Joey appeared happy to dismiss Bev and Prince and turned his full attention to Spencer.
“How are things going with my Marshall?”
Spencer wanted to tell him that not only was it was none of his business, but Marshall was not his. Prince would have probably done precisely that. Bev even rolled her eyes. Spencer would not give Joey the satisfaction of reacting.
“Things are going extremely well.”
“In which case, why is he not here?”
“He has an overseas assignment. We’ll see each other Saturday when he gets back.”
Joey’s gaze hardened. Something in Spencer’s last statement had ruffled his feathers, maybe because he was no longer in the loop on Marshall’s life and whereabouts.
“I’d watch your back if I were you, mate. Associating with someone like him.”
A little voice in Spencer’s head wanted to tell Joey not to call him his mate.
“This should be good,” said Prince, folding his arms. “Why does my friend need to watch his back around a national treasure like Marshall Highlander?”
“I bet Marshall never told you,” said Joey, his attention still on Spencer. “He has a price on his head? You want to be careful you don’t end up being collateral damage.”
“What?” said Prince, followed by a barked laugh.
“Of course he told me, Joe,” said Spencer, straight-faced, deciding not to let Joey get to him. “Along with the traumatising story about his alien abduction, and the time he was almost run over by the ghost of John Wayne on a Harley-Davidson.”
Prince tilted his head back and laughed loudly again, this time making Bev and those sitting at nearby tables laugh along, much to Joey’s irritation.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” said an unsmiling Joey. “Why don’t you ask that useless bitch Darcy if you don’t believe me? Marshall has interviewed a number of dodgy personalities during his career, including businessman Roberto Fiorelli, backin 2018, who was alleged to be associated with the mafia and supplying drugs to various European nations. Marshall did his usual job of putting the man on the spot, and stupidly backed him into a corner on live television. Afterwards Fiorelli went apeshit and, if rumours are true, threatened to put a hit out on Marshall. You should be careful getting into any cars with him, or being seen out anywhere in public. Otherwise, as I say, you might end up being caught in the crossfire.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Really? You don’t come across as a toughie. The bow tie and specs don’t exactly scream street smarts.”
“Like you, you mean?” said Prince. “Someone who’s spent his whole life pretending to be other people? You wouldn’t know street smarts if they bit you on the arse.”
Spencer noticed Bev pull her glass to her mouth, trying to suppress a laugh, something Joey noticed too and that irritated him even more. Once again he attempted to ignore them and keep his attention fixed on Spencer.
“Don’t say you haven’t been warned—”
Joey had been about to step into Spencer’s space, but Prince sprang up from the table in between them and almost snarled.
“Why don’t you fuck off and play with the traffic, has-been.”
“Prince!” said Bev, grabbing Prince’s arm, shocked but grinning. The words had been enough, though. Joey backed off slowly before turning and heading into the crowded bar.
Spencer had noticed Nile remaining a few feet away, his eyes glued on them, eavesdropping on their conversation. As soon as Joey left, he moved back, handed out drinks and took his seat.
“That guy is such an asshole,” said Prince, shaking his head as he glowered at Joey heading off. “Sorry, team, this has to be the last one. Enough excitement for one afternoon. I’m ready to drive back to civilisation.”
“Thatwas Joey Hollingbroke? Aka Donkey?” said Nile, also watching him go. “False advertising, by all accounts. Rumour has it he’s hung like a squirrel. No offence, Spence.”
Bev finally burst into fits of giggles she had clearly been holding in. No doubt the alcohol helped, but she seemed to be enjoying the show.
“None taken,” said Spencer, grinning at Nile. “How did that nickname come about, anyway? I never watched the series.”
“Waterloo Lane?” said Bev, getting herself under control. “They had him kitted out in a donkey jacket no matter the weather. In the beginning they wrote him as a simpleminded lad, shouted at by his dad, pushed around by his brothers. Audiences really sympathised and grew to love him—well, the character. And eventually he got to shine with his own monologues. I almost hate to say it, but he wasn’t half bad back in the day.”
“Now let me get this right, honey,” said Nile, his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Because this is just too delicious not to pass comment on. In one afternoon, you’ve faced off with the entitled prick, Blake—yes, I saw you outside the loo. And now you’ve been confronted by Donkey, who is your new man’s ex?”
