Three Furs, One House
#10 of Three Furs, One House
Three Furs, One House- Chapter 10
I grumbled, snatching a travel mug of coffee off the counter. I glanced at the oven clock, noting that it was only seven fourteen AM. I was going to arrive massively early, but there wasn't any chance I'd go back to sleep for an hour. I'd already been awake for two, just killing time until it was time to head to the track until I couldn't stand waiting any more.
The grass was slick with dew from the early morning fog, and I knew the track would be somewhat treacherous from the dampness.
As I passed the massive key rack, I snatched a random set off my side of it and went out into the garage. I glanced down to see the leather and carbon fiber fob of a Ferrari F430 Scuderia and shrugged.
My dress shoes clacked against the tiled floor of the garage as I went up to it, unlocking it with a click of the fob button.
I slid effortlessly into the drivers bucket seat and stuck the key into the ignition.
The 4.3 liter motor came to life with a snarl, filling the garage with its sharp bark.
Unfortunately for me, the track and headquarters was on the complete opposite side of Harbor City from my home, which resulted in an hour commute. During the drive, I idly flicked through the songs on my iPhone, unable to settle on one for more than a few seconds.
With a sigh, I eventually tossed the phone into the passenger seat and concentrated on driving and sipping my coffee.
I pulled up to the guardpost for the team entrance and stopped, dropping my window. The early morning guard, a short, stocky English bulldog, stepped up to me and bent down to look through the window.
"Moring, guv'ner," he said in his vibrant British accent.
"Good morning, Jeffrey, how are you this morning?"
"Surprised, as a matter of fact," he said.
"Oh? Why's that?"
"You're not the first person here today."
That silenced me for a moment. I was always the first to arrive at the track each day, except in extreme cases where Swiff was needed early in the morning to get a jump start on things.
"Who beat me here?"
"Looks like a new face. I never seen 'im before."
I grinned. "Young wolf with dark gray fur in a Maserati?"
"That's the one."
"Yeah, he's the new hire. Tesla Spaur."
"He looks like a smart one."
"He is," I said, laughing. "He's smarter than I am, that's for sure."
"I'll let you get to work, sir," Jeffrey said, stepping back into his shack.
"Stay safe out here," I cautioned, pulling through the newly-opened gate.
I parked the Ferrari next to Tesla's Maserati and got out. I noticed that he wasn't anywhere to be found, which I attributed to him having already gone to the garage.
I was right.
I found him examining the 07 Maserati under the bright glare of spotlights. As I watched him, he ran his paw lightly over the front fender and over the door, just taking in the cars exquisite curves.
I sat back to watch, amused.
He did this around the entire car, not missing an inch. He paid particular attention to the big wing at the back and the splitter at the front, undoubtedly noting how the downforce kept the car glued to the track.
I sipped at my coffee and kept watching, interested in what he was up to.
After thoroughly examining every inch of the bodywork, he pulled open the drivers door and slipped into the seat.
From my post behind the car, I could hear the sounds of switches being flipped through the open door, followed by the rasping sound of the starter. The engine came to life with a sharp crackle from the exhaust, the blued-titanium tips vibrating.
Tesla planted his foot to the floor, revving the engine up to redline and letting it drop down slowly. The exhaust tips spat a burst of fire as the slight overflow of gasoline ignited from the intense heat of the exhaust.
"Tes!" I shouted, loud enough to be heard over the car.
I saw him jump, then shoot me a glare in the rear view mirror.
"Heya, Ricky!" he called happily, clambering from the car to stand with me.
"She's a beauty, isn't she?" I said, looking at the car.
"I love her," he said simply.
I nodded.
"Go ahead and shut her down. We've got a few things to do before we hit the track, and the pit crews aren't even here yet. We'll need them to change out tires, huh?"
"True."
He reached into the car to turn it off, the exhaust note fading away with one final snap.
As we walked back to the administration building, I ran through the teams history.
Wolfpack Motorsports had initially just been a fantasy, a dream that was sure to never come. The big break came from Maserati, who had started putting out feelers for wanting to have their name in motorsports again. That had interested me, and after speaking with their CEO several times, I'd managed to secure a pair of the 2010 MC GT4s. Thus, Wolfpack Motorsports had been born.
We were an instant success, due to the nature of the cars. They were entirely legal for the GT4 racing series, but they were so good that they just dominated. That had been back in 2009, and now, coming up on March of 2013, the team was starting to expand. Tesla Spaur would be only one of the many drivers that the team would have in the next few years as we grew and grew.
The team was my baby, and nothing got in the way of it. Except sometimes Alex.
I showed Tes his new office, which was next to mine, and while he set about ordering things to decorate and furnish it with, I went online and updated the social networking sites for WPMS to declare our expansion. Twitter, Facebook, the teams website, the works. I also updated the 'About Us' tab on the official site, putting Tesla's name and picture up, as well as on the roster.
The last site I visited was that of a local custom plaque-making company to order him a plaque for posting a new lap record. I figured that he ought to have something like that for his wall, and when I saw the price for the thing, I waved it off and paid with my card. The company was very good at what they did, and the plaque would be finished later that day and shipped to the HQ.
In an attempt to work the slight stiffness out of my lanky frame, a remnant of the car accident a few weeks ago, I stood and took a long walk around the headquarters. Without thinking about it, I walked into the lobby and almost right into the original WPMS car. It was identical underneath and in shape to the one we ran now, it just had a different paint scheme on it. Mostly a matte white with small dark blue stripes running along the bottom of the car, it was the original scheme that we had been known for until someone in our R&D department had devised the current blue and orange scheme that now adorned the cars, and my body.
Sitting on the opposite side of the lobby was one of the cars that had the new scheme on it. Even though this was a new team, and that we had yet to make a lasting impression, I felt a surge of pride at what I had accomplished.
My stomach growled, alerting me to its emptiness. I looked around for the snack machine and then remembered that it was in the break room, which we had but never used.
I fed a dollar into the machine and was rewarded with a bag of chips, which I eagerly tore open and munched on. The sweet, spicy flavor of the Sweet Chile Doritos burned my tongue a little as I crunched up the last of them.
My mind wandered, going back to the white and blue car out in the lobby. I'd racked up well over five thousand race miles on that car, as it had been the only one I used. I had been lucky enough to not ever total it, and what little damage it suffered during races was easily repaired.
Lost in my reverie, I was somewhat startled by the sudden presence of Tesla behind me.
"You okay, Ricky?" he asked, seeing the look on my face.
"Yeah, I'm good," I said. "Just reliving the old days."
"Huh?"
"Back before we were this big. When it was me, Swiff, two others, and a pit crew. God, we were nobodies back then. We took so much shit from big teams like Risi and IHRP about how we weren't gonna ever amount to anything, and that we ought to just go home with our tails tucked between our legs."
"That's horrible!"
"Agreed. Swiff actually got in a fist fight with one of the drivers from IHRP at the second race of our first season."
"What happened?"
"We'd just arrived at the track, and we were helping unload the car and their driver, can't recall his name, came over and started talking shit about the Maserati and telling us how his Porsche was so much better.
"Swiff wasn't as laid back as he is today. This was back before he became a stoner, so he had a short temper. And this guy managed to push all the right buttons. Or should I say the wrong ones.
"He came up to the car and made to slap the window and Swiff's fist comes in and hits him square in the jaw. Dropped him to the ground. And before I knew it, the two were exchanging blows with a crowd of drivers and shit from all the other teams watching while I tried to pull Swiff off him.
"We got suspended from that race for it, but I think it taught him a lesson. He hasn't really fought anyone since then, and I'm very glad for that."
"Wow."
I nodded and took a swig of the soda I had bought while telling the story.
"Hey, you watch Top Gear?" I asked out of the blue.
"Top Gear? Which one?"
"The UK version."
"Of course. I've seen them all." Tesla grinned.
"I'm going on it tomorrow."
His jaw dropped. It was the dream of many celebrities to be on the famed car show, more so with the petrol heads.
"No way! That's awesome!"
* * *
The next morning, I stood off camera at Dunsfold Park in England, site of the famed BBCs Top Gear. The audience of today's show, a widely-mixed group of furs and humans, stood around the center part of the studio, where Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May had the couch and chair and did the news, among other things.
"And now, it's time to put a star in our reasonably priced car. Our guest tonight is a big name in the motorsport industry, he's got his own team, which he calls Wolfpack Motorsports, even though he isn't a wolf. So would you please put your paws together for Richard Rifenbark!"
The audience broke out in applause as I walked up towards the stage, high-pawing quite a few of them. I stepped up on the cog-shaped platform and shook Clarkson's hand before dropping down on the couch that had been made from the parts of some old car.
"Please, call me Ricky," I said, waving at the crowd a few times.
"Alright, I will. And noow, I can honestly say I've met a motor racing CEO," Clarkson said to the cheers and clapping of the audience.
I laughed. "What, are there not many of those around here?"
"Well, there's Ron James from IHRP, but he's a prat."
I laughed harder. I knew the guy, and I had to agree with Clarkson's opinion.
"What's the big news in racing these days?" Jeremy asked after a moment.
"Well, if you remember having Jarrod Davis on a couple years ago, and how he really didn't like me?"
"I remember."
"We made nice."
"Oh, have you now?" he asked, looking shocked.
"Yeah, we did. Let me tell ya, it's nice not having to worry about when he's going to seriously ruin my race."
"Now, uh, the season doesn't start for a few months, right?"
"Yeah, it starts on the eighteenth of June."
"And where's the first race?"
"It's at Mugello Autodromo in Scarperia, Italy."
"I might have to come by then."
The crowd, and I, laughed.
"You're living in Harbor City?" he asked after a moment.
"Yeah, Harbor City, Texas."
"Where exactly is that?"
"It's a couple hours drive from Houston, on the coast."
"By your speed limits," Clarkson laughed.
I laughed as well, completely agreeing with him.
"So, now, what's the news with your team? Wolfpack Motorsports, is it?"
"Quite a few things. We just signed on a new driver, actually."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, his name's Tesla Spaur, and he's the son of the pilot for my plane."
"How did that happen?"
"His mother knows all the important stuff about the team, because I tell her, and she told him that we were looking for another driver. I'd given him a nice Maserati a few years ago, and he raced it. I put him on the track for a test drive, and at the end, he set a new lap record. Shattered mine by a full three seconds."
"That's impressive!"
"I thought so too," I agreed.
"What number is he?"
"Tesla drives the zero seven car."
"What other news is there?"
"Well, we're starting to make inroads into the American Le Mans Series and we've just recently purchased a pair of Ferrari Le Mans cars from them for the 24 Hours of Le Mans this year."
"And do you have drivers for them?"
"Not yet."
"How are you going to find them?"
"One of my vice presidents, Reks Uni, is working on that bit. As head of supply, that's his territory."
"Would I be possible?" Clarkson joked.
I took a moment to look at him. I had to admit, having Jeremy Clarkson on my team would be extremely amusing.
"I'm sure we could arrange a test drive," I said, smiling.
"If someone wants a job presenting Top Gear, the address is BBC Woodlane, London W127TS," Clarkson laughed. "Because I'm leaving for this."
Everyone laughed at him for a moment.
"Now, onto cars, what have you got?" he asked me.
"My favorite is a Maserati," I said.
"Which one?
"It's a 2010 Gran Turismo MC GT4, the same as what we race."
"So you drive your racing car on the streets?"
"No, I have two different ones. The race version stays at the track, and I have a road version of it. The road version is slightly different. It's higher for speed bumps, and it's got a supercharger on it."
"That's properly good. What else do you have?"
"I don't even remember, there's too many in the garage. A Pagani, a McLaren, a Subaru, it's a long list. But my other favorite one is a BMW M3."
"Just an M3?"
"It's a GTS."
"How the hell did you get that?"
I shrugged. "I bought it."
"Isn't that a European-only car?"
"It used to be."
Clarkson laughed.
"Now, you came down here to have a lap in our car, yes?"
"Yeah, I did."
"How was it?"
"It was a great rush, I can't lie. I had so much fun."
"How does it compare to what you do every week?"
"It's unlike everything I've ever done. Driving the Maserati on the track is great fun, but the little Liana is something else entirely."
"How was the Stig?" The Stig was, and is, the anonymous race car driver in the white suit that set all the Power Lap times and trained the celebrities.
"He didn't really say much," I admitted. "But he did give me a damn good hint as to who he was, by accident I think."
"He did now?"
"Nah, not really," I laughed. "Although his driving style reminds me of Tesla's."
"Now, since you're a racing driver, we've had to put you on the Formula One board."
"But I'm not a Formula One racer."
"Which is why..." Jeremy stood up and pulled off the little block letters at the top of the magnetic board. "It is now just the racing driver's board."
I sat back in the couch and laughed.
"Are you ready to see the lap?"
The studio audience roared their approval of those words.
"Alright, let's play the tape.
We all turned to the TV onstage to watch my fastest lap of the track, Clarkson providing his usual commentary on it.
"So, how do you think you've done?" he asked at the conclusion of the tape.
I took a look at the dozen names on the board.
"As long as I've beaten Lewis Hamilton, I'm happy."
"He set a one forty-four point seven, yes?" Clarkson said, checking the board. He looked down at his little clipboard and started writing. "Richard Rifenbark, your time is..."
I leaned forward in my seat.
"One minute..."
My ears twitched, swiveling to catch every syllable.
"Forty-three point nine! Which is the fastest time ever posted by anyone!"
My jaw dropped. The applause from the audience was deafening.
"You've put down the quickest lap around our track ever!"
My mind went blank. I definitely hadn't expected that.
"This has been a real pleasure, as I'm sure you can appreciate. Ladies and gentlemen, Ricky Rifenbark!"
I stood up to massive applause from the audience, shook hands with Clarkson once more, and stepped off the stage.