Client Wurst -

The moniker was his own. His emails (encrypted, always signed with a cartoon bratwurst wearing a monocle) ended with: “Remember: without casing, there is no sausage.” I assumed it was philosophy. I was wrong.

I’d been a private investigator for twelve years, but I’d never had a client like Wurst. client wurst

But last week, I got a postcard. No return address. Just a photo of a sausage link on a grill, and on the back, handwritten: The moniker was his own

“The casing is breaking, friend. New enemies. New meats. Stay by the phone.” I’d been a private investigator for twelve years,

The first time I tracked him, I nearly lost him in a crowd at Maxwell Street Market. He was average height, forgettable face, dressed in a faded Cubs hoodie. What made him stand out was what he carried: a vintage leather briefcase with a thermometer sticking out of the side. He walked like a man who knew every pressure plate and security camera within a mile.

I stopped digging.

The next day, Wurst called me. He never called. Always email.