Frank protested, but did eventually submit to having a shave. Rarity used a simple spell to heat the water and used it to rub soap into his scraggly beard. It was not a perfect solution, but would help the razor slide smoothly over his skin as it should.
The blade was shiny, probably plated for corrosion resistance. Frank’s eyes tracked it suspiciously, unwilling to close his eyes and relax as Rarity suggested. He sat still on his bed, bracing as if he expected her to cut him.
“I’m always very careful when it comes to grooming,” Rarity assured him. “Just don’t disturb me when I’m in the zone.”
She concentrated hard and began to gently slice the excess of whiskers from his face. Her deft touch with magic made the job go quickly, and very cleanly.
“I think that should do the trick.” Rarity smiled and wiped the extra soap away. Frank felt his face, as if relieved that he still had it. He stood up, edging away from the razor.
Rarity frowned. “Don’t you like what I did for you?”
“It’s nice.” Frank got up and headed for the door. “Thanks.”
He went out and shut the door behind him. On the other side of it, he thought he heard Rarity snort in annoyance. Frank sighed quietly and went on his way.
He didn’t want Rarity to think he owed her something. The things she had been doing for him were appreciated to be sure, but he hadn’t asked for them. The last thing he wanted was to be under her figurative thumb for repayment of favors.
Frank exited the hotel and stood in the street for a moment, watching the sun set over the rooftops. Shaved and with a new coat, he thought it was less likely he would be recognized. If any of Teal Jack’s gang was in town, he’d rather get the drop on them rather than the other way around.
He frowned as he thought about it. Rarity wearing Teal Jack’s distinctive hat had given her away. They might have to do something about that.
A few coins jingled in Frank’s pocket and he debated finding a haberdashery, if this town had one. But what would happen if he got her a gift? Would she consider them even, or think he was pandering to her?
Frank shook his head in frustration and started towards the saloon. Pushing open the doors, he walked in and crossed the floor, taking a seat at a small table against the back wall. A waitress came out from behind the bar and approached. “What can I get you?”
“Whatever’s cooking,” Frank replied, glancing at the kitchen doors. He paused, considering his money, then added, “Plus a bottle of decent whiskey.”
The waitress walked away. While Frank waited, he glanced around. There were certainly many things to be had here. Liquor, cards, prostitutes. A man could spend a lot of time and money here.
Frank looked for familiar faces while attempting to hide his own. There was a possibility that Teal Jack was here in town. It was a large enough settlement to have a jeweler, if he was looking to trade in Rarity’s diamond.
“Here you are,” said the waitress, setting a plate down. It had tortillas, ground beef and refried beans.
“What’s this?” Frank asked.
“The Mexicans call them tacos.” She put down a bottle of whiskey and a glass, then left for another customer.
After figuring out how to eat them, Frank decided that tacos were pretty good. The whiskey wasn’t bad, either. Not letting himself get distracted by the food, however, he kept his eyes moving around the room.
Frank finished quickly and picked up the bottle. He went to the bar and asked the waitress for an order to go. “Another few tacos, but with no meat.”
The look on her face said that it was a strange order, but she went to the kitchen to fetch it while Frank waited. He turned from the bar, facing the room.
The door opened and a man came in. His hat was black and pulled low, although he peered from under it to look around the inside of the saloon. His gaze went to Frank.
The two of them held each other’s stare from across the room. They’d met before. Frank knew that this was Tex Taft, the right hand man of Teal Jack. He was arguably even more dangerous than his boss.
Taft’s hands were held at his sides, within easy reach of his pistols. The two guns were carried low, the ends of the holsters tied down to his legs to make drawing faster.
The pistols were Walch Navy revolvers, a kind not often seen, and Taft had built his reputation on them. They were only .36 caliber cap-and-ball guns, using black powder instead of modern cartridges, but each revolver carried a staggering twelve shots.
Taft looked across the room at Frank for a moment and then eased back out the door.
“Mister?” broke in the waitress, offering Frank a couple of tacos wrapped in old newspaper. He quickly dropped money on the bar and grabbed the food and whiskey, not pausing to get his change.
Stowing his purchases in the pockets of his coat, Frank went out the door, his hand dropping close to his gun. The sun was behind the buildings now, and the fading light blanketed the street in shadows. Taft was already out of sight.
Cursing under his breath, Frank started down the street. He’d gotten the tacos for Rarity, thinking of them as a kind of peace offering with her, but that would have to wait.
He went to the end of the block and had another look around. Still not seeing Taft or anyone else he knew, Frank crossed the street and went over a block.
Roswell was not that large of a town, but it did have a few streets to choose from. The businesses on this avenue were all closed for the day, and there was far less foot traffic. Frank decided to take a circuitous route back to the hotel, wanting to be careful.
There was a whisper of movement between two buildings across the street. Frank turned his head and caught the barrel of a gun poking out of the gap.
He dove forward, barely avoiding the blast of a shotgun that slammed into the wall of the building beside him. The buckshot had not spread much, only being fired across the street and from a long gun.
Rolling, Frank yanked his pistol and managed to get a shot off roughly in the direction of the shooter. Getting to his feet and taking a few steps back, he fired again and then turned and put a bullet through the plate glass window of the darkened store behind him. He dove through the opening as the shotgun roared again, missing high.
Frank hit the floor, his coat protecting him from glass. There was another shot, and a fist-sized hole blew through the wall a few feet from him.
The fourth shotgun blast hit the wall as Frank sheltered against it, so close that splinters of wood bounced off his coat.
Taking a chance, Frank raised his head over the edge of the wall and aimed across the street. He couldn’t see the shooter anymore and reasoned that they were reloading. Recalling from their previous meeting outside Lubbock, Taft had been carrying a Roper repeating shotgun, which had a magazine of four rounds.
Vaulting the wall, Frank took off down the street at a run. There were still two unfired rounds in his pistol, and while it would take time for his assailant to reload, that still left Frank uncomfortably outgunned. He wasn’t stupid, and the choice to vacate the area was the option most likely to keep him alive.
He made the next block and swung back to the main street, slowing down and holstering his gun. People were looking in the direction of the gunfire, and none of them seemed particularly willing to go investigate it. Frank didn’t recall how many law officers Roswell employed, and didn’t particularly want to find out.
He made it back to the hotel and checked his coat for residual glass before entering. In rolling around and trying to escape, the peace tacos intended for Rarity had been mostly mashed. Frank debated telling her that it was how they were actually supposed to be served.
Frank paused outside the door to the room. He was going to tell Rarity about the shooting, because she would probably ask. He would probably downplay it, although he doubted he would rest easily tonight with gunmen on the loose in town.
Opening the door, Frank stopped short. The beds were overturned and personal effects were scattered around the room. Blood was smeared across the floor and up to the broken window. Rarity was nowhere to be seen.
Not moving an inch from where he stood, Frank slowly glanced around the room. Rarity’s saddle was gone, as was her hat. A few items had spilled from her saddlebags and she hadn’t collected them.
Frank took a few steps forward to the edge of the pool of blood. The stains were uneven, and there were a few patterns, like a knife had been flicked around the room. Whoever the blade had been used on had been stabbed more than once. Frank maneuvered around the blood to the window, looking through the hole. There was glass lying in the dirt outside and hoof prints leading away at a gallop.
Crossing the room quickly, Frank went out the door and headed to the front desk. The clerk was there and looked up as he approached.
“What happened to my room?” Frank demanded.
“I didn’t hear anything.” The man’s eyes were a little wider than was really necessary.
Frank stared at the clerk for several seconds and was just about to call him out for lying when the door opened and a few men wearing stars came in. The one in the lead approached the desk. Frank saw from his badge that he was the sheriff.
Flanked by his deputies, the sheriff stopped, glancing at the clerk and at Frank. “We’re here about a murder.”