The Bone House - Brian Freeman [89]
'You stand there, and you listen to me,' Hoffman told him.
Mark felt his heart rate accelerate. His fist tightened around the phone in his hand. He imagined Hilary standing next to him and what she would say. Stay calm. Don't make it worse.
'What do you want?' Mark asked. 'Because if all you want is to accuse me of things I didn't do, then you're in a long line, and you'll have to take a number.'
'You think you're funny? You think this is funny?'
'No, I really don't.'
'Do you have any idea what I lost? My daughter? My grandchildren? Do you know what it's like to watch your family die?'
Mark felt the flush of embarrassment on his face. A crowd was gathering, and he wasn't the sentimental favorite in this contest. 'Mr Hoffman, I do know what you went through. I can't imagine how horrible that was for you. You have my sympathy, you really do.'
'I don't want your sympathy.'
'Then please move aside, so we can both leave in peace.'
'I've killed men, Bradley. More than I want to remember. I did what my country needed me to do, and I don't regret any of it. But you. I don't know how you live with yourself.'
'That's all. We're done here.'
'Then you have the goddamn nerve,' Hoffman continued, his raspy voice growing shrill, 'to hide behind the man who killed my whole family. How dare you. I won't let you do it. I won't let you get away with it.'
Mark pushed past Hoffman, their shoulders colliding. For an old man, Hoffman was solid, and even drunk he was fast. Mark never saw the punch coming. Hoffman's left fist shot up from his hips and connected with the underside of Mark's jaw, snapping his head back. Mark staggered. The pie tumbled from his hand, spilling out of the box as it fell to the floor, spraying cherries and filling on to the ground like blood. His phone flew. Mark lost his balance, stumbling backward into shelves lined with canning jars. The shelves dropped, and dozens of jars clattered downward and rained a mess of sauce and glass. His face and clothes dripped with stains.
Mark regained his balance. He rubbed his jaw, which was stiff, and ran his tongue along the back of his teeth to see if any were loose. He shook his clothes, and bits of glass sprinkled around him. The crowd in the shop around them froze in silence. Hoffman cocked his fists, expecting Mark to retaliate, but Mark had no intention of hitting an old man. He just wanted to get out of the store.
Hoffman rooted his feet so Mark couldn't pass. 'Nobody thinks I've got the courage, but I do. I'm going to make sure you get what's coming to you.'
Mark tried to keep a lid on his temper, which raced to a boil. He felt trapped as people closed in between the aisles. 'My wife and I almost died yesterday, Mr Hoffman. I'll tell you this only once. If anyone comes after us again, it will be the last thing they ever do.'
'You can't threaten me, and you can't scare me.'
'I'm promising you,' Mark said.
'I'm not afraid of someone who messes with teenage girls.'
Mark was tired of denying it. Tired of protesting his innocence. Angry with the world. 'Get the hell out of my way,' he snapped.
'Your wife knows the truth. I told her. She knows what kind of man you are.'
Something snapped in Mark. He couldn't stop himself. By mentioning
Hilary, Peter Hoffman stepped across a line that no one could cross. Mark's muscles wound up into knots, ready to burst. He backhanded his left arm like a club into Hoffman's chest and shoulder. Despite his military bearing, Hoffman was no match for Mark's strength. The blow lifted the man off his feet and drove him sideways, where he crumpled into a card table that collapsed under his weight. Hoffman dropped, hitting the floor hard. Broken glass scored the man's face and drew blood.
'Shit,' Mark hissed under his breath.
The older man squirmed to get up, but he couldn't get his balance. Mark bent over with an outstretched hand to help the man up, but Hoffman swatted the hand away. Mark saw rage and humiliation in his face.
The crowd closed in on all sides, rumbling with menace around