_or
his left hand and snapped it into Sonny’s exposed face, right into his nose. The phantom looked surprised, moved back an involuntary step, and took Harris’ follow-through right front kick right in the guts.Zeb had said to work on his stomach; why hadn’t Harris listened? Zeb must think he was a complete idiot. Harris had marched in, mistaken Sonny’s cool, collected analysis for passiveness, and settled into the tactics that would lead him to painful defeat.
Not this time. He kept his own critical faculties working. Sonny had kept his guard lower than usual, probably protecting pained ribs. Harris exploited that now; every one of his combinations included at least one blow aimed at the bigger man’s torso, and it was often one of his more deceptive blows. He didn’t have to hit hard, not yet; he just had to leave Sonny with the impression that he could get through to his gut anytime he wanted.
All the while, his silent audience, Noriko, watched. Harris caught sight of her whenever the phantom fight faced him in the right direction. She had to be taking stock of his style, looking for weaknesses . . .
No, that wasn’t right. There was something about the way she stood. She had her back to the wall but wasn’t leaning against it. Her arms were crossed, but it wasn’t a relaxed pose, and seemed just a little awkward and uncertain. It reminded him of something, someone else.
Then she turned away and moved toward the door, and Harris had it. High school algebra, and Mary Francis Richards tensely standing by as class let out, trying to figure out how to ask a question of the teacher without sounding stupid; she never could stand for people to think ill of her. Her pose had been the same. That didn’t seem right, not like Noriko, but . . .
Harris gave a flick of his fingers. The phantom Sonny, an annoyed look on his face, disappeared. “Noriko.”
At the door, she turned. “Yes?”
“Were you going to ask me something?”
She didn’t answer.
“Go ahead.”
She took a long breath. “Would you . .