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Ed huffed. “Sensing a theme here.”
Meryl chuckled. “Right? If they didn’t want people to connect the dots, maybe they should’ve picked a non-sausage-related name this time.”
“And you say they were in the Midwest this time? Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the New York area their playground before?”
“That’s right, and I’ll be talking a little more about that toward the end. Seems like they were making their way across the country…”
“Oooh,” Ed said again with a little laugh. “Okay, awesome. Great. I’m ready.”
“Okay, cool. Okay, um… well first, I’ll quickly recap what we know about the Bratwurst Bandits—”
“And to anyone listening who hasn’t heard that episode yet, we strongly urge you to go back and give it a listen,” Edgar interjected smoothly. “It’s a great one.”
“Oh yeah, it’s a wild case. Their little stripy robber outfits?” Meryl cracked up. “It still tickles me thinking about these two little gremlin, goblin, whatever-they-are dudes breaking into dojos to steal competition trophies and stuff. But, Ed,” she added excitedly. “That’s not what they did this time.”
“Oh no?”
“Nope. This time, they were all about heads.”
“Oh damn. That’s a lot darker.”
“Not people’s heads,” Meryl clarified. “They’ve never been linked to any truly violent crimes like murder. But basically, across several small towns in the Midwest in the early noughties, someone started sawing the heads off statues, cutting them out of posters…”
Edgar chuckled. “So they went from armed robbery to the milder crime of vandalism, but with significantly more sinister undertones. Got it. You could call that…”
“Super effing creepy!” they said together, then laughed.
“Oh man, I love us,” Meryl sighed, still chuckling.
“I love us too,” Edgar replied. “Okay, sorry, I’ll stop interrupting. Go on.”
“So these heads would turn up in the following days with wigs on and terrible make-up drawn on them, that kind of stuff. Plus they’d always have a, uh… certain phallus-like appendage graffitied on them, just like the Bratwurst Bandits. Except this one was always drawn in a hot dog bun.”
“Oh wow. No subtlety there. Is it wrong that I’m suddenly craving a hot dog?” Edgar joked.
“My boyfriend and I actually went out to get beer and bratwursts after the other episode.” Meryl chuckled. “Oh shoot. Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. I still need to recap the story of the Bratwurst Bandits…”
As I listened to her briefly go over what she’d covered last time, I found myself frowning a little. I could’ve sworn the Bratwurst Bandits sounded familiar, even though I’d never heard of them prior to the previous podcast. But something about them was just sending a signal to my brain, a weird kind of recognition sparking.
By the time the podcast came to an end forty minutes later—after Edgar had followed Meryl’s story about the Hot Dog Hooligans with the case of a notorious incubus sex cult leader from 1970s California—I was worn out and dripping with sweat.
I slowed the treadmill to a walk to cool down, wiping my forehead with my arm. Grabbing my bottle from the cupholder, I gulped down some water as I tried to calm my heart rate. The air was chilly in the garage, making the sweat soaking my T-shirt cool quickly.
As I turned off the treadmill, my gaze caught on something directly in front, tucked on the shelves next to the chest freezer. A plain black plastic bag.
My gut bottomed out when I remembered what was in it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Pumpkin Head
Rafe
As soon as I’d gotten home from work last week with that fucking pumpkin head sex toy in my car, I’d hidden it in here. I hadn’t wanted to put it in my bedroom, because… Just because.
Okay, because I’d been scared I’d end up using it.
I was still mad at myself for buying it, but now, as I stepped off the treadmill still breathing hard, I couldn’t take my eyes off that bag.
