me and I was hard. I shoved
my cock into his ass and pounded him like a mad man. We were two happy men
by the time we left for the plantation at 5:00. We made it to the
plantation by 5:45 just before three moving trucks arrived with what seemed
to be half of the museum staff.

The Sheriff was worried the "arty types" might not be careful enough. No
one could be more anal retentive than the museum staff; they more than met
his standards. The museum registrar and staff photographers were part of
the group. Everything was carefully recoded and photographed. The museum
people came with high powered lights and portable generators. We could see
all the art works clearly

At dawn the fire investigators found a second body, and the police went off
to deal with that. The general thought was that J.J. was one of the bodies.

I had a feeling J.J. wasn't a hands-on kind of guy. I assumed he escaped in
anticipation of the discovery of the stolen art work.  The bodies were
badly burned; it would take days to identify them.  With a few days and
access to private jets, J.J. had more than a good head start.

The main gallery room was filled with the paintings J. J. liked. There were
two attached rooms with concealed entrances. Teddy knew about them,
although he had never been inside.  Rupert figured out the key to get
in. Unbelievably it was J. J. birthday.

One room was filled with some paintings and crates.  The curator identified
several as forgeries.  Others were genuine. I noticed that two of the
unpacked boxes had swastikas on the packing. When we tried to move them the
crates fell apart. Apparently they had been opened before but had only been
tacked back together. It was Nazi loot.

I knew that art confiscated by the Nazi's was still so hot that no
respectable collector or museum would touch it. J.J. liked bargains, and I
assumed it represented the ultimate bargain. It was suitable for only those
who didn't want their paintings on public display.

The rain held off and the gallery was put under heavy armed guard. The
first truck of artwork, mostly of old masters, was sent off to the museum.
An hour later a second collection of Nazi loot left. That took care of the
major rooms. Many of the museum people left to get the paintings to the
museum and check them for any immediate repair or conservation work.

Still missing was the Gold room mentioned by J. J. to Teddy. It must have
been in a hidden compartment or perhaps in another building.