Ragnarök

Twenty-Four: The Tribunal

"Welcome home, Edgar," says the mystery woman. She exhibits something between scorn and a saintly calm.

"Look who dropped in," says the widow. "It's Aubrey. Hasn't she grown up so beautiful? And this is her friend—I'm sorry, dear. What was it again?"

The man introduces himself as Lefty, hopping down from the counter, coming over to shake Mason's hand. "Have a seat," he invites, though there are no empty chairs. "Take off your jacket, stay awhile. Tell us what you learned today."

Mason is uneasy about the amount of cash in his pocket. He has to assume these hippies want money, that they've come to rob the widow, either forcibly or through manipulation. Why today of all days?

"We were just passing through the state, decided to detour and have ourselves a little reunion," Lefty explains.

Knowing he'll have to speak eventually, Mason asks, "How long will you be in town?" Not the question he intended. What he meant to ask was: why had they been in town for so long already? Why had they called on the widow once before when she was alone? Why were he and Mildred being stalked?

"Hard to say," Aubrey answers. "Not long."

"We've got places to go, people to see." Lefty stretches out like a cat on a crucifix, groaning with the effort. "We were thinking we'd stay for dinner. Any good pizza places in town?"

"Nonsense," the widow protests. "I'll cook us up something nice."

She moves to stand up, but Aubrey reaches over and touches her hand. "No, Milly. Just sit and relax. I want to visit with you, not watch you cook me dinner."

"How about it, Edgar?" Lefty says. "This backwater got a Papa John's? Pizza Hut maybe? Domino's? Little Caesars? Shit, we'll even take Caesar's, right Gypsy? We're fuckin starving." He slaps a hand over his mouth, pantomiming embarrassment, and makes a big gallant show of apologizing to the widow for his language.

The woman who answers to both Aubrey and Gypsy wears acid-washed denim overalls. They're a mosaic of patches venerating everything from Anarchy to Nazism to Coexistence and Gay Pride to Porky Pig. One patch is simply Bela Lugosi's head. Beneath the overalls, camouflage thermal underwear. On her feet are a pair of conspicuously new Doc Martens with hot pink laces. Her hair, a dark amber color, is shoulder length with side-swept bangs, and it's evident she's been wearing a hat for much of the day. Clotted mascara clings to her lashes.

Mason tells the expectant duo there's a Pizza Hut in town.

Rubbing his grubby T-shirted belly, Lefty orders him to "Ring 'em up! Extra large. Canadian bacon and pineapple, least for Gypsy and me. I don't know what tickles your fancy, Mildred."

Mason can't help but notice that under his denim jacket Lefty wears a sheath on his belt for an enormous hunting knife, the handle of which is a reddish wood with steel inlay. He fishes the phone index out of a kitchen drawer, experiencing a surreal detachment as he scans the listings for Pizza Hut. Always he keeps a curious eye on any and all interactions between Aubrey and Mildred. There's a mother-daughter tenderness between them, a sadness on the part of Aubrey. Mason worries what conclusions she's already drawn about him, about that festering bruise on the widow's jaw.

Soon he's on the phone with an employee, placing Lefty's request, as well as a pepperoni and mushroom for he and the widow to share. In the middle of this, Aubrey cuts him off, "Mildred hates pepperoni."

The widow confirms this by shuddering, "Too spicy."

Mason revises the order to sausage and mushroom.

The employee asks how he would like to pay, cash or card. Mason selects the latter, telling them to hold on while he fishes it from the widow's purse. It's strung over an armchair in the living room. While Mildred minds her own business and twiddles her thumbs, the hippies' eyes are fixed on him, watching him pull the wallet from her purse. Only as he's pawing among the old receipts and expired memberships does he remember that her debit card is in his wallet.