There was some discussion in the comments of the original review about the author's name, mainly because there's a well-known SF writer named Robert L. Forward. You'll note that on The Owl 2, the author is billed as "Bob Forward."
I'm thinking that maybe I should let the book speak for itself a little, so here goes, from page 14:
Baroom! Baroom! Baroom! The Peacemaker roared in .45 basso profundo as my left palm slammed the hammer. The driver's body went three feet backward without touching the ground and hit asphalt in a heap. What was left of his head landed a good deal further on, as the last vestiges of crimson spray blew away on the dry and dusty wind. The Santa Ana tasted blood -- and it howled.And from page 43:
But that was a long, dark decade ago; before Alexander L'Hiboux, reporter, was reborn in a Hell of fire and rage as the ever-deadly, never-sleeping Owl.And from page 46:
"You're the Owl. You're an ice-blooded, two-fisted, merciless sonofabitch. You move fast, shoot faster, and never take unnecessary chances. You've stayed alive because you stay alone and out of sight. Yet now -- all of a sudden, you've got the cops, the drug underworld, and probably the FBI on your ass . . . ."I must have been in a more receptive mood when reading this one than when reading The Owl because I enjoyed the heck out of it. It starts off over the top and builds from there. It's essentially one long chase scene as The Owl acts as bodyguard to a 16-year-old girl whom seemingly everybody in L. A. wants to get his hands on. There's blood, gore, and action aplenty. Norbert the dead bartender, a great character, makes a return appearance, as does the enigmatic Alcatraz. Too bad there wasn't an Owl 3.