Calvin Bowie

The hefty, bulldog-ish face with wide-set eyes stared straight ahead. Its molded expression, a perpetual frown, didn’t pretend to notice me. The man it belonged to was mountainous, dressed in a black shirt and denim pants. His massive arms rested on the bar top, scars and callouses covering his huge hands. Calvin Bowie sat beside me, and I wondered if I would soon feel those beastly hands wrapped around my throat. It was entirely in the realm of possibility.
—Book 1, A Cold Blooded Rain, Chapter 11 – A Couple of Joes