Hard Stop by Chris Knopf Read Free Book Online Page B

ring. Like me, he almost never sparred, which was lucky for the rest of the kids who worked out at the gym. He was thin and slower than an earth mover, but he could reach halfway across the ring, and if he ever managed to connect with a punch it’d be good night, Irene.
    “This is Amanda Anselma.”
    Randall took her hand and gave a little bow.
    “My pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
    “This your place?” I asked.
    “For certain. Used to be my uncle’s, but the technology got a little ahead of him. I was sorry to see him go. He didn’t talk much, but you get used to the company.”
    Randall’s head was big even for his beanstalk body. Or maybe it just looked big because of his broad face and high cheekbones, framed by a pair of slender, tightly woven braids. I never saw him form a smile, but his eyes were perpetually alight.
    “I thought you were going to Hofstra,” I said.
    “I dropped out after taking all the computer science courses they had. After four years in the Navy I’m too old tobe sitting through lectures on poetry and poli-sci. Got to get down and dirty with the circuits, you know?”
    “Yeah, I do. What do you know about digital photography?” I handed him the disk.
    “I’m a warrior of the Photoshop,” he said, studying the disk as if the silvery surface could reveal its inner mysteries. “What are the issues?”
    He slid the disk into an aquamarine Macintosh and brought the picture up on a big flat-screen monitor. I explained how we’d pulled the shot off a website, but needed a clearer image.
    “The first thing you have to deal with is the low resolution,” he said. “The original photo was probably high-res, but you can’t have that on the Web. Slows everything down.”
    I reached over his shoulder and pointed at Iku.
    “That’s the girl. I’d love a good-sized printout. Clear enough to make an ID.”
    “Hard to do, boss,” said Randall.
    “Not for a Photoshop warrior,” said Amanda.
    Randall’s sparkly eyes looked at me.
    “Did you tell her pretty women drive me to impossible feats?” he asked.
    “Why do you think I brought her along?”
    “Go buy her a cup of coffee. I need a few minutes. The impossible could take a little longer.”
    We got drinks instead, at the big restaurant on Main Street. Seemed an appropriate way to ramp up to the evening. I had vodka. Amanda sipped red wine and filled the joint with radiant beauty. I never tired of looking at her. It was one of the few failings I allowed myself without reproach. When I wasn’t feeling charmed by her smile I was lost in her pale green eyes. Or distracted by an ankle or the shape of her neck. I used to like looking at Abby, my ex-wife, but that was different. More an objective admiration of elegant, comely form. There wasnothing objective in my appraisal of Amanda. Quite the contrary. The longer I lingered, the weaker my judgment.
    “You’re staring,” she said.
    “I am.”
    “Shouldn’t we see how Mr. Dodge is fairing? While we can still see?”
    “I’m clear as a bell.”
    “Of course you are. It’s so irritating.”
    We paid the bill and walked back to Randall’s shop. It wasn’t a long walk, but I enjoyed every step. It was times like these, random events, that reminded me I’d given a lot of my life to misplaced ambitions and faulty desire. Not to dwell on regret, but to better appreciate the moment.
    I watched Amanda as we walked, at once a presence so close at hand the barest twitch would alert her attention, yet as distant as the moon. This was something I’d learned about Amanda. She was there, and then not. And that was okay, now that I knew her better. I’d been through a lot of trial and error, sorting it out. But as long as she was there, walking next to me, I assumed she was willing to press on, even without a confirmed destination.
    “You’re staring at me again,” she said.
    “I am?”
    “I don’t mind as long as I haven’t done something ridiculous.”
    “I’ll tell you when