Three Furs, One House
#4 of Three Furs, One House
Three Furs, One House- Chapter 4 Expecting the Unexpected
I whistled idly to myself as I sorted through the massive pile of mail on my desk. My earbuds were in, blasting a Chaos Theory cover of Nickelback's "If Today Was Your Last Day". My footpaws tapped in rhythm to the slow, but powerful song.
_ _
If today was your last day,
If tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday
_ _
Would you live each moment like your last,
Leave old pictures in the past,
Donate every dime you have,
If today was your last day.
Without much conscious thought, my paw picked up an envelope that wasn't like the others. The address had been handwritten and the postmark was from somewhere in Germany.
I used my claw to slit the envelope open and unfolded the sharply creased sheet of paper. My eyes squinted slightly as they pored over the unfamiliar, looping script.
"My name is Reks Uni.
I am a huge fan of your team and was hoping that, by sending in my resume and application, that I would be a fit candidate for a spot on your staff. It has been my dream to work for this racing team since it was started several years ago, and I would be ecstatic to hear from you regarding this opportunity.
Sincerely,
Reks Uni."
I smiled and slipped the paper back into its envelope, tucking the thing into the inside pocket of my jacket.
I had just picked up an envelope with the Maserati logo on it when my phone rang. I snatched it up without looking at the caller ID and held it to my ear.
"Thank you for calling Wolfpack Motorsports, this is Ricky speaking. How may I help you?"
A sibilant hiss shot out at me. "Very classy, Rifenbark. Is that how you always talk?"
"Who the hell is this?" I shot a glance at the small screen on the phone, hoping to glean some information on my caller. It said 'Shadow Racing'.
"Take a wild fuckin' guess, genius. Actually, don't answer that, it's Browning from SRT. I always knew shepherds were slow. "
I gritted my teeth. "What the hell do you want?"
"Not much actually. Me and the boys were wondering how badly we could kick your ass this time."
"Don't you mean how badly Davis could wreck me out like the pussy he is?"
"You're perfectly capable of doing that to yourself. Must I remind you? Spain? 2010? Great job, bud."
I growled, cracking my knuckles.
"Why don't we see about that?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Me and Davis. Harbor City Raceway tomorrow at four P.M."
He didn't say anything for a moment.
"Fine. We can take you there," he snapped. "See ya soon, sheppie."
I heard the click as he hung up, cutting the connection. I seethed for a moment, paws clenched, before deciding that I wasn't going to be able to get anything else done today. Igrabbed a pawful of envelopes and stuffed them into my briefcase to deal with later.
* * *
"Damn it, we're not putting down the times we need," I snarled over the intercom, the Maserati screeching to a halt in the pit box.
"She's giving it all she has, dude. We're only a second off our best," Swiff called to me as he came up to the car, laptop computer in paw.
"Did anything happen to this one?"
"It isn't the one from Road America. This is the first time this one has even seen the track, much less been on it." Swiff turned the computer so I could see the telemetry from the hot lap. All I saw was a bunch of random numbers, only one of which I cared about.
"Then why the hell isn't it going like the others?"
"It's a new car, dude. You need to break it in."
I tugged the helmet from my head and banged it against the wheel. Swiff jumped, taken aback by my sudden display of violence.
"Dude, you need to chill out," came the familiar voice of Charlie Clayton. He and James had been in the area with Jake, their newly adopted son, eating out during the little free time they had for the day. They had a show planned for that night at the Harbor City convention center, a little spur of the moment thing that still would wind up drawing a huge audience. The locals would fight over spaces in the crowd.
I extracted myself from the tangle of belts and tubes that fed the AC in my helmet and got out of the car. Charlie was standing next to James, who was smiling brightly as he took hits from a fat, pungent-smelling joint. As I watched, James exhaled a huge cloud of the thick blue smoke into the warm afternoon air.
"Where's Jake?" I asked. I hadn't seen the sneaky coyote since they'd arrived at the track, hours earlier.
"He's in the garage taking a look at the car." Charlie replied. "I gotta say, he's in love."
I couldn't help but smile at that. The little thirteen-year-old coyote was absolutely adorable.
"I'm not surprised by that. It's hard to not love the car."
"Hah! Oh, please..." James muttered, with a shake of his head. He pointed a finger towards the back pocket of Charlie's torn black jeans.
"The only thing he's in love with are the five hits of acid he snuck out of your back pocket before he took off."
I watched, amused, as Charlie's jaw dropped and his eyes appeared to bug out of his skull. "What the hell, man?!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? That acid was for the band! We were gonna take that before the show so we could--"
The rest of his sentence was cut off when James wrapped a hand around his muzzle and clamped it shut.
"Look at it this way, Charlie..." he whispered with a smile. "We've got eight hours left before the show. The kid's gonna be on another planet until tomorrow, at least. We could always make use of the time..."
Charlie's worries seemed to fade as his mate traced a finger over the lining of his jaw. I couldn't help shaking my head. What a weird family...
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a mixed group of furs and humans. Undoubtedly, they were on one of the many tours that were given of the track every day.
One of them in particular caught my eye. One guy was staring over in our direction. He was a white-furred ocelot with the same spots, except for the patch over their left eye. He was dressed in white skinny jeans and a neon purple v-neck t-shirt.
As I scanned them, the ocelot shot me a cute smile and a little paw wave. I drug myself away from that thought and returned to the conversation at paw.
"I think I'm about done for the day," I said, tossing my helmet back into the car.
"Are you sure about that, Ricky?" Swiff called over. He was on his knees, getting a close look at the brake pads on the front left wheel.
"Yeah, man, I'm done. All I'm going to do from this point on is wreck the car because I got pissy. I don't want to total one of our expensive-ass cars."
Swiff nodded. "Go have fun, man."
Raceday at the Harbor City Raceway...
The stands were almost packed with a huge group of humans and furs, each sporting the merchandise from the team they supported. WPMS and SRT were the two biggest teams in the area, and what was about to happen had, for the most part, been unheard of. The GT4 regs usually didn't go for rivalry matches like this, but, the season was over and they didn't pay any attention.
The Maserati's engine rumbled powerfully, vibrating the whole car as it rounded the second-to-last turn at fifty miles per hour. In my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of the ACR Viper next to me; the one driven by Davis, with the big number twenty-three on the side of the all-black American muscle car.
The two of us straightened out at the end of the turn, dead even behind the Dodge Ram SRT10 pickup that served as our pace car. Even over the roar of two huge motors and through the confines of my helmet, I could hear the crowd cheering.
I refocused my gaze on the truck, noting with some amusement that the person holding the green flag was the same white ocelot from the day before. Today, he was wearing a pair of checkered flag booty shorts and a sexy tight black short sleeved t-shirt that only went down to his midriff. In both of his paws were what looked like flare-guns, but I couldn't really tell from where I was.
I regripped the wheel, loosening up for the race. The start-finish line was only a hundred yards away and getting closer every second.
Off to my left, the ACR's engine growled, the mighty V10 having been detuned for the series. The Viper's huge carbon fiber spoiler and front lip glinted in the sunlight of the day. The solid matte black paint looked intimidating.
In the pace truck, the sexy ocelot raised both paws, pointing flare guns up into the air.
The V10's roar doubled, and Davis's car took off. At that same moment, the ocelot in the truck pulled the triggers of his flare guns, sending glowing white balls of light high into the air.
I made a snap downshift to second and gave it the beans. The pedal went to the floor, Italian V8 engine barking through the exhaust.
I twitched the wheel right, then left, swerving around the truck in my way as I made to catch up to Davis, who had jumped the start.
From a few car lengths back, I saw his tail lights flash as he braked for the first corner.
"Ricky, he jumped the start!"
"Don't you think I know that?!" I screamed back. I ignored the radio as I braked for the corner, cranking the wheel hard over and nailing the apex of the corner.
The race was a ten-lap event with a mandatory caution with two to go. The last two laps would a sprint to the finish and the winner would go home with a lot of confidence.
With two laps to go before that caution, I finally caught up to Davis and took the lead on the inside of the second to last corner.
"Way to go, Ricky! Hold him off and it's yours!"
I grinned and hammered the gas, accelerating away through the esses at the back part of the track.
I crossed the line with three car lengths on him, diving into the first turn like I owned it, which, technically, I did.
"One to go before the caution, one to go."
Throughout the whole next lap, I gained more and more distance on the Viper, until the last corner. I accidently pushed down the pedal too far, locking the wheels. The tires screamed from the abuse, leaving a set of huge black skid marks through the turn. There was a huge pop as the front right wheel let go, shredding itself in the wheel well.
"Shit, blew a tire, blew a tire." I called over the radio.
"Come on in, we'll get a new one on."
My car limped into the pit. I seethed silently as the big black Viper screamed past me and over the finish line.
I braked in the pit box and immediately, the car was surrounded by members of my pit crew, who were changing out tires and throwing fresh ones on, and cleaning the grill of the small bits of debris that had collected there.
The jacks let me down and the wheels hit the tarmac. I spun the rear wheels on exit, trying my best to heat them up before I hit the track.
A minute or so later, I caught up to Davis. I slotted in on his right, behind the Ram pace truck. The same ocelot was in the back again, once again clutching the flare guns. As we crossed the line again, he raised his paws and pulled the triggers. The balls of light shot up into the sky as both cars let loose with their roars, the lighter Italian V8-powered Maserati edging ahead. I dived into the first corner with Davis right under my spoiler. I could see nothing but his helmet, but I knew that he was after me with a vengeance.
We crossed the line for the second to last time with me in the lead by a length. As we dived into the corners, I could see him steadily starting to lose ground. I grinned, knowing that I had it in the bag unless I royally fucked up.
My grin was instantly gone as I saw the back end of his Viper snap around, tires sending smoke into the air. As I watched the front end plow into the retainer wall, I stood on the brakes, sending the Maserati to a screeching halt.
"Ricky, what the fuck are you doing?" yelled Swiff. "Finish the race!"
"Is he okay?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
I threw the transmission into reverse and backed up to the wreck, which was sitting all alone in the middle of the racing surface. I took off my helmet, silencing Swiff's retort as I ran to the drivers side of the destroyed Viper. I yanked open the door, which fell off and clattered noisily against the ground.
"Davis? You okay?"
He grunted loudly in response, reaching for the door frame as he tried in vain to get out of the car. I noticed that his left arm was bent at an unusual angle. It was evenly broken in the center.
"Fucking arm's broken."
"Don't worry, man. We'll get you fixed up."
He grinned crookedly at me.
"And for the record, I won," I added, chuckling.
"Bullshit," he shot back, the smile on his face showing the fact that he was just kidding.
Out in the stands, the fans were screaming and shouting and generally making a lot of noise. They had been shocked by the turn of events in the race, my blowing a tire and then Davis wrecking because of the same thing and me stopping to help when it was well known that I didn't like the guy.
* * *
An hour after the race, I finally pulled the Maserati back into our pit box, only to find that the Ram was already there with the feminine-looking ocelot sitting in the tailgate.
As I stopped the car and got out, the ocelot jumped nimbly down from the tailgate and sauntered over to the car.
"Hey," he called. "Are you Ricky Rifenbark?"
"Yeah..." I said slowly, removing my helmet and throwing it into the drivers seat.
"Reks Uni," he said, extending a paw.
The letter I got yesterday flashed in front of my vision.
"I got a letter from you yesterday! I thought you lived in Germany."
He shrugged. "I did. I got bored and took a trip. And you just got that? I sent it like two months ago."
"Wow."
"Yeah, intercontinental mail is kinda fucked," he said nonchalantly. "So, anyway, here I am."
"Um... Well... Hi..."
"Ricky!" shouted Swiff. He stumbled out of the garage, something smoking in his paw.
I facepawed. "Seriously? The race hasn't been over more than an hour and you're already fucked up?"
"Yeah, dude..." he slurred. "Hey, stop moving so fast!"
I had been reaching down to pick my helmet up.
"Who are you, what are you smoking, and can I have some?" Reks asked with a toothy grin.
"Well, my name is Swiff, this is some Blueberry, and yeah... Just follow me." my roommate answered with a stoner grin.
"Ricky, we'll discuss my employment later," Reks said, grinning. He and Swiff linked arms and walked off, Reks taking the burning joint out of Swiff's paw and taking a huge hit for himself as they departed.
"Fuckin' stoners," I muttered under my breath as I pulled the car into the garage.
Inwardly, though, I was smiling. It was going to be an interesting night...