The Art of Racing in the Human World
#1 of The Art of Racing in the Human World
"I'm ruling in favor of the plaintiff, Wolfpack Motorsports," called Judge Holder with a sharp rap from his gavel.
At once, the defendants, a variety of executives from a variety of racing teams, stood up clamoring. Such a thing had been absurd. That these freaks, these fur-covered creatures with tails that could talk like humans, would be allowed to race was simply insane.
"You can't be serious, Judge," exclaimed one executive from Hendrix Motorsports.
"Come now, be reasonable," cried one from the GT4 racing series.
"I am being reasonable," boomed the judge. "There is nothing in any rule book I've seen that prohibits these individuals from being able to race. If they are not promptly supplied with a rule book, a garage at every track, and properly trained pit crews, you all will be held in contempt of court and arrested. Do I make myself clear?"
The hodge-podge group of racing lawyers and executives nodded and grumbled assent. Judge Holder was a man of his word.
At the plaintiffs table, Ricky Rifenbark couldn't have been more pleased. His team, Wolfpack Motorsports, was going to be allowed to race!
"Thank you, mister Powell," he said happily to his lawyer.
"Call me John," laughed the portly attorney, clapping the furry anthropomorphic German Shepherd on the arm. "And it was no trouble, lad. Even people ignorant of the law could see that you were being discriminated against."
"I wish the first dozen lawyers I tried saw it that way," remarked Ricky.
"Bah."
Ricky turned to his friend-cum-partner in crime and gave him a high five. Jarrod Morrison, a Northern River otter, smiled triumphantly.
Behind them in the gallery, a striking silver and white furred husky grinned and waved. Jarrod waved back, the fiber optic bits in his carbon fur turning pink. The silvery husky was his mate, Adrian.
Adrian was the crew chief for Jarrod's car, the number 06 Maserati MC GT4. He was like Ricky and Jarrod with cars, but to a slightly less extent. The two of them were extremely close, sharing many of the same beliefs and habits.
Jarrod, also known as Carbon, was twenty-six years old, and also happened to be Ricky's best friend. He wasn't very tall, standing about five and a quarter feet tall, but his frame carried a lot of power. One never won a fight against this diminutive otter.
Adrian, on the other hand, stood nearly six feet tall and had the physique of a soldier. The kiwi husky had a thick accent, but it made everything sound funnier than it was.
Ricky himself stood about five feet eight inches tall. He wasn't very strong, but he had the sharpest tongue out of the three. His creamy white fur glinted in the sun with very slight hints of red.
Outside the courthouse in New York City, the three furs grouped around the black Mercedes C63 AMG at the curb.
"I can't believe they went our way," remarked Carbon the otter.
"I'm glad they did. Now we can stick it to those humans," said Adrian. His fur bristled at the sight of the group of humans coming out of the building.
"Calm down you two. There's still a lot of work to be done before we can race here." Jarrod looked at his mate.
Adrian got the idea and shut his muzzle.