Tom made no move to retrieve the photograph, but looked from it to Frankie, then back again. He gave him a skeptical look when he claimed that it wasn't him - what kind of fool did he take him for, anyway? - but when Frankie pointed out the scar, Tom found himself slightly more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"So, what - you're telling me you have a doppelganger and this is all just one big misunderstanding?" Tom said, raising an eyebrow. "You run pretty fast for an innocent man."
He watched Frankie's face, contemplating what he really knew about the younger man. He was a hard worker and a hell of a supply runner, and as far as he knew, loyal. Plus, people who had something to run from often made the best carnies, as they tended to stay awhile, and he then had something to hold over them to keep them in line. The fact that he'd come back when he could have easily taken off and never returned also did a lot to win Tom's favour, and in the end, his stern expression gave way for a mildy-amused smirk.
"Well, I don't give a shit what you did or didn't do, to be honest, and if you ever remember, I don't want to hear about it. I told those rubes I'd never seen you, and that they oughta shake some dust if they didn't want to hear from a friend of mine. I don't know what you did to piss them off, but they didn't seem pleased with you, kid."