Date: Tue, 27 Aug 2013 04:09:28 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish Finds Old Gold 5

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.