Mr. Hartson guided the pair to the Brooke family garage, consisting of a blinding array of sports cars and 4x4s.
“What do you want?” Rupert spoke whilst itching his butt-crack in a very un-ladylike manor.
Marshall had his nose pressed up against one of the car windows, ogling the interior.
“Oooooh,” Mr. Hartson turned on his heel and browsed the various auto-mobiles intensively. “I'll take that Aston Martin, for keeps. And ooooh let me see...”
Rupert sighed.
“That Monster Truck. Yes, that should sell very well indeed.”
“With all due respect Mr. Hartson, we can't just drive two cars out of here for you!” said Marshall, whilst still eyeing up the yellow Lamborghini.
Mr. Hartson threw his hands up, “You're the Brooke twins! These cars belong to your family, of course you can drive them out!” His face then turned ultra serious, “and besides, it's not like you have a choice. Now, pronto! I want to see these parked in my driveway by tomorrow morning. Or else.”
“Or else what?” Rupert put his hands on his hips.
“Or else... I'll report you both to the authorities. And a pretty girl like you...” Mr. Hartson caressed the imposter-in-drag's chin, “wouldn't last a fucking day in prison.”
Rupert gulped and nodded shyly.
“Good girl.” He rubbed 'Linda's' hair/wig in a patronising demeanour, “Now, get to it! I have a scotch waiting for me...”
“Okay do you want to take the Aston Martin or the stupid truck?” Rupert allowed himself to talk his usual boyish voice for the first time that evening.
“Aston Martin.” Marshall replied bluntly, still captivated by the macho male's paradise.
Rupert had never been a big fan of cars, for him it was just a simple mode of transport — nothing to get excited about.
So he came surprisingly suited to the role of 'nagging sister'.
“Let's just go!” Rupert slapped his accomplice in the back as he was bent over the engine of one of the BMWs.
“Alright, fine!” Marshall pouted, “Can you even drive a Monster Truck around town?”
“I sure hope so.” Rupert groaned, “You leave first, I'll follow after you in about 10 minutes so that we don't raise any suspicion.”
“Sure..” Marshall responded, reverting back to his zombie tone as he stroke the steering wheel of the gleaming Aston Martin.
“125, Oakwood Drive.” Marshall mumbled to himself as he approached the reasonably large house placed in the most surburbial of suburbs imaginable, with the standard white picket fences literally littering the neighbourhood.
“Looks like Hartson's got it pretty good already to me...” he continued to talk to himself.
“Hello?” Rupert pushed back his long brunette hair and slotted in his bluetooth headset.
“Hey, where are you?”
“Just heading into the neighbourhood now, I'll be about 5 minutes.”
“Sweet. I'm just sat on the bonnet waiting for you okay?”
“Sure.” Rupert smiled.
“Okay love you bye.” Marshall quickly hung up, only half realising what he'd just said.
Rupert was in shock, eventually managing to weave some words together, “Marsh, did you just-?” but he'd already ended the call.
He proceeded to tap the large steering wheel, his long painted nails dancing around before his eyes. “I love you too.” he whispered softly.
At this point, Marshall was pacing around Mr. Hartson's front lawn with his hands behind his head, “Maybe she didn't hear me... maybe HE didn't hear me... maybe... ah for fucks sa-” His ramblings were interrupted by the roars of multiple sirens.
“Put your hands behind your head!” Bellowed an authoritative voice.
Marshall looked around confused, only partially because his hands were already located behind him.
“Marshall Daley, you are under arrest for stolen identity, burglary and dealing with illegal fake documents...”
“Shit.”
