Date: Wed, 22 Jan 2014 19:46:32 -0800 (PST)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish Finds Confederate Gold 9

Gold 9
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!

When the museum people left, we had a chance to explore the underground
gallery. Teddy was sure the gold room was attached to the other galleries,
but there was no obvious trace of an entrance. The museum crew left their
lights in place so we could see. The floor was dirty with the ash from
above we had tracked in on our shoes.

There were no telltale joints or breaks in the walls. I wondered if there
might be a level below. I noticed the floor was wooden parquet in a
complicated pattern. I stomped my foot and heard a hollow sound. I had been
a shower room attendant, gardener and a janitor so I did what came
naturally. I found a broom and began cleaning up. I told Rusty of my
suspicion. Once I had swept some, he noticed several brass medallions on
the floor.

They looked like little sunbursts, but they weren't typical of a parquet
floor. On closer inspection, there was a central button in one of them. I
pressed it and a handle popped up. "I need to get the Sherriff in here
before we open this up," Rusty said. "We need an official witness." I went
to get him. Rusty stayed on watch.

The Sherriff was still engaged in the body search in the barns, but he came
immediately when I told him we might have found another compartment. This
was straight Indiana Jones stuff. I was a little afraid that there might be
a booby trap.

Had been with the Sherriff.  Rupert wasn't worried and he went down the
stair. There was a vault door.  Remarkably it was open a crack, there was
also a bad smell. I knew the smell as did the Sherriff.

"I think we have another body," he said. Our treasure chamber had turned
into a murder scene. You could feel the disappointment in the room.  We
pushed open the door a little more. With a flashlight we could see the
body. It was of a male and there was a pool of blood on the floor.

"Teddy, is it J. J.?"

Teddy took a look. "J.J. is bigger. He had a valet, Raoul. It might be
him." Teddy said. "I think I'm going to puke, can I go?"

"Sure, get some fresh air, kid," the Sherriff said. "I think we could all
use some fresh air." We went up to the surface. The burned smell was much
better than the dead man's stench. Our day came to an end. The forensic
teams were busy with the earlier bodies.  They had to examine the room and
remove the body before we could get in again. We all went home.

When I went to my office where my computer guys were having a field day.
The museum was not particularly well equipped to do research on the stolen
paintings. Finding stolen objects was meat and potatoes for my men. The
museum wanted to look good, before they made an announcement, so we were
helping them out. My guys were used to stolen Escalades and BMWs, but
hundred million dollar paintings were an exciting find. There were
international data bases on stolen art works.

I needed to take a nap. I went to my apartment and crashed. I sat in a
chair and slept until 9:00 when the doorbell rang.  It was Rusty and a
friend. The friend was another Trooper, Eubank Mills.

"Have you guys met?" Rusty asked. I said no. "Eubank is an old pal and a
playmate. I told him about you and he wanted to meet you."  Rusty had some
information. They had removed the body.  It was the business manager of the
plantation and it was murder by a blunt instrument.

The forensic people were going over the room for clues. "There was a lot of
stuff there, mostly diamonds, jewelry and some antiquities. Some they
thought were Aztec gold objects, and a few sculptures. The sculptures were
Mesopotamian."

"Loot from Iraq?" I asked.

"That would be my guess," Rusty said. "J. J. seemed to have a taste stolen
objects."

"This stuff was not your normal stolen stuff.  It was too famous, too hot
for a normal person to have in his possession," I said.  "Were there any
gold ingots?"

"Nope, but the room had locked boxes, sort of like safety deposit boxes
against two walls," Eubank said. "The head investigator wanted an official
search warrant before we opened them. He likes everything just right."

"I assume J.J. can afford high powered legal help," I said.

"They seem to think he's dead," Eubank said.

"I'll believe that when there is an official identification," I said.

"You don't think he's the kind of man who would rush into a burning
building to save it?" Rusty asked.

"I think he would hire someone to run into the building as he collected his
passport and ordered his private jet refueled," I replied.

"It's still here, we checked on that," Rusty said.

"Is his boat still at the plantation?" I asked. Rusty had an "oh shit" look
on his face and made a quick call on his cell phone.

"Is this your first big case?" I asked Eubank. He was young, I guess 25 or
so.

"I've done a few murders. My Dad is an undertaker and they found out I have
no gag reflex," he said. "They like it when there is no puke contaminating
the scene."

"I take it you aren't prone to be shocked?" I asked.

"I tend to go with the flow," Eubank replied.  "We had to do some accidents
and to pick up people who had died a week or two earlier. Dad said they
were all people who deserved to be treated well." He paused. "Changing the
subject, Rusty said you were hung like Godzilla. Is that true?"

"You are interested in that?"

"One of my pals back home says it's an unhealthy obsession," he replied. "I
asked Rusty who you were when I saw you at the plantation. He told me you
were a famous detective. I said you didn't look like much. He told me I
wasn't looking in the right place."

"Rusty and I hit it off a year ago. I had a drinking problem, and he was
assigned to get me straight," Eubank explained. "I thought I was the only
gay trooper in the Virginia. He didn't exactly get me straight, but I'm
happy being bent."

Rusty returned to the room. "You were right, there is a boat missing.  It's
a high powered racer, black and sleek. It could have slipped away during
the fire," he said. "I'm from the western part of the state. Escape by
water isn't an option there. I called the Examiner's office and said we
needed DNA evidence for identification on the bodies. I told Eubank you
were smarter than you looked. You've proved me right again."

"I assume you have told the airports to be on the lookout?" I asked. He
nodded. "Now Rusty, I was talking with Eubank, I got the impression you
have been offering free samples."

"A sample would be nice, but a quick peek would be good enough," Rusty
said. "You have always been a charitable man and poor Eubank is a man in
need."

"Well, if it's for charity," I said, "Let's take a shower and see what pops
up."

Eubank looked younger naked than he was in uniform. He was all peaches and
cream with pink tits the only color. He was hairless except for a thick,
black bush. Rusty and I are both hairy and Eubank looked like a virgin who
was going to be ravaged by two Vikings.

Eubank wasn't shy or unwilling. He was a polite boy. While he went for my
cock, he took care of Rusty too. He was also a good sucker. Most young guys
are really enthusiastic, but Eubank was deliberate and careful. He was an
odd combination of lust and an almost scientific interests. Eubank was into
cock big time.

I will say that he became more enthusiastic as my cock reached its full
extent. I sucked him when he was taking care of Rusty's organ. He was
genuinely enthusiastic; cock drool never lies. We went to the bedroom.

"I hate to sound like I'm a killjoy, but now that I've seen it I'm not sure
I can take it in the ass," Eubank said. "It's big."

"That just means I get to take it all by myself," Rusty said.

"Why don't you get on your back and we can give Eubank a demonstration of
how it done?" I asked.

"Eubank, I told you he was smart, but he's a mind reader too," Rusty
replied. "Eubank, you need to get near and watch closely. We're pros at
this."

"Hot damn!" Eubank said in his best South-west Virginia drawl. The lube was
next to the bed. I coated my cock and Rusty's ass.

"Rusty's hole looks small," Eubank observed.

"I work it in slow and easy. It takes a little while to open him up," I
said. I nosed my cock into Rusty's quivering hole a gently pushed. "Relax
Rusty, you love it once it's in. Eubank, why don't you work on Rusty's
tits; that sometimes does the trick."

It worked and my cock popped through Rusty's sphincter. It always took a
while to get in Rusty, but he had a nice tight ass and it worth the extra
work.  I made a little corkscrew type movement and eased my way deeper into
Rusty's rectum. Both Rusty and Eubank moaned as I pushed. I pulled back and
then thrust hard.

I'm not a virgin, but I have never encountered a guy who moans as his pal
gets fucked. My razor sharp detective brain took that as an indication that
Eubank really wanted to be fucked. He fed Rusty his cock and bent over to
suck Rusty's organ.  I think his real objective was to get a close to my
cock in action. He wanted it up close and personal.

As I pumped I felt Rusty's ass twitch. He was shooting off and Eubank was
taking it all. A mouthful of cum can be a turn on or a turn off.  For
Eubank it was a definite turn on. We broke apart; Rusty needed to breathe.

Eubank looked at me and smiled. I could see Rusty's sperm in his mouth. I
leaned over and we kissed.  Rusty's sperm was still warm from his balls. We
French kissed and we both savored Rusty's seed. Eubank broke away and got
on his back. He pulled up his legs and spread his ass wide. I assumed
Eubank had changed his mind about getting fucked. His ass pucker and little
rose bud glistened. He must have lubricated it before he came to see me.

"Are you ready?" I asked.  I didn't wait for an answer. I touched his ass
with my cock. He shivered in excitement. I nosed my knob in.  He resisted a
little.

"I'm going to push harder," I said. He smiled. "If you're too tight, I'll
stop," I added.

"I want it all," Eubank whispered. He sounded really sincere.

It wasn't easy, but it wasn't hard either. Eubank was a good sport, he
asked me to stop a few times, but once he caught his breath, he asked me to
push deeper. He was tight and tense until I rammed his prostate. The
prostate overruled his stretched sphincter's complaints. Once I was in, all
was well with me and with Eubank. He sort of went into a trance once I was
fully lodged, but his ass and sphincter remained full participants. He had
a wonderful ass, welcoming and hot. He gripped my cock firmly and tried to
play with it.

I liked watching him react to my thrusts. It was nice to see him twitching
and shivering his pleasure. I enjoyed it so much, I forgot to concentrate
and I lost it. I had a spectacular orgasm. Eubank must have felt it. He
shot off too.

I dozed off. When I woke the next morning, Eubank, Rusty and I has an
intense three-way. I was deep in Rusty's ass when Eubank rear ended me. I'm
not usually partial to sneak attacks, but Eubank's cock hit just the right
spot. He also pushed me deeper into Rusty. Rusty shot off; I shot off and
Eubank made a deposit in my ass. We showered, dressed and returned to the
plantation house.

The forensic people were done with the cellar gold room. The museum sent
another curator to check out the room. Milton Towns was an older man who
was the curator of antiquities. We went into the room. The body was gone
and it smelled better. We also had a trio of men from a bank to open the
boxes.

Milton walked into the room, saw a stone figurine and said, "Oh shit!"
Milton was a distinguished, professorial type.

"Is it stolen?" I asked.

"It's pure unadulterated loot from the mid-east. Half the world was looking
for it after the war," he said. He went over to the sculpture. "It looks
right, but we will need to look closer. It could be a forgery. Some of the
Nazi things were spectacular. There was a Klimt, a Degas and a few old
masters mixed in with a few second-rate forgeries."

The boxes were on two sides of the room, with display cases on the third
side. The cases held small sculptures. I opened one and removed a figurine.
When I did I tapped the rear of the cabinet, and it fell down. There was a
space to the rear.  It took a half hour, but we eventually found a lever
that allowed us to shift the cabinet forward and enter the hidden space.

The room held some filing cabinets filled with financial records. Rusty
knew what they were. They were the actual financial records of his
scams. There was another set of false records that were for the IRS. J.J
was running a complicated set of scams. He needed real records. Scammers
also needed some protection from their scammer accomplices.

It was not as exciting as Confederate Gold, but it would send J. J. to jail
if they caught him. There were several chests on the floor.  One contained
bronze figurines. Milton was happy. They were Renaissance works by big time
artists, Bernini and Cellini.  "I didn't know these were stolen," he said.

"Are you sure they are stolen?" I asked.

"Why would they be hidden if they weren't?" he asked. "It would be most
remarkable if these objects were unknown. They have been somewhere, and
somehow J.J. has them now." Among the statues was a modern thing made of
stacked cubes and rectangles. It was very different from any of the other
art works. I'm not much into modern art, but this seemed usually
uninspired.

More vans came from the museum for the statues and a van came from the
State Police to haul off the records. There was almost a traffic jam. Rusty
was into the records big time.  There was a rivalry between the state
Police and the FBI. Rusty wanted to get J.J. and show up the FBI.

Milton was busy supervising packing the sculptures. He said they had their
original finishes and he didn't want them damaged. Since Rusty was busy
with the records, I helped Milton. He had me wrap the boxy sculpture, it
didn't need the delicate touch. When I went to the sculpture I discovered
it was plaster painted bronze. That wasn't what I expected. I called Milton
over.

"It doesn't look like any artist's work I know," he said. "It would have no
value as a plaster model." He pushed the sculpture. It didn't move. "It's
heavy. It should be easy to move." He pushed harder. The corner of one of
the cubes broke off. There was a glint of gold.

The room had been a disappointment for me, but now all was good. We had
found the missing Confederate gold. The sculpture contained the ingots as
well as some Nazi gold. J.J was open minded.

So far we had a scam, a Ponzi scheme, stolen art and multiple
murders. There was something for everyone. As long as it was illegal,
J.J. seemed to like it. If J.J. had been involved in the murder, he had
been involved since 1992. That was a tribute to the ability of great wealth
to immunize its possessors from criminal prosecution.

We were sent off the job. The forensic people were on the way back. I hoped
there were finger prints on the gold. That would be the nail in
J.J. coffin. I took Milton back to Richmond. Rusty and Eubank wanted to
look at the records in the filing cabinets.

I was hungery so we stopped at a small restaurant to eat.  Milton knew of
the place and he was a regular there.  It was a hole in the wall Greek
place with excellent food. Milton was not a well-rounded man, but if you
wanted to know anything about antiquities, he knew it. It specialized in
Greek and Roman, but he had some interest in Mayan art.

I think he had a photographic memory. He knew that most of the object were
and he also knew where other examples of the works were. Bronze sculptures
can have multiple castings, but Milton had a good idea of how many were
made and where they were. He seemed to have memorized auction catalogs.

He had one thought that interested me. Several international crime figures
were rumored to have art collections. Apparently there was some competition
between the men. The bronzes were flashy and consisted of groups of nude
gods and goddesses frolicking and dancing.

""I wonder, if they were stolen from a Mafia Don or a Russian crime boss
would they report the loss to the police?" Milton asked. "If bought some of
these stolen items, I would keep them hidden away. The FBI or Interpol are
pussy cats compared to a Russian gangster."

"Maybe the museum could let some of this information leak," I said,
thinking aloud. "J.J. might prefer the federal prison system to an insulted
crime boss."

"You may have a point there," Milton said. "If he is still alive that might
reduce his options considerably." Milton played his cards close to the
chest. I had a feeling he knew more than he was saying.  I dropped him off
at the Museum and went home. I actually went to bed and got a good night's
sleep.

The next day there was nothing to do on the case at the farm. A forensic
unit was doing a second sweep of the plantation. They didn't want anyone
associated with J. J. nearby. I assumed that meant J.J. was not one of the
bodies. The police were looking for clues as to his exit strategy I needed
a day of rest and took the day off. That night the Museum issued a press
release saying they had recovered a stash of stolen art works and were in
the process of contacting the original owners.

They were vague about the actual items except for the bronzes. They
released pictures of them along with the Rembrandt and the Klimt. The state
police released a photo of J.J. and listed him as a "person of interest."
The news was immediately picked up on the national networks and even made
it to the BBC and the German television.

The museum had good photographers and the photos were beautiful and very
clear. If the bronzes were stolen, there was no way the original owners
could fail to recognize them.

There wasn't an official connection made between J.J.  and the artworks,
but you would have to be an idiot to not figure it out. J.J. main scams
were centered in New York, so there was much interest there. If you were
looking for art, New York was he place to be.