The Bowman Touch

By Hartley Howard

The girl in the black velvet gown looked to be very drunk - she also looked to be in plenty of trouble...

Bowman liked neither her type of escort not the way she was being manhandled into the sedan parked outside Morry's Bar. He like even less the smack on the jaw he got when he intervened.

This is the start of a new, high-pressure adventure with a tremendous climax. The Bowman Touch has all the streamlined pace and suspense to be expected from that master of the modern thriller - Hartley Howard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Sep 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781448204908

Hartley Howard

Leo Ognall (1908-1979), who wrote several novels under the pseudonyms Harry Carmichael and Hartley Howard, was born in Montreal and worked as a journalist before starting his fiction career. He wrote over ninety novels before his death in 1979.Harry Carmichael's primary series, written from 1952-1978, The Piper and Quinn series included characters such as John Piper (an insurance assessor) and Quinn, a crime reporter.His other works include: The Glenn Bowman series, 1951-1979; The Philip Scott series, 1964-1967.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Black Velvet

She was dark and well groomed and nicely put together. Her figure went in and out in the right places and she didn’t seem to need any help from the kind of thing they call a foundation. She had wide, sultry eyes, a red mouth, and a low-cut evening gown in black velvet that set off the pale cream of her skin. The gown looked expensive. So did her pendant ear-drops. And the heavy bracelet she wore on her left wrist. No rings; no other jewellery. I always check for rings before I give the double-O to any dame who has what this one had.

Because she had plenty of what it takes. Not too young, not too old. I guessed she’d be about twenty-six or twenty-seven. Nice age. At her time of life, a woman knows all the answers without having to be asked too many questions.

I’ve been around a lot and I know a lulu when I see one. I also know a drunk. And this lulu looked to be very drunk.

The guy who’d followed her out of Morry’s Bar seemed to be making heavy sledding trying to get her into the sedan parked just beyond reach of the light spilling from the doorway. Not that she was putting up any real struggle; her resistance was more vocal than anything else. But she trailed her legs and hung in his grasp like she had no bones. He had to try packing her into the back of the sedan a limb at a time.

All the while she was complaining, I do’ wanna go home … how often I gotta tell you? I like it here … why do’ you leave me alone ’n mind your own business? … Jus’ go away … ‘n leave me alone … thasall …jus’ leave me alone … I do’ know you … you got no right to make me go home … you got no right …

He was a slim character in a fedora and a belted raincoat and polished black shoes. I couldn’t see much of his face. And I didn’t hear what he said to her. Maybe he didn’t say anything. Maybe he needed all his breath to manhandle her into the sedan.

By then he seemed to have run out of patience. I saw him catch hold of her by both arms and shake her so her head nearly rolled off. She dropped the evening wrap she’d been carrying and she stumbled and almost fell. As he jerked her upright again, she screamed thinly and struck at him with fingers curved like the claws of a cat.

I guess her nails must’ve caught him before he could pull his head back out of the way, because I heard him call her something nasty—something you don’t call any dame even when she’s been drinking more than a lady should drink. And he released one hand long enough to give her an open clip across the face.

The blow made a sharp, crisp sound like the snapping of a piece of dry kindling. Whether it hurt as badly as it sounded didn’t make much difference to me. I don’t like the kind of guy who slaps a woman around. I thought it was up to me to do something about it.

Nobody else seemed interested in what was going on. The stretch of sidewalk outside Morry’s was deserted; the revolving door of the bar hadn’t moved since it had stopped spinning after she had come out with the guy in the raincoat close behind her. For thirty seconds, the three of us had an eleven o’clock piece of New York on a summer’s night all to ourselves, complete with a handful of stars and the distant glow of the sky-signs on Times Square.

A lot can happen in thirty seconds. It’s either a long time or a short time, depending on whether you’re having a tooth drilled or you’re making love. And many a guy’s been knocked off in less than half a minute. When you poke a long nose into the wrong company you stand a chance of dying pretty fast: I should live so.

Not that I was thinking along those lines when I grabbed hold of the slim character by the shoulder and swung him round. I just wanted to point out to him the error of his ways and how there are better things to do with a pretty dame than smacking her in the puss.

He couldn’t have heard me come up behind him because he darn near jumped when I tapped him on the shoulder. In the fringe of light from Morry’s doorway, his face was white and startled. When he had sucked in a quick breath, he said, What the hell d’you want?

Just your attention for a moment, brother, I said. I’d hate you to break the local ordinances because you’re a stranger in these parts.

What ordinances ? He was a hard-faced gink with a thin, colourless line instead of a mouth and a pair of still, black eyes cold enough to have just come off the deep freeze. Running from the lobe of his right ear to his chin he had a faded scar. Without it he’d have looked mean enough. But it helped.

I said, Between here and Fourteenth Street, you’re not allowed to get tough with a dame after eleven o’clock of a night. You see, the neighbours——

At that, quite a few things happened in rapid succession. Most of them to me.

First the guy with the scar got rid of his girl-friend by throwing her violently to one side against the open door of the sedan. Then he brought up a nice left from out the bag and cracked me under the jaw with it. And then his right hand took a dive into his raincoat pocket and came out with a shiny object that could’ve been any one of several things. I didn’t like the one I thought it was.

He’d have done all right, too, if we hadn’t been so close together. And if he hadn’t wasted time reversing his grip on the gun so as to take an over-arm swing at me with the butt end.

While the swing was winding itself up, I shook the fog out of my eyes and stepped in closer still. The hand with the gun whipped over my shoulder. In the follow-through, Scarface exposed his unprotected middle. I hit it with a good solid right that nearly pushed the second button of his raincoat into his duodenum.

His mouth jerked open like he wanted to throw up and his eyes showed a lot of white. As he folded like a jack-knife, his chin came nicely within reach. I hit that, too. His head went back and his arms flung out wide and he teetered grotesquely on his heels. The vicious look on his face dissolved into a vacant stupidity.

And the dame in black velvet didn’t help him none. She was bouncing drunkenly off the door of the sedan as he began back-pedalling and the impact when they met spun him off-balance. He dipped sideways and went down on to one knee.

There wouldn’t have been much more to it except that I’d been wrong about there being just the three of us. I hadn’t seen the guy in the driving-seat.

I didn’t see him properly even when he made three into four. All I got was a fleeting impression of someone coming round the front of the sedan—someone who was only a blur of face above a coat collar in the glow of the parking-lights. I didn’t even know where he’d come from. Later, I guessed he’d been squatting behind the wheel until his pal ran into unexpected difficulties.

If it hadn’t been for the lady of the party, there wouldn’t have been any later for me. She screamed. And I ducked and threw myself to one side. And the rubber sap that was on its way to making a hole in the top of my head caught me a glancing blow above the ear and skittered off the point of my shoulder.

Not that a glancing blow from that thing was any love tap. The red agony that shot through my head made me feel like somebody was taking a slice out of my skull with a white-hot ice-pick. And the tender tip of my shoulder-blade wasn’t feeling any too good, either. There and then, I lost the use of my right arm.

Like she was trying to prove her well-developed chest wasn’t all window dressing, the cute cause of the trouble sounded off again. But loud. And the gink with the sap changed his mind. Through the buzzing noises in my ears, I heard him shout, Let’s take off, Harry! I’m getting the hell outa here!

I guess I must’ve been pretty dizzy because I didn’t do anything to stop the guy with the scar when he scuttled into the sedan and slammed the door. And I was in no state to go chasing after his pal. Hood number two was too fast on his feet, anyway. By the time I’d unscrambled my wits and satisfied myself that the sidewalk wasn’t corrugated, he had flitted through the haze of the parking-lights, climbed in, and given his motor the gun.

With a screeching of tyres on the dry pavement, the sedan leapt away from the kerb. For a moment the noise of its over-driven motor seemed to be everywhere. Then its twin tail lights rushed off drawing the torrent of sound behind them. They shrank to pin-points. At the intersection, they blinked out. Again the tyres clawed for a hold as the sedan took the corner fast in high. And after that there was only the distant murmur of a car merging into the distant murmur of a thousand other cars.

In a cold sort of way, I felt good and mad. Mostly with myself. And hardly at all with Harry and his pal. They’d been minding their own business. If they had been acting rough with a pickled dame, that was her look-out. Any doll who gets tanked-up in this town asks for trouble.

Maybe she’d asked for it, but I’d got it. I’d got what a kibitzer always gets sooner or later. But that didn’t make me like it any the more. So I felt mad about the whole business.

I also felt giddy like the inside of my head had come loose and was flapping around trying to push my eyes out. An unpleasant sensation under my belt didn’t make me feel so good, either. Taken by and large, my sole desire in life right then was to find a nice dark hole and crawl in.

The wedge of light from Morry’s doorway suddenly seemed to have gone very dim. I wondered if the smack with the rubber sap had damaged my sight … or if I was passing out. Above and beyond the drumming in my ears I could hear voices. And someone had got hold of me—someone who had soft hands and who smelled like her favourite perfume was Scotch and seltzer.

Then all the little niggling voices became one big voice; the soft hands became a tight grip on my arm from four hard fingers and an equally hard thumb. The voice said, I won’t ask you again … what’s the big idea?

From a long way off I started to tell him. It took quite a time. My ideas kept getting out of order. And whenever they got confused, I had to go back and begin all over again. But I did try. It was only when I was on my fourth or fifth attempt that I realised I hadn’t said a word. And the patrolman was still saying … want I should run you in? Maybe a coupla hours in the can might loosen you up…. What did he do to set you off screaming, lady? The pressure of his fingers was a dull ache in the numbness of my arm.

In a ragged tone, she said, It doesn’t matter now. The whole thing was just a misunderstanding. I’m sorry … it was silly of me. I shouldn’t have made such a fuss over nothing.

He said, From the marks on your face, I wouldn’t say it was exactly nothing. Why’d he slap you, lady?

You’re mistaken … no one slapped me. He’s just had a little too much to drink … that’s all. If you’d be kind enough to get me a taxi … She didn’t sound nearly as drunk as I’d taken her to be. When I thought about it, she didn’t sound drunk at all.

The patrolman said, You oughta know best … sure you don’t wanna prefer charges against him? … Teach him a lesson … some guys gotta learn the hard way.

No. It was my fault. He didn’t mean it.

His kind never do. Think you’ll be able to handle him O.K. while I go get a cab?

Oh, yes, I’ll be all right. I promise you there won’t be any more disturbance.

Better not be. He released my arm and leaned forward and stuck his nose in my face. You behave yourself, bud, or your next ride’ll be for free. D’you get that?

I’d been listening to them with a remote part of my mind that followed their talk like you watch two people playing tennis. I was the ball they kept lobbing over the net. Among other things, I thought she had a helluva gall making out I’d been the party who’d given her a smack in the pretty pan. Darn silly of her, too. I’d only to tell the copper how it had all happened and she’d be singing a different song … could soon prove I hadn’t been drinking.

My eyes were focusing properly now. I could see a little cluster of people standing on the other side of the light from Morry’s doorway : a man and two women and somebody in a white mess jacket who could’ve been Morry himself. Not far away, a young fellow in a Sloppy Joe was walking past with his arm around a girl in a canary sweater and white shorts and bobby socks. They were both studying me with curious faces and they kept looking back when they had gone by.

The cute chick who’d talked drunk was studying me, too. She didn’t say anything with her pretty red mouth but her dark eyes were saying plenty. Although she still smelled of Scotch, everything else about her was as near cold sober as made no difference. And all of her was sitting up and begging me to keep my big mouth shut.

I said, Look … you got this thing all wrong. Instead of …

Disappointment came into her face like she suddenly felt cold. She stooped and picked up her wrap. As she put it round her bare shoulders, she stepped back a pace. For the first time, I noticed that she had a white evening bag dangling by a strap looped over her wrist. To me that bag seemed to bulge with more than the gimmicks a dame usually carries. I got an idea that put a curl in the short hairs on the back of my neck.

The patrolman said, O.K. So I got it all wrong. Now you tell me. Instead of what … ?

I did some more thinking. I thought about two guys in a grey sedan … and the drink I’d meant to have in Morry’s … and David Fenwick. Especially David Fenwick. I was surprised I hadn’t thought about him before.

Then the girl in black velvet smiled up at me and I arrived at a short-term decision. She had a nice smile. Nice teeth and dimples and a crinkling at the corners of her eyes that gave me the impression she was having fun. And, when I didn’t answer straight off, she asked softly, Don’t you want to go home?

Suspicion lay heavily on the patrolman’s face. He looked from me to her and back again and I could almost hear his brains ticking over. He said, Let’s have it, bud. What were you gonna say?

Nothing, I said. I’d only make a bigger fool of myself. And I’m sorry I caused all this trouble … don’t bother about a cab. A walk’ll help to clear my head.

He stuck out a thick lower lip and scowled at me and sniffed. I was the bad smell he had under his nose. After consideration, he said, Next time you’re hereabouts, see you don’t do anything you’ll need to be sorry for. Or you will be, brother. But sorry. If it wasn’t the lady don’t want to make no trouble, I’d haul you up before the judge.

The empty threat seemed to satisfy his official dignity. A copper can’t ever stop acting like a copper. And having said his parting piece, he began to move off. It looked like the prologue to a very peculiar affair was over.

But I wasn’t the only kibitzer that night. In a hesitant scuffle, the guy in the doorway came out to where we were standing at the edge of the sidewalk. He was a little character with sloping shoulders, a long neck, a hook nose, and hornrimmed glasses. Before he opened his mouth, I knew he was the kind of guy who has an orderly mind and who hates it when things aren’t arranged just so.

After he’d swallowed a quick breath, he said, I don’t want to interfere, officer —his type of orderly mind always goes with a compulsion neurosis— but I think you ought to know … His eyes flitted from me to my new-found girlfriend and they got lost in her cleavage. What he’d been going to say got lost at the same time. He wet his lips and shifted from one foot to the other and behaved like he’d turned over two pages by mistake.

The patrolman said, Yes … ?

I—I was coming out of—he pointed vaguely behind him and his face was as embarrassed as if Morry ran a brothel— out of there … when I heard this lady scream. His eyes climbed up from the cleft of smooth, creamy flesh with evident reluctance. When they met hers, he wet his lips again. What he was thinking could’ve rated him two to five in the pen.

The patrolman slapped his nightstick against his palm and repeated, Yes … ?

There was a car standing just about—here … and a man was running round to the other side to get in…. He drove off in a great hurry like he was trying to get away from—something. And I wondered …

What did you wonder?

Well … it looked to me as if somebody had attacked— this guy … he was holding his head and she was acting— funny. He fumbled with the knot in his necktie and wriggled his shoulders and got rid of a lump in his throat. He didn’t fancy the way we were all staring at him and saying nothing.

Is that all?

I—I guess so. Of course, I could’ve been wrong … but I just thought I oughta mention it in case … you never know … His voice dribbled into silence. When he had flicked a swift glance up into the patrolman’s beefy face, he looked from me to the girl in the black velvet dress and his fugitive eyes found refuge in the sheen of her dark hair.

The patrolman said, A car and a guy on the lam and a dame acting funny … well, whadayou know? He gripped the nightstick between both hands and looked at her and then at me. Did you see anything of this car, lady? Or you?

She shook her head and the space between her pencilled brows puckered in a puzzled V. She said, I believe there was a car that drove off but, as for the rest of it … She was talking to the copper but she was watching me. And she behaved like she was sorry she had to make a liar out of the little character with the beak nose.

And you, brother? Were you attacked by this guy who was in a hurry?

I said, If I had been, would I have kept it a secret?

Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. It don’t make sense. His tone was one of agreement but suspicion stuck out all over him like quills. When his little eyes stopped poking holes in us, he looked down with open distaste at the character in the horn-rimmed glasses. He said, Strikes me you’ve had a skinful, too. Ever seen this couple before?

No. And I said I could’ve been wrong. I was only trying to help. Behind his thick lenses, the little guy looked like he wanted to cry.

Sure, sure. Forget it. There’s no harm done. And thanks for the help you might’ve been.

Don’t want me for anything else?

Not a thing. You get back to your party.

The little guy shuffled uncertainly while he stored up final impressions of the girl in black velvet, like a squirrel stores up nuts in anticipation of a long, hard winter. Then he bobbed his head at me and mumbled, "No hard feelings, mister. Don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I was only