Speaking in Tongues

me, we were here and she was like, ‘What’s he want? Him again.’ And I’m like, ‘You want me to go fuck him up?’ And she goes, ‘Sure.’ I go up to the car but the asshole takes off.”
    “Did you get a look at him?”
    “Not too close. White guy. Your age, maybe a little older.”
    “You get the plate number?”
    “No. Didn’t even see what state. But it was a Mercedes. I don’t know what model. All those fucking numbers. American cars have names. But German cars, just fucking numbers.”
    “And you don’t have any idea who he was?”
    “Well, yeah, I mean, I knew who he was. But Megan doesn’t like to talk about it. So I let it go.”
    Tate shook his head. “Talk about what?”
    “You know.”
    “No, I don’t know,” Tate said. “What?”
    “Well, just . . .” Sammy lifted his hands. “What she used to do. I figured he was looking for some more action and had tracked her down here.”
    “Action? I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
    “I figured him and Megan had . . . get it? And he wanted some more.”
    “What are you talking about?” Tate persisted.
    “What d’you think I’m talking about?” The kid was confused. “He fucked Megan and liked what he got.”
    “Are you saying she had a boyfriend in his forties?”
    “Boyfriend?” Sammy laughed. “No, man. I’m saying she had a customer.”
    “What?”
    “Sure, she—”
    The boy probably had twenty or thirty pounds on Tate but farmwork keeps you strong and in two seconds Sammy was flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Both hands were raised, protecting his face from Tate’s lifted fist.
    “What the fuck’re you saying?” the lawyer raged.
    Sammy shouting back, “No, man, no! I didn’t do anything. Hey . . .”
    “Are you saying she had sex for money?”
    “No, I’m not saying nothing! I’m not saying a fucking thing!”
    The girl’s voice was close to his ear, the blonde he’dfirst spoken to. “It’s, like, not a big deal. It was a couple years ago.”
    “Couple years ago? She’s only seventeen now, for Christ’s sake.” Tate lowered his hand. He stood up, brushed the dust off. He looked at the people in front of the bar, staring at him. The huge, bearded bouncer was amused. Bett was half out of the car, looking at her ex-husband with alarm. He motioned her to stay where she was.
    Sammy said, “Fuck, man, what’d you do that for? I didn’t fuck her. She gave it up a while ago. You asked me what I thought and I told you. I figured the guy liked what he had and wanted more. Jesus.”
    The girl said, “Sorry, mister. She had a thing for older men. They were willing to pay. But it was okay, you know.”
    “Okay?” Tate asked, numb.
    “Sure. She always used rubbers.”
    Tate stared at her for a moment then walked back to the car.
    Sammy stood up, picked up his beeper, which had fallen off his belt in the struggle. “Fuck you, man. Fuck you! Who’re you anyway?”
    Turning back, Tate snapped, “I’m her father.”
    “Father?” the boy asked, frowning.
    “Yeah. Her father.”
    Sammy looked at the girl, who shrugged. The boy said, “Megan said she didn’t have a father.”
    Tate frowned and Sammy continued, “She said he was a lawyer or something but he ran off and left her when she was six. She hasn’t heard from him since.”
    •   •   •
    In the car Tate asked angrily, “You didn’t know she went there?”
    “I told you I didn’t. You think I’d let her go to a place like that?”
    “I just think you might want to know where she was hanging out. From time to time.”
    “You ‘just think.’ You know when people say that?”
    “What are you—?” he began.
    “They say that when they mean, you damn well ought to know where she was.”
    “I didn’t mean that at all,” Tate snapped.
    Though, of course, he had.
    He sped out onto the highway, tires squealing, gravel flying from beneath the tires. Putting the Coffee Shop far behind them.
    She finally asked, “What was that all about?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Tate? What were you fighting with that boy about?”
    “You don’t want to know,” he said darkly.
    “Tell me!”
    He hesitated but then he had to say it. “He said he thought the guy in the gray car might’ve been a customer.”
    “Customer?”
    “Of Megan’s.”
    “What? . . . Oh, God. You don’t mean . . . ?”
    “That’s exactly what I mean. That’s what the boy said. And that girl too.”
    “Vile. You’re