The Boy Who Followed Ripley
“This morning he was happier. Frank lay facedown, asleep, and breathing. Tom had yielded to an impulse to check if he was breathing by looking at his ribs. Tom put on his dressing gown and went in to see Eric.
“Now tell me more about last night,” Eric said. “One shot—”
“Yes, Eric. Only one. At the door lock.”
Eric was putting various kinds of bread, rolls, and jams on a tray—extra festive in Frank’s honor, perhaps. “We’ll let the boy sleep, of course. Isn’t he a nice-looking boy!”
Tom smiled. “You think so? Yes. Rather handsome and unaware of it. That’s always attractive.”
They sat on Eric’s smaller sofa in the living room, which had a coffee table in front of it. Tom narrated the evening’s events, even to Max and Rollo standing by him in the Hump, and said that the two who had been looking for Joey finally left, disappointed.
“They sound amateurish—to let you follow them,”
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