The Crab Man Chapter 11
The deep fried pickle tasted so wonderful in his mouth but it was really the only free lunch that Bradley Benko could get away with. Working at KFC barely paid his cellphone bill so being creative with the deep fryers was his only escape. The employees weren’t supposed to eat for free but Bradley wasn’t the only worker to help himself to whatever he found. You can best believe that for a measly $8 an hour he and many others took food home every night.
Bradley took another pickle and rolled it around in some flour before dumping it into the fried Chicken basket. Working here was such a drag. The girls ALWAYS seemed to get to control the radio and somehow grease always seemed to ruin his clothes. Bradley whistled loudly to drown out the horrible music when suddenly he felt a vibration in his pants. It was his cellphone. Mother was calling.
“Bradley you must come home quick! These agents… these federal agents! They stormed the house. They are tearing your bedroom apart!”
Bradley was confused. “Huh?”
“I know you didn’t do anything but they wouldn’t listen! Can you just get home I’m scared.”
Horrific images raced through Bradley’s mind as he pictured law enforcement tearing his room apart.
What had he done? What were they looking for?
Bradley’s manager saw him quickly fold up his apron and hang it on a hook.
“Hey! Whoa! You just had a cigarette break like ten minutes ago.”
“I’m not taking a cigarette break I have to head home.”
His manager folded up his arms and glowered. “You can’t just leave! You still have three hours left on your shift!”
There was a moment of silence as the crackling sound from the fryers grew louder. Bradley gently pushed his manager to the side so he could walk around him.
“Where are you going Mr. Bradley?”
“Get out of my way I have to get home. It’s an emergency. Right now as we speak agents are ripping my bedroom apart and I have to figure out what it is they’re after.”
The manager lightened up. “Do they have a warrant?”
“I’m not sure but I have to go protect my comic book collection.”
The manager realized the severity of the situation. He seemed more calm now and gave the fryers basket a friendly shake to stir up the fries.
“Do what you gotta do. You’ll be coming back right?”
“Of course.” Bradley was out the door and kicking up the kick stand on his ten speed bike.
It didn’t take him long to pedal a mile home and once he reached the yard he threw the bike down in the grass without lowering the kick stand. Bradley raced up the stairs and headed straight to his bedroom.
He screamed at the site of the Hodge podge. There was literally comic books strewn EVERYWHERE.
“What are you doing! Those are my Marvels!”
Detective Winters got straight to the point. “Where are your Spyder Woman comics. Where are you keeping them Bradley?”
Bradley was confused. “Spyder Woman? You mean silk? Why do you want my comic books?”
The detective seemed very much on the fence how to start off. “You killed those girls didn’t you? This some kind of sick twisted comic book games you’re playing!”
Bradley’s mother defended him and stepped in between their conversation while Dr. Kedson stood off to the side and observed. “My boy would never kill anyone! What’s that got to do with his comic books? Most of them he made himself!”
Dr. Kedson tried to calm the argument by presenting his evidence. He unfurled some stuff he printed online that Bradley had posted just months prior to the killings.
The Psychiatrist brandished one particular page with a cartoon character getting ready to walk the dog while wearing an N-95 mask with initials “DB”. The headline said Dirty Bird and the man in the hat says proudly says “I got to go and walk the dog.”
“Mr. Bradley is this your work?”
Bradley was still immensely confused. “Yeah. Soooo?? I collect and write comic books. Why you trashing my room?”
Winters began scouring through Bradley’s closet. Bradley didn’t like it.
“Why you going through my closet now?”
Detective Winters continued to rummage around tossing old ugly Christmas sweaters onto the floor so he could better dig. “We’re looking for your black hat. Where’s the Draco Bradley?”
Bradley defended himself. Look you got the wrong guy. I don’t even know what a Draco hat is. I didn’t kill no girls I’m just a 17 year old kid! What’s all this got to do with my comic books?"
Winters grilled him. “How do you know about Dirty Bird? That N-95 mask was exactly described by a witness as belonging to Dirty Bird.”
“I dunno. Lucky guess? I write lots of comic books. I hope to write for Marvel some day.”
Before the detective could ask another question Dr. Kedson’s cell phone interrupted the group. The Psychiatrist hit the green button to accept the call.
“Yes?”
“Ayy. This Eddy. This ain’t cool man. Got another body over here. This time he actually stuffed her in a trash can by my mailbox and wrote on my trash can RBF.”
A sullen look on the doctors face. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Kind of some weird shit too. Nut ass dude used white out again. Wrote Turned up the thermostat”"
Eddy then hung up and the Psychiatrist did his best to maintain his composure while he processed the newly found news.
The detective hoped to get some answers from his Psychiatrist friend. "So where is this going now?
Dr. Kedson scratched his chinny chin chin. “I think the perp is trying to tell us something with these corny messages. No cheese in the cheeseburger. No blueberry K-cups. And now a thermostat? These are all frivolous issues.”
“So what do you make of it doc?” Asked Winters.
“This sounds like a classic case of hypertension. I can almost bet the perp has some serious blood pressure issues to be struggling with impatience like this.”
“So what do we do doc?”
“Let’s check around to some local emergency rooms and ask if recently anyone with a fancy black hat has checked into the ER for some blood pressure emergencies. It’s something to go on.”