Dinner Questions

Between the mouthfuls of duck and wine we are asked a series of questions. All of which we try to respond as short as possible. Much like a high schooler who says "ok" to the question "How was your day?" Ok usually translates to "I'm fine, go away." So, that's what we're doing. They ask where we are from, we say "far." They wonder how long we've been in town, we say "not long." It is a bit immature, and most likely counter productive, but it is my stand by. Plus it's also their fault. They really should ask better questions. They do this for a while though. They dance around the bush and ask questions like "where did you go to school?" Questions that are not relevant. Marcy pounds her fist on the table. "Enough." Everyone is surprised by her outrage, including Chad. "Why did you do it?" She continues. Chad pushes his plate to the side. "I was going to get to that, but why did you?" He asks. "Yes, why did you try to sell drugs to kids." She jumps in. "We didn't actually sell anything." I say. Chad folds his hands. "Maybe not, but you were harassing minors. That is something." "It wasn't like that." Olivia says. "Then what was it like?" Chad asks. "They were being annoying. I think that counts for harassing." Ben blurts. "Quiet, Ben." Chad says while staring us down. "Now, what was it like?" He asks again. Olivia and I stumble for words. "Did someone put you up to this?" He continues. "Yes." Olivia says, relieved. "And what did the individual look like?" "You really want to know?" I ask. Chad smiles. "Yes." "He had a grey beard, kinda chubby, and probably in his fifties." I explain. Chad leans back in his chair. "Interesting." "That sounds like a client you represent." Marcy says. "You think?" Chad asks, playing coy. "Oh yeah. Did it look like he was affiliated with a biker gang?" Marcy asks. "I wouldn't know how to tell." I say. "Sure you would. Did you see a leather vest, or patches of any kind?" Chads asks, digging deeper. I scratch my head. "There may have been a few patches." "That sounds like him." Marcy replies. "Indeed. Ben, you can go home now." Chad firmly suggests. "What? Dad, we haven't finished eating ." Stacy shouts. "Your mother can pick up something for the three of you on the way to Ben's." "Why are you kicking us out?" She cries. "Because we have business to discuss." He says. "Are you pressing charges?" I ask. "No." "Why not?" Stacy demands. Chad adjusts his sleeves. "Because, my fight is not with them."