Three Furs, One House
#9 of Three Furs, One House
Three Furs, One House- Chapter 9
I woke to the smells and sounds of cooking breakfast. My nose twitched at the scent of frying bacon and my mouth watered slightly. The bed under me was as soft and inviting as ever, a plush memory foam mattress that one just sank into. A fluffy blanket covered my body from the head down, and I really didn't feel like moving.
But I did, throwing the covers from my body. A smile crossed my face as I saw the clumps of matted fur across my front, the remnants of last night's fun times.
I knew that before I went out there, I had to clean up. Swiff and Reks were still there, so if I wanted to avoid the mocking that they would surely give, I had to make myself look presentable.
Alex was asleep next to me, his chest rising slowly with each soft, rhythmic breath. I could see his eyes shifting around in his sleep, and his ear twitched every couple seconds.
I smiled. He was the sweetest thing, and I knew that if I wanted him to stay around, I'd have to take the next step. It wasn't going to be easy to pull off what I had in mind, but I knew that it was going to be spectacular.
As carefully as I could, I wiggled off of the bed. I stretched leisurely, popping my back and scratching my arm as I did so.
I padded into the master bathroom and examined myself in the mirror. A lean German Shepherd looked back at me, dark brown eyes locked into their reflection. My fur, with the exception of the matted clumps, was a lustrous snow white and very thick.
My left paw was a bright shade of blue, the right orange; the same colors as the WPMS Maserati. My ears and tail had thick stripes of the same color, and I was extremely pleased by the tattoo job that had given me them.
My gaze drifted lower, to the physical parts of me that were Alex's favorites. I was decently endowed for a Sheppie, with a sheath a few inches around and several long.
Absentmindedly, I spun the dials for the shower and was rewarded by a blast of water that was the perfect temperature.
I keyed up 331Erock's metal cover of Katy Perry's Call Me Maybe and stepped into the glass cubicle, shutting the door behind me.
I took a few moments to let the steaming water soak into my fur until I looked a lot smaller than I was. The water dripped from my tail and down my front, swirling down the drain.
My paw found a bottle of Fluffy Fur shampoo and squirted a quarter-sized dollop onto my head. I scrubbed vigorously, working the soap into my headfur and gradually washed every square inch of my fur, replenishing my paw with the shampoo every so often.
After several minutes of cleaning, I was spotless. The only imperfection in my fur, other than the neon blue and orange markings and the scratches and cuts from the wreck two nights ago, was a small black lightning bolt tattooed onto the inside of my left ankle.
I smiled fondly, remembering the driving force behind that mark.
I'd always been a huge fan of CG and stop-motion animated films, but back in 2008, the film Bolt had been released. It instantly became my favorite, and a couple of months later, I'd had the opportunity to meet the two stars, Miley Cyrus and John Travolta.
Then I had marked myself with Bolt's signature bolt.
I stepped out of the shower and toweled myself off, eventually discarding the fluffy white towel into a laundry basket. Us furs go through so many towels it's ridiculous.
My footpaws took me from the bathroom into the closet, where I spent a few minutes deciding what I wanted to wear. I eventually settled on a black t-shirt with the WPMS logo on the upper left chest and a pair of dark blue denim jeans. My fingers nimbly undid the button on the back and slipped my fluffy white tail into it before buttoning it back up.
My side twinged with a sudden sharp pain and I held my paw to where my cracked ribs were. I hissed a sharp breath in, unable to stop myself.
After a moment, the pain passed and I was able to stand upright. I passed on shoes for the time being and stepped out into the main living area of my house.
My home was a custom-built affair, two small wings with the common areas of the house in the middle. Built out of steel and glass, from the front it was a beautiful building. It looked like any run-of-the-mill million-dollar home.
Except for the bright yellow Hummer H2 half buried in the front yard.
That had been Swiff's doing. He'd been playing around with high-explosives in the front yard and had accidently blown a massive hole in the middle of the driveway circle.
Then, out of sheer stupidity, he'd driven his Hummer into the hole, thinking it'd be easy to get it out.
It wasn't. We'd tried everything to get the stupid thing out of the hole, but failed. Eventually, Swiff decided just to leave it there and filled up the hole with soil. Meaning, the Hummer looked exactly like those Cadillacs in Amarillo, Texas.
"Smells tasty," I commented, stepping into the kitchen to pour myself a mug of black coffee. The tart brown liquid poured smoothly into a Verde Ithica Lamborghini coffee mug. I didn't bother whitening it, preferring my coffee black.
I took a sip of the caffeine-laced beverage and nodded appreciatively. The blend, something called Caribou Blend, was one of the very few coffee blends that I could drink black.
Reks grinned at me from the other side of the kitchen island, continuing to mix together ingredients and fry omelets. I saw him slide one finished slab of egg and vegetables out of the skillet and onto a plate and offer the plate to me.
"This one's yours," he said.
"Thanks," I replied, taking the plate from him and sniffing deeply. I could detect the presence of onions, peppers, bacon, and cheddar cheese. Reks knew how to make an omelet, that's for sure.
I sat down at the dining room table and picked up my fork, cutting off a bite and eating it.
I murred softly at the tastes running through my mind. It was astounding, a perfect blend of spices, cheese, and veggies.
The omelet vanished quickly into my stomach and I soon sat back and kept sipping on the coffee.
"Damn, Reks, that was GOOD!"
"Thanks, Ricky."
"Care to join me outside?"
"Yeah, sure. Just let me get this last omelet off the skillet and we'll go."
It only took him a few minutes to get Alex's breakfast out of the skillet and into the oven on warm. He picked up his own mug and stepped up to me so that we could go outside.
It was a nice day in Harbor City. The sky was cloudless and the sun shone brightly upon the landscape.
My eyes roamed and caught on a dark purple Lotus Evora with a big racing spoiler and bright green vinyls on it. They widened at how striking the car looked.
"Damn, whose car is that?" I wondered aloud.
"That would be mine," Reks said, smiling as he took a sip of his coffee.
"Evora?"
"Evora T124 Endurance."
"How did you make that street legal?" I asked, surprised that he had been able to procure such a car.
"I didn't."
* * *
An hour and a half later, I sat in my office at Wolfpack Motorsports HQ. I had changed into an Armani suit with black loafers, a stylish black leather watch from Fossil, and a pair of black diamond stud earrings.
My paws tapped away at my computer's keyboard, writing out an invitational letter to a fur from Italy to come and have a test drive for the team.
After three winning seasons for WPMS, we were finally ready to expand the team, and not only in the way of another driver for the GT4 series. Our grand plan was to add a Formula Drift team and a rally division, and eventually spread to F1, NASCAR, and the American and standard Le Mans races.
With a grin, I swatted at the mouse and clicked on the print key, sending a hard copy of my letter to the printer so that it could be put in the mail. The hi-def laser printer on the table behind me whirred and clicked as it printed out the two sheets of paper and slid them neatly into the tray.
I swiveled my chair around and plucked the pages from the printer tray, scanning the sheets to make sure that I hadn't missed any typos and that the ink had come out clear.
I was just folding the letter into an envelope when my office phone chimed. The intercom button slowly blinked red.
"Yes, Jenna?" I said kindly into the speaker.
"Ricky, Tesla Spaur is here to see you," Jenna responded.
"Send him in please."
I set the envelope and letter aside to deal with later and rested my forearms on my desk, a pool-table-sized slab of glass with the V12 of the Maserati MC12 holding it up.
The mahogany doors to my office opened slowly, the pointed tips of the ears of a slightly-built gray-furred wolf preceding him through.
I stood, walking around the desk to greet my guest warmly.
"Tesla, welcome," I said, extending my paw.
"Hiya, Ricky," he said, taking it and shaking it firmly. His eyes met mine and he smiled.
"Welcome to Wolfpack Motorsports."
"Thank you."
"Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, water? A soda?"
"Um... Coffee please."
"Cream and sugar?"
"Black, please," he said, shaking his head and waiting patiently behind me.
I poured the caffeinated drink into a tall white mug with the team's logo on it and turned, giving it to him.
He sipped it and smiled.
"Please, sit." I gestured to one of the overstuffed ebony leather armchairs stationed right in front of my desk.
He did so as I went around the glass desk and took my seat.
"Tell me about yourself, Tes."
"I'm just a normal twenty-year-old from Washington. You know my mom, so..."
I nodded.
"Well, she told me that you were looking for a driver to drive alongside you, and I thought I'd give it a go."
"What makes you think you're WPMS material?" I asked.
My question wasn't rude. It was intended to draw out the experience that he had with driving cars quickly around a track, or quickly at all, really.
"Well, I've done some racing in the Maserati you gave me."
It was true. I'd built, and given to him, a Maserati Gran Turismo MC Stradale that had had a twin-turbocharged version of the MC12's engine put into it, and a beautiful carbon-fiber and lightning bolt paint scheme put on it.
"What relative times did you post? Did you win any of them?"
"I did post new lap records at the Virginia International Raceway, Mazda Laguna Seca, and Road Atlanta during the one season I raced. And I won four races out of seventeen."
I nodded, impressed. That was an outstanding record for three seasons, not to mention just one for a rookie driver.
"What was your average finish last year?"
"I averaged fourth, but I managed to get podiums quite a lot."
"Any crashes?"
"Just one, and it wasn't a serious one."
"Oh?"
"I was coming up on the first place guy, and I passed him, but when I tried to slot in ahead of him, I misjudged where his bumper was and clipped him. I just spun it and slightly bumped the back end into the wall. Not much damage."
"That's good then."
"Definitely."
"So, Tes, what do you think you could offer the team?"
He looked kind of nervous at being asked that.
"I think I can be a good driver for the team. Bump up the points standings, you know, take us to a new level."
He clammed up after that and said nothing more, looking down at his footpaws.
I pretended to make a note on the notepad on my desk, the pen scratching across the paper in just a random scribble.
"Well, how'd you like to take a drive?"
His head snapped up at me, and his jaw dropped a bit.
"What?"
"Let's get you on the track, hmm? See what you're made of."
* * *
A half hour later at Harbor City Raceway, I had the young wolf strapped into one of the backup Maserati's, racing helmet covering all but his ears.
"Okay, Tesla, you've got this set of tires and a full tank of gas. Set the fastest lap you can. Think you can do that?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah!"
"Get on it then," I said, slapping the roof of the car.
With the howl from the engine, the Maserati pulled out of pit lane to begin its warmup lap.
"Swiff, what time do you think he'll put down?"
"I'm not expecting much. About seven or eight seconds off the record. Maybe more because he's unfamiliar with the car and the track," he said, looking at the telemetry laptop.
I shrugged and settled down into the seat at the top of my pit box to watch the proceedings. I shrugged off my heavy suit coat and wrapped it around my chair, reaching into the inside pocket for my smokes. My paw went to the mug of coffee at my side and I brought the ceramic container up to my lips to take a long drink.
The Italian roar of the Maserati preceded it around the last corner, the bright blue and orange car screaming past the start line to begin the hot laps. It had passed from sight within seconds, carving into the first corner.
"Alright, hot laps are a go," I heard Swiff say over the radio.
"Let's see how he does."
I opened the lid on the laptop in front of me and scanned the telemetry. He was pushing the car to its limits already, racking up G forces and miles per hour like he'd been driving it for months.
I got so engrossed in the telemetry of his first hot lap that I didn't notice he had completed one until the time popped up on the screen.
My eyes bugged out of my head at the readout. He was only two seconds off my personal best on his first lap, and I'd been working on beating that ever since I began.
As the laps went by, I saw the times start to decrease as he honed the perfect racing line until they were a mere tenth and a half of a second off of my best time.
"Nice work, Tes," I called into the radio. "You've got the fuel for two more laps. Bust it out!"
I got no reply, but if it was even possible, I saw the Maserati fly by even faster than it had at the beginning.
I watched with great interest as the next lap went by, a bit slower than he had been putting down.
"One to go, one to go," I said to him.
"Got it," was the terse reply.
His final lap went by in the blink of an eye, it seemed, and I had to double check the telemetry to make sure it had actually registered.
My jaw dropped at the time.
It was a full three seconds faster than my personal best, and a new lap record!
"Come on in, Tes, that's it."
"How'd I do?" he asked.
"I'll tell you when we see ya."
"Gotcha. Coming in."
And sure enough, the Maserati was pulling into our pit box moments later.
I hopped down from the top of the crew chief's post and trotted over to the car, my tail wagging uncontrollably behind me. I had a feeling we'd just found the newest addition to the team.
I helped the young wolf out of the racing harness and leaned up against the fender.
"Well?" he asked, pulling the helmet off and setting it on the roof.
"I think it best that I show you how you did."
The two of us went into the garage, where Swiff was trying to hide the excitement in his voice.
"That was good work, kid, I'm impressed," he said, tapping away at his laptop to pull up the times from the laps.
He pressed a final key and turned the screen to face us.
"This first one here, this was two seconds off what my best time is," I said, tapping out his time and pointing at my best.
"Wow!"
"See here, how the times keep dropping?"
"Yeah."
"That's amazing as it is, but this last one here..."
"What about it?" Tes asked, afraid that he had posted an abysmally slow time.
"It was a full three seconds quicker than anything we've ever had on the track," I said.
"Even you?"
"Even me."
His jaw dropped.
"Tes?"
"Yes?"
"Welcome to Wolfpack Motorsports," I said, extending my paw.
He numbly took it and shook, still in a daze from laying down the hottest lap recorded on track.
"Swiff?"
"Yeah?"
"Get with Paint Shed and have his name and number slapped on the car he was driving. Whatever number he wants."
Swiff looked at Tesla.
"Zero seven, please," Tes said, smiling.
"You got it. How do you spell your last name?"
Tesla spelled it out for him and Swiff jumped in the car to take it around the garage to the paint shed behind the HQ.
"Let's get you a tour and we'll start working on getting your name entered in the databases and on the stuff you'll need. Do you have a helmet?"
"Just the one I was using," he said, holding it up. He'd snagged it off the roof just before Swiff took off in the car.
"We'll get you form-fitted to one, and a racing suit. What size are you, a medium?"
He shrugged.
Back in my office, I refreshed both of our drinks and took him on a tour of the HQ and the track. Not that there was a lot to see. WPMS may have looked like a large team back then, but it was really a two fur operation with a few supporting paws here and there along with a pit crew.
Being that he was now part of the team, I took him deep into the building, showing him the garages, the R&D department, and the trophy rooms. As I had expected, he was duly impressed by the scale of our team, and I could tell that he was deeply excited to be a part of it.
"Ricky!" called a voice behind me.
I turned to see Reks walking up the hallway towards us. The ocelot had a smile on his face, and I could tell he was pleased about something.
"Reks, this is Tesla. He's joining us as a driver for the 07. Tesla, this is our director of advertising and supply, Reks," I said.
"Nice to meet ya, kid," he said, proffering a paw.
Tesla shook it. I was sure his paw was starting to go slightly numb from the volume of handshakes he was getting today.
"Likewise."
"What's up, dude?" I asked before the two of them engaged in a long-winded conversation.
"We just got the contracts from Maserati and Ferrari signed. We'll be getting a few more of the MC GT4s to uprate for ALMS, and Ferrari is sending us a pair of those Le Mans cars that they make. I forget what they're called."
I smiled. Our plan for WPMS was starting to come together. All we needed now was NASCAR, F1, Formula Drift, and WRC and we'd have everything.
"We still need drivers for those, don't we?"
"Yeah, we do."
"How do you want to go about finding them?"
"I'll draft something and get it to you by the end of tomorrow. Now that we've gotten that taken care of, what else is up?" I asked Reks.
"The contract with Microsoft has been signed by them, and we have our own copy."
I grinned at that news. With that piece of paper signed, Microsoft had agreed to put our number 97 into the next Forza Motorsport game.
"Anything else?"
"That's about it," Reks said, looking at the clipboard clutched in his paw.
"Thanks, Reks."
"Any time."
"Come on, Tes, we need to get some paperwork filled out and have a little talk about your pay."
"Cool!"
* * *
A few hours later, all of the paperwork for Tesla had been signed and dated, down to the last 'T'. I filed it all away to start sending to the the various government agencies that handled employment and stood up, stretching softly.
My eyes went to the dark blue ceramic ashtray on my desk and the cigarettes and lighter next to it.
"Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Not at all. I just don't," he said, waving it off. "Besides, this is your office. You can do what you want."
I grinned. "Thought I'd ask."
I picked up the pack and shook one out, sticking it between my teeth and sparking up the Zippo to light it. I took a deep drag on the paper-covered stick of lung cancer and held it in.
"Damn, that's good," I said finally, letting the smoke whoosh out of my lungs.
Tes grinned.
"Anything else you want to ask?" I said, taking another drag.
"What's the practice schedule?" he asked.
"Ah yes, thanks for reminding me of that. Practice here is three times a week, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Friday we ship out to wherever the race is and practice there on Saturday. Races are on Sunday, and we come back Monday morning. But that's only during the season. For the preseason, it's the same practice schedule, and since you're a rookie to the series, we'll have to make some practice appointments at the tracks. Since the season doesn't start for three more months, we can easily make that work."
"What time does practice start and end?"
"It goes from nine to two."
"That's not too bad."
I nodded. "We try to make it as easy as possible."
"What should I do about the other job I have?"
"What other job?"
"I work at a bookstore near home."
"Well, considering what your pay is, do you want to keep that job?"
"Not particularly," he admitted.
"Then quit it."
"You think?"
"Go for it. If you don't like the job, then quit it."
"Okay..."
"One last thing and then we'll get you out of here," I said, reaching into one of my desk drawers.
"Oh?"
I withdrew a plain white envelope that contained two magnetic access cards, a name badge, and a few other WPMS-branded things and handed it over to him.
"The building is always open, and you're free to come and go whenever. Also, the garage is free to use for our people, and since you drive a Maserati, you can have parts too. Just let us know what you use so we can order more."
"Thanks!" he said, slipping the envelope into his pocket.
"No, thank you." I stood up and came around the desk to shake his paw once more. "It's a pleasure to have you aboard."
He grinned.
"Let's get you on home, huh? I bet your mother is wondering how it went."