Catfish Takes a Hit 2 By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story about gay men and gay sex. If you do not like that, DO NOT read it! You have been warned. It is intended for adults to read, and is not for minors. It is a fantasy, not a sex manual. I have made no effort to portray safe sex practices. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
The information from Templeton and my office cheered me up. It wasn't the crime of the century, but it certainly had a smell, the rich, putrid stench of fraud. While Templeton was disturbed by the failures of his bank's procedures to discover fraud, my little investigation for an elderly friend had set off alarm bells in the Bank's Boardroom.
Catfish & Company is known for careful investigations. We handle cases where the victims' reputations could be ruined if the crimes were exposed. This included both organizations who were defrauded, and persons who were in problematic situations. In some cases, criminals know this. A man mugged in an area well known for prostitution is less likely to report the mugging.
While some men might hide the problem, Templeton immediately reported to the Bank President, and they set their accountants on a hunt for potentially similar situations. There is an informal fraternity of trust officers and Templeton informed them of the problem.
Accountants tend to be men and women who are more interested in calculations than people. They are detail oriented if not obsessed. Once they sniffed something was wrong, they are like Bloodhounds on the hunt. Unmasking a fraud is a great achievement.
My firm's computer guys were also prone to be obsessed. My head guy was Sharron Wilburt. She joined the group when it was all male. She is forty-year-old programmer who wanted a more interesting life that pure programming. When she found that Mrs. Vienner's nephew's wife didn't exist on the internet, she knew something was wrong. Digital non-existence is nearly impossible for a middle-class person in the United States. Sharron was on the hunt.
Back at the home, I went on my usual walk and saw Bob. I told him that there seemed to be some irregularities with the cousin. He was not surprised. "Jane thought he wasn't on the up-and-up. She's a good judge of character," he said. He asked me in the house for a chat. Jane had freshly made turnovers and made coffee. We talked.
Jane belonged to every worthwhile woman's club in the area. Several of her friends had been close to Mrs. Vienner, but they had lost touch as her mental condition grew worse. When the nephew came on the scene, social interactions came to an end. The nephew told her friends that the dementia was much worse.
At first, they were relieved that he had taken and interest, even if he wasn't particularly pleasant. One woman was surprised that Margot Vienner had a nephew; she had not mentioned him. Since he was not pleasant, she assumed he wasn't a favorite nephew. She and her husband were the children of World War II refugees. Some assumed that bringing up family matters might open old wounds.
Bob was ready to march in the house and see if Margot was in good health. I told him that was premature and asked them to keep an eye on the house and the comings and goings. They tended to keep an eye on the neighborhood anyway. Templeton's accountants and my computer guys were hard at work.
I was diverted from the Vienner problem by the court case of the would-be rapist who shot me. It was a shocking case since the perpetrators were college students from "good" families. They went to Windsor University, an expensive school catering to wealthy students. The parents were exceedingly wealthy and were willing to pay for an aggressive defense.
The lawyers' plan was to claim this was a prank by "high spirited" boys gone bad. They said they had hired a prostitute to play the role of the victim, but they had been unfamiliar with the streets, and attacked a woman on the wrong street. The also claimed that they had been brutalized by the crowd and countersued the restaurant and its staff for mistreating the boys.
You would have to invent to word "improbable" if it hadn't been created before this poor ass, grasping-for-straws story. The parents poured money into their lawyers' pockets. I assume the lawyers knew that was a crock, but fees are fees.
I guessed that no more than 25% or the residents of upscale neighborhoods in Richmond are lawyers. I also knew that most ate at Tony's. Several of the city's most prestigious law firms came to the restaurant's aid. They counter sued saying the suit was frivolous, indeed it was almost comic.
I had to tell my story to the City Police, the Commonwealth's attorney as well as the firms' defending the restaurant and its staff. One of these defense attorneys was a star in the local legal scene, Skipwith Montague IV. He interviewed me at his house on Monument Avenue. Skippy was a brilliant legal mind, clothed in the guise of a blithering idiot. His opponents underestimated him, and discovered the truth about him as they were blown from the water. If he liked you, you just lost the case. If he disliked you, you might be disbarred and had to leave town.
He had me as a witness on other cases a few times and he liked me. I never embellish and am unflappable under cross examination. I told him the story. I had diner, heard a scream and then tackled the man with his pants down. I didn't know who the men were and did not know them when I found out their names later. He took my testimony on a tape recorder in his library office.
This was on a Friday afternoon, late in the day. We chatted. I have what some people claim is a strong, Southside Virginia accent. Skipy's accent was 100% Lexington. The Shenandoah Valley accents are both Southern and seem less redneck than mine. He was six feet tall, with flaming red hair and a matching beard. He was solid, but not fat.
He worked for DeWinter and Lovelace, a big time corporate legal giant. He handled small, nasty cases for the firm's good clients. When you pay the firm millions for your business needs, it was hard to say you wouldn't represent them with a minor personal problem. Skipwith was good and successful. A happy Chairman of a billion-dollar company is good for business. He had a special skill with scams and fraudsters.
We were talking when Colin knocked on the door. Skipwith asked him in. I assumed there was some history. Colin was surprised to see me. There was a slight feeling of tension in the air. I had felt it before when an unexpected person interrupted a sexual meeting.
"Nice to see you again," Skipwith said.
Colin smiled and they shook hands. "We met at a party a few months ago," Colin explained. We chatted. It was Skippy asked to stay for dinner. I begged off, but he insisted and I agreed to stay.
The entrance hall, living room and library of the house were traditional. The rear part had been had been totally renovated to make a huge kitchen-greenhouse space occupying the rest of the main floor. Th most notable feature was an endless pool that was tucked unto the greenery. He had an indoor grill and cooked steaks for us. The place was both extravagant and informal. Skippy had done well as a lawyer.
After dinner, he suggested we take a dip in the pool. "I usually skinny dip, but I have trunks if you want them. Skinny dipping was fine with me and Colin. When we stripped, he looked at me.
"Someone told me there was more to you than meets the eye," he remarked.
"It's real pretty," Colin said, "but it looks too big to be really useful."
"Being too big is rarely a problem," Skipwith said. His cock looked as if it was as long as mine, but thinner.
"I'm a little shy," Colin remarked.
"I think we share some common interest," Skipwith said. "You are with friends." When we entered the water, and no one pretended they were uninterested. Skipwith went for my cock and I went for Colin. He began oozing as soon as my lips touched his cock. We switched partners and I sucked Skippy. He was easy to deep throat and when I pulled off I suctioned precum from his tool. I ran my tongue around his knob and he loved that. That doubled the flow of precum.
A few seconds later I realized I was no longer an invalid. I was an aging redneck horn-dog looking for sex. I felt like my old self. I also know that cocks are prone to be truthful. If they aren't into it, they don't get hard. Precum marks excitement and makes it clear the cock is getting ready for the man attraction. I knew that Colin got excited easily. I was surprised Skippy was excited.
I acted like a kid in an ice cream shop. I wanted both flavors of precum, Skippy's and Collin's. Both men oozed plentiful amounts of the sweet ball juices. After a while we took a break to catch our breath.
"Damn, this has been hot!" Skipwith exclaimed. "Is there any chance either of you guys like to be fucked?"
"I thought lawyers were more subtle," Colin said.
"Well, if you take the roundabout approach, it takes time that might be better used fornicating," he explained. "There is no subtle way to get my cock into an ass."
"I am sort of interested in fucking, but I've never done it," Colin said.
"I've done just about everything," I said. "I've liked most of it too."
"Are you volunteering?" Skippy asked.
"Not exactly, but I don't mind helping a friend in need," I replied.
"Technically we aren't old friends," he replied.
"It seems to be that once a guy's knob is on the dark side of my sphincter, we are pals!" I said.
Skippy smiled and said, "I need to warn you. Between the time I poke it in and my orgasm, I'm madly in love."
"Let me guess. Once you drain your balls, the love fades?" I suggested. Skipwith nodded.
"That seems superficial," Colin said.
It's part of being a man," I said. "Nothing that ends in an orgasm is truly superficial." Colin and Skippy laughed.
"Should I leave?" Colin asked. "It's kind of personal."
"We are just guys being guys," Skipwith said. "I was hoping you might get inspired. I wouldn't mind being the first to pop your cherry. I've only been the first once, but I was really good." Colin wasn't sure about that.
Skipwith had some lubricant nearby. I told him I would be best if he was on his back on the floor and I sat on his cock. That was fine with him. Colin help me get in position and steadied me as I impaled myself. Skippy's tool was long and thin, what I called a tea-spoon cock. His cock head was almond shaped, bisected by a wide slit. I doubted I would have a problem with it, and I knew he would be self-lubricating once he was in.
I sat back and it slid in easily. He twitched once. I knew he had an ejaculation, but only one. I had known a man who did that. He said if you could control and hold back the next ejaculation, you could go for a half-hour before you had the grand finale. Skippy was tense, but then he relaxed. He had it under control.
I began to rotate my ass, rubbing his rock-hard cock. He began to moan. Colin was excited as he watched. It may sound odd, but a wave of nostalgia came over me. I remembered all the good times from the past. After fifteen minutes, we broke apart. I needed a rest.
Skippy was between Colin and me. It was clear that Colin was warming up to possibly taking a ride on Skipwith's cock. The lawyer was a convincing man, and Colin didn't put up a fight. I knew that Skipwith's long, thin organ was easy to take. He was a good man for a first fuck. I provided advice and cheerleading.
After some increasingly vigorous fucking, I sucked Colin and took his load. We were all happy about that. It was getting late and I went back to the home with Colin along to help me with stairs.
The next day I had my regular session with Rod. He had numerous prominent patients. He was a smart man who explained what he was doing and why he was doing it. Physical therapy is not always pleasant, and he treated you like an adult. That made it easier for me.
He had been hired to help a boy who turned out to be a friend of the Tony's Restaurant rapist. The boy, Tommy Mason, had been in a serious automobile accident. He hero worshiped the rapist and the accident was after he had been to a party with the guy. Tommy was still enthralled, but his mother was not. The rapist want-to-be had pattern of getting into trouble and having his parents paying to get him out of trouble. She thought the problem wasn't high spirits, but drug related. He was from an upscale Prep School and she thought he was dealing, not just consuming.
Rod realized Tommy was after oxycontin. He complained about the pain all the time, but Rod knew a fake when he met him. He told his mother about the potential problem. I passed this information on to Skipwith.
I checked in with Sharron. She wanted to see me. Sharron wanted to see me only when she had important information. She wanted to pass the information on to Templeton's people, but she needed my okay before she did that. Sharron and two bombshell bits of information. The first was Mrs. Vienner had no living relatives. Her parents were the only members of the family to escape the holocaust. The nephew was also un married. His "wife" was an accomplice.
Sharron thought that it might be a con on elderly people with dementia. If a person has forgotten his or her relatives, It was comparatively easy to slip a new relative into the household.
The "wife" was Penny Richards, a hairdresser. She had worked in several local salons that catered to wealthy clientele. Salons are gossip central for many neighborhoods. She had spent some time in jail for defrauding an elderly woman. "I found an account of the trial," Sharron said. "The woman had testified against her. With dementia patients that wouldn't be a problem. I am not deep enough into the scam to see if they are lone wolves, or part of a gang."
As usual, Sharron had a written report which identified the facts she discovered and the possible interpretations. I sent it to Templeton and to the Richmond Police. Two hours later Detective Ralph Miller was at my room. He was a massive man who had once been muscular. He also had a mother suffering from dementia. Fraud is a disgusting crime and became doubly disgusting when it involved the elderly and infirm. There was no physical evidence s yet, so he wanted to put the place under surveillance. I called Bob and asked if he could help. He was more than willing.
We walked over to Bob's house. Jane was a well-organized woman and she had kept notes on the comings and goings of the "nephew." She also knew all the tradesmen and utility people who serviced the house. The most important objective was to find Mrs. Vienner alive.
The next day, undercover cops were in Bob's house. They were going to confirm Jane's records. I could have told them that Jane wasn't the sort of woman to make mistakes or embellish. That afternoon Utility work and no parking signs went up. The City police had full access to the Utility and Public Works Departments. While some people complained that the city hired lazy workers, sometimes those workers are undercover police.
Two days later, the police moved into the house. It could have been much more dramatic but Jane had a key. Mrs. Vienner tended to lock herself out. A quick search failed to find Mrs. Vienner. It was also clear that no one had been in her bedroom in months. There was dust everywhere.
Bob had told us that a chest freezer had been delivered months earlier. It was in the basement, and had been plugged in and someone had added a padlock.
The utility men not only provided good cover, they were fully equipped. The padlock lasted twenty to thirty seconds. Ralph opened the chest and was not that surprised to find Mrs. Vienner frozen solid, carefully wrapped in plastic. The forensic team arrived thirty minutes later. Ralph issued an all points bulletin for the nephew and his wife. Bob and Jane knew the make of the car and the license plate. They would be easy to find. The freezer was from a local store, and Jane had the date it was delivered.
Mrs. Vienner could have been murdered, or she could have just died at an inconvenient time. the medical examiner would determine that. I assumed the case was over and solved. The police would do the rest. I was wrong about that. We had just scratched the surface.