FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Reid's decision to hire the Shiba Inu as Doghouse's newest team member had been a hasty one. He found the process of interviewing potential candidates as repellent as most of the candidates themselves.

He wasn't a people person.

In fact, the only people Reid tolerated were the people he worked with, and even that was a stretch sometimes. Chris and Frank, a lizard and a rat respectively, were the computer whizzes. They kept mostly to themselves, running the dynamometer and doing most of the ECU tuning.

Hector was a Mexican Wolf. His species, as it were. Not just a regular wolf who happened to be from Mexico. To his chagrin, he found himself having to explain that quite often. Hector was all about appearances, so it was fitting that he did the detail work. If you had your car's image customized at Doghouse, Hector Sotelo was the man who customized it.

Billy and Vance were pit bulls, brindle and red respectively. They were the proverbial frat boys, muscular and lean, womanizing, brash, and cocky. They had their redeeming qualities, however. Were they not exceptionally skilled at their jobs, they wouldn't be employed there. They tested Reid's patience day in and day out, but he never had to wonder if a tool was left in an engine bay, or if the torque value of a bolt was incorrect. They were the heavies. They could be relied on, and in the cattle dog's eyes, that was all that mattered.

Jeff was a lion. Was. A picture of him hung in memoriam in the lobby, an engraved plaque below bearing his birth and death years, surrounded by all the accolades he'd earned during his days of drag racing. Reid would often stop on his way out in the evening and look at the lion's smiling face for a moment or two. Paul was right. He had big shoes to fill, and he intended to.

As instructed, Kelvin Aoki showed up for his first day on the job in fitting attire, which may have been an understatement. His blue jeans were fitted from the waist down to the heel, where they ended in the tops of a pair of grey chukkas. A button down mechanic's shirt yet to bear his name on the patch covered a white A-shirt, and the look on his face was anything but confident.

"This okay?" He asked when Reid met him at the double doors leading into the bays. The other dog looked him up and down a few times.

"I don't know how you can even get into those pants." Reid said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Am I supposed to say 'buy me a drink'?"

Reid did a double-take, blushed, and then chuckled a little bit when he noticed the trepidation with which the younger dog had delivered his comeback.

"I think you're going to fit in here just fine. Come on, I'll show you around."

He spent the next ten minutes showing Kelvin where various things were, all the while giving him a history of Doghouse Performance Engineering. Two minutes in, he was reminded of just how much he hated speaking for extended periods of time.

Kelvin was like a kid in a candy store, with a question at every turn. Most of the answers were 'we'll get to that', but the heeler couldn't help but be impressed by the kid's eagerness to learn. It reminded him of - and made him long to be - the twenty-two year old he once was.

"We're going to start you off with taking in work orders and doing some simple installations." Reid began, walking the Shiba to a lift. "When you're assigned a particular car, that is your car. No one else's. That's to ensure that only one mechanic is responsible for anything that happens. I'll be working with you for a while until you're ready to fly solo, though."

"Got it." Kelvin said busying himself with opening the drawers on the toolbox and workbench next to the lift. An engine started across the bay, and the Shiba's ears pricked. He looked up to see Chris and Frank working on a Challenger. The lizard sat in the driver's seat with a laptop, and the rat was hooking up the restraints. Reid explained what they were doing.

"The computer's for the ECU. That's the engine control unit; it dictates air fuel ratio, ignition timing, idle speed, stuff like that. Me, I find that boring. There's something so...'Zen' about installing a new intake manifold or exhaust system."

Kelvin smiled, and Reid found his lack of a response uncharacteristic, worrisome even.

"I guess...would that be the right word? Zen? I hope I'm not misusing the term."

Kelvin caught on, and laughed.

"I get what you're saying. And don't worry. Zen is a Buddhist thing. I'm Catholic. Or, my parents are, anyway." The Shiba shrugged, and resumed taking in the new and exciting environment that was Doghouse Performance Engineering. Reid looked at his watch.

"All right, I'm going to take you up front and Paul's going to show you how to do a work order. He'll get you to fill out the W-4 and all that."

"Okay."

Kelvin disappeared through the double swinging doors into the front lobby, his curly, bushy tail bouncing behind him.

Reid snuck a look out of the corner of his eye.

"That the new guy?" Hector asked, catching the heeler's attention.

"Yeah."

"Looks pretty green."

"He is." Reid said making his way to the Camaro he'd been working on since two days before. "He's wet behind the ears, but I prefer it that way. Gives you a foundation to build on. It lets you build good habits without having to break down any bad ones."

"Makes sense." Hector concurred, and then laughed. "I don't know what I think about those pants, bro."

"We'll get some stains on them. He'll be one of us before long." Reid winked, and Hector grinned and gestured to him with the rag in his hand. When the wolf turned his back, Reid reached into a pocket and produced a small pill caddy. Removing one of the small, circular tablets, he popped it into his muzzle and swallowed it down.

***

It was hot wing day.

Per tradition, on Fridays, Paul treated his staff to ample servings of California's best hot wings. He accepted no less than the best from his tuners, and he would accept no less from his lunch venues.

The break room was comprised of several well-worn tables surrounded by rickety metal folding chairs. A small CRT television sat atop a file cabinet nearby, perpetually tuned to whatever ball game happened to be in season. Lunch was the daily communal gathering where stories would be told, conversations had, debates held, and potential after-hours plans hatched.

That particular Friday, it was story time. Billy's story time, to be specific, and Reid was already looking for an out. Poor Kelvin had no idea what he was in for, but the heeler figured listening to Billy's cock-and-bull stories was a rite of passage at Doghouse.

"I drove out to Malibu the other night with my bro Chad." Billy began between bites, his muzzle covered in a ring of Daddy-O's Fire Sauce™. "He knew these two girls from uh...what was it? Channelview, Texas - Houston, basically. They were vacationing out there, so we went down and met them on the beach. We bought them some drinks, checked out the band, and then we went back to their hotel room..."

Reid wolfed down the last few wings on his plate, and stood up; tossing it into the trash can on his way out. He knocked on the half-opened door of Paul's office, entering slowly and taking a seat across the desk from the old bear.

"Hey." Paul said, taking off his reading glasses. "You get lunch?"

"I did. Thanks."

"Billy on one of his kicks again?"

Reid rolled his eyes.

"He's so full of shit. I can smell it from here."

Paul chuckled a little and pecked at the keyboard. He was the worst typist in the universe - he had to look for the space bar half the time.

"What do you think about the new hire?"

Paul shrugged.

"Seems like a good kid. He's eager. Willing to learn. It's all I can ask of him. He's your responsibility. Train him. Start with the basics; make sure he knows how to run the register out front, take work orders, things like that. I want to make sure that his mechanical knowledge is up to par before he starts working on cars by himself, though."

Reid nodded. Laughter could be heard coming from the break room, and the heeler wondered if Billy's little vignette had contained something more amusing than good old fashioned boot-knocking this time.

"You all right?" Paul queried, eyeing the heeler, who just nodded.

"Yeah."

"You look better today."

"Thanks." Reid said half-heartedly, looking down at his feet and shifting in the chair.

"Been seeing anyone lately?"

"Not since the last time you asked."

Paul abandoned his attempts at making conversation and went back to typing for a moment or two. Reid wet his lips.

"What's the story on that Mustang out back?"

"Old feller brought it in early this morning, work order's right there." Paul gestured with his head. Reid picked up the file and thumbed through it, scanning the bear's chicken scratch.

"Makes me wonder why he didn't just go with a Shelby GT500, if he wants this kind of performance."

"Couldn't say. Maybe he wants a sleeper. Don't know. Wasn't my place to ask, if he's willing to spend the money, I'm willing to take it."

"There you go." Reid commended. He paused, tapped the manila folder a couple of times with his finger, and headed off to the garage before Paul could ask him any more about his dating life, or lack thereof.

He just had to bring it up.

He deposited the folder in its respective receptacle, and headed outside. He popped open the door to his Mustang and sank into the driver's seat, the interior like an oven from sitting out in the sun. Turning the engine over, he rolled around the edge of the building and down the little drive that led to the drag strip.

Doghouse had a quarter mile strip out back, with another three quarters beyond it ending in a turnaround that snaked back towards the shop, interspersed with a few turns to test handling. Some days it was used for actual racing. Most of the time, it was simply for testing. Oftentimes, it was for decompression.

Reid idled at the starting line, looking at the dormant 'Christmas tree' that signaled the racers when to launch. He mashed in the clutch pedal and put it in first, let it fly and smoked the tires well into fourth gear. It wasn't about the quarter mile time. He hadn't done a precursory burnout to heat the tires up for better traction. He simply wanted to get to the turnaround as fast as possible, one mile out from the furthest bay door, where he could be alone.

Where no one would see him cry.

He parked around back once he'd collected himself. Kelvin was waiting at the bay door looking at the car with eyes wide when the heeler stepped out.

"Whoa..."

Reid put on his sunglasses.

"Is this yours?"

"Yep."

"What all have you done to it?"

"Oh..." He sighed. "A few things. Supercharger, bigger cams, long tubes. Took out the rear seats and had a roll cage put in, custom switch start ignition, Recaro seats, short-throw Hurst shifter...the works."

He shut the door and hit the lock button on the fob before Kelvin could ask to try it out. The Shiba followed him into the bay, and they headed towards the front.

"The guys were talking about driving out to Santa Monica tonight, there's a place called the Costa Club out there. I've never been, but they were saying they want me to join them. Kind of a welcome wagon party, they said. I thought that was really cool of them."

"Wait until you get out there." Reid scoffed.

"Why do you say that?"

"I guess...no, I shouldn't say that. Not if that kind of place is your scene, anyway. They go out there quite a bit, I never do. It's loud, and crowded, and..." He trailed off.

"I haven't been to many clubs. I'm always willing to try something new, though."

"Mm."

Kelvin's jovial attitude towards everything made the heeler's stomach turn. The jealousy it was rooted in was buried so deep in his subconscious that he couldn't even grasp it. Outwardly, he just seemed bitter.

"You're sure you're a Shiba Inu? You seem like an eager beaver to me. Let's get you familiarized with the point of sale system out front. You ever work retail?"

"No."

"Don't, it sucks."

Doghouse had a small retail storefront in the polished terrazzo-floored lobby, consisting of a rack of wheel and tire options, various car care products, and T-shirts and hats that bore the name and eponymous logo of the shop. For a quarter, you could get a gum ball. For two, a can of soda.

A 'NOT FOR SALE' sign sat conspicuously in the window of the Nova.

"Reid!"

Ears swiveled, and the heeler swiveled with them to see who had called his name. Vance approached him.

"Coming to the party tonight?"

"Uh, no. No, I've got stuff to do."

Vance_pff'ed_.

"Like what?"

"Personal shit. My night's booked. Maybe next time."

"That's what you said the last time."

"That's why I said 'maybe'. 'Maybe' is not a guarantee."

Vance rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Hey, Frank wants to know if you're going to finish up with that Camaro today. Sooner he can get it on the dyno, sooner we can get it out of here and we won't have to look at that ugly thing anymore."

"Yeah, I'll have it done within the hour; I'm just finishing up with Kelvin here."

The pit bull nodded and disappeared through the double doors.

"You're not gonna go?" Kelvin asked disappointedly. The heeler simply shook his head, concentrating on making sure the Shiba had a login for the computer terminal. Just as he accomplished this, the bell on the front door rang with the entry of a customer.

"I'm going to let Paul guide you through this one, okay? I gotta finish up that Camaro and then I'll link back up with you in an hour or so."

"All right."

***

"You sure you won't come tonight?"

Reid scowled down into the engine bay of the Camaro as he reconnected the timing chain.

"I'm sure."

"Come on, man. All you do is sit at home all night and jack off, the least you can do for yourself is give that thing a break for once." Vance joked, gesturing obscenely.

"You know every time I go to that side of town, some idiot wants to race me."

"So? Smoke their ass."

"My street racing days are over, Vance. I don't need to show up some punk kid who thinks he can outrun me. I've already earned my..."

"Street cred?"

"Yeah, sure."

"So take your truck."

Reid sighed. He was running out of excuses.

"We want you to be there, bro. You're one of the boys, y'know? Plus, we gotta celebrate your promotion, and get this new kid drunk!"

Vance got an admonishing look for that one.

"What? You never truly know someone until their inhibitions are lowered."

Frat boy wisdom at its finest.

"You spend all day around me. I'm older than the oldest one of you by five years, what's an old greymuzzle like me to do at the Costa Club?"

"Dude, thirty-six is the new twenty-one! Plus, chicks dig that salt-and-pepper look. It says you have experience."

"Experience." He scoffed at the notion.

"In bed."

"Yeah, I get it."

"Come out with us. One time. One time, and if you don't like it, I promise we'll never ask you again. How about it?"

"Your insistence alludes to ulterior motives." Reid muttered in reply. Vance frowned.

"Yeah, okay. Forget I asked."

"Sure thing. Here, take it over to Frank. I gotta get started on this geezer's Mustang." He picked the keys up off the folder sitting on the tool chest and tossed them to the pit bull. Vance muttered something about all work and no play, and sidled into the driver's seat. Reid brushed it off and walked back out front to grab the work order for the Mustang.

Kelvin was shadowing Paul as they advised the customer, a yellow lab of about thirty on different modifications for his car - also a Mustang. It must be Mustang day, Reid thought to himself, grabbing the file and heading for the bay.

"That's Reid right there, he's our chief mechanic." He heard Paul say. Out of diplomacy, Reid turned in his stride and waved briefly to the customer, who smiled and waved back. He never broke his stride, but it didn't occur to him immediately just how cute that lab was. Part of him wanted to turn back around, but it was too late. By that point, it would seem weird, and the heeler's sexual preferences were still a closely guarded secret among the guys at Doghouse.

He spent the rest of the day bouncing back and forth between working on the Mustang and showing Kelvin the ropes. When it was time to leave, he walked the Shiba through the closing procedures. The day couldn't have ended soon enough for the heeler.

"Who's this?" He heard Kelvin ask. He didn't even need to look up. He knew.

"That's Jeff. He was my best friend." Reid answered quietly, and Kelvin took his cue to shut up. The plaque on the wall said more than the heeler could have said, or would have been willing to say.

"I hope you'll reconsider about tonight." Kelvin said forlornly when they had locked up the place.

"Don't hold your breath for it. Go and have a good time, just be careful. I'll see you Monday, huh?"

"Yeah. Sure, see you then."

It may have been the whiskey. Maybe it was the guilt. He didn't know, but in a fit of post-masturbation boredom that evening, Reid threw open the doors to his walk-in closet and rifled through his clothes in search of something that was worthy of being seen at the club in. Oil stains. Wine stains. Pants that didn't fit, or were too short. He vowed to toss these out. Through luck alone he found a pair of jeans that looked halfway decent, and a shirt that his mother had given him last Christmas, still bearing the tag from the store where it was bought. A shower, a trim, some hair gel and cologne later, Reid Travis had convinced himself he was ready for a night out on the town.

A gut feeling told him to stay in, but he decided he'd been having far too many of those recently.

He promised himself that whatever happened, he'd wake up with no regrets.