FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Vance was no-billed. In light of the evidence and testimonies of DPE employees, the grand jury did not see fit to indict the pit bull on homicide charges. When the verdict was read, Vance sighed with a breath he'd been holding since he learned that John had died after being removed from life support two days after the brawl.

Paul was diagnosed with arterial atherosclerosis and was scheduled for an angioplasty. He was prescribed exercise, a healthy diet, and a plethora of medication to rival Reid's daily intake.

And Reid, well - Reid was on top of the world. He'd always dreamed in the back of his mind of one day owning his own tuner shop, but he'd long since resigned himself to being happy with managing one. Lots of responsibilities loomed ahead of him, duties that he wasn't even sure how to accomplish, like payroll.

He didn't sleep well in the week following his new position as President. He chalked it up to first hole jitters, and blessed his anxiety medication. Being top dog around the shop meant that there was no one to fall back to for leadership. It ended with him, and everything came down to his final word. In an odd way, he rather liked it.

"I could get used to this." He thought as he sat at his new desk - formerly Paul's - going back and forth between his notes and the computer screen, making sure vendors and employees alike got their respective compensation.

A party was held the Sunday after Paul was released from the hospital - a change of command ceremony of sorts. It was only a small gathering with all the employees and their guests, and a few regular customers. Paul, Terri, and Randal were all there. Vance was there with Blaine, Hector was with Sarah; and Chris and Frank went stag. Kelvin had received a text, but Reid didn't receive a response. Xavier showed up, and he had a surprise for his big brother that no one would have expected.

"Hey, brother." The younger dog said, giving him a playful punch in the arm. Per his usual attire, he bulged, hulking in his olive drab T-shirt, 'USMC' spelled out across the chest in generous, black lettering. Reid could even swear he caught Hector's girlfriend checking out the Marine's ass in those tight-fitting blue jeans once or twice.

"I've got a surprise for you."

"People have been surprising me with too much lately." Reid groaned lightheartedly, "I can't imagine what you could possibly have in store for me."

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised." Xavier winked, dragging him out of the break room where the cake and punch and pomp and circumstance were. There, on the couch in the waiting area of the lobby sat Cathy Travis herself.

"Mom..." Reid whispered. Smiling, Cathy stood up and crossed the short distance between them, throwing her arms around her son and burying her head beneath his chin. Closing his eyes, the old dog hugged her back, resting his chin between her ears in her thinning, graying hair.

"I flew her in last night. I knew she would want to be here to see you get pinned with your new rank around here." Xavier winked.

"I'm so proud of you, Reid." She said, rubbing his back, "I'm so proud of both of you, making such successes of yourselves."

"Thanks, Mom." Reid said fighting back tears while he felt the heat of his mother's on his neck, "Don't cry Mom, you're going to get me started up, too."

Cathy laughed.

"Well, why don't you introduce me to everyone around here? I'd like to meet all your employees, Mr. President!"

Reid smiled, and brought her into the break room where everyone was. Smiles and handshakes were passed around as the cattle dog introduced the only family he had to them. It filled his heart with joy to watch. Family bonds were being retied, and it was everything Reid had hoped it would be.

The next couple of hours were spent chipping away at the cake, conversing, and sharing stories, many of which kept a steady roll of laughter going in the small room. Everyone rolled with laughter at the tale of the time that Paul accidentally knocked over an entire display case trying to get away from a bee - more so at Hector's impression of the incident than at the story itself.

Following that, they held a small and anticlimactic change of command ceremony. Reid and Paul smiled as they shook hands and the latter handed over the master set of keys to the building. Reid had had them for a few days already, but had relinquished them for the purpose of getting a picture of the momentous event. Misty eyed, he took them, and they hugged while everyone applauded.

For the first time in his life, Reid Travis felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

***

"Welcome to my humble abode..." Reid said, twisting the key in the lock in the front door of his Burbank home and swinging it open to reveal the small, but lush interior.

"Wow." Mom said, impressed.

"Better than anything I ever had in the Corps." Xavier poked, throwing in his two cents even though he'd been to the house a few times before.

"Where are you staying, Mom?"

"I'm staying with Xavier in Pendleton for tonight, I'm flying back home tomorrow afternoon."

He nodded, "Can I get you something to drink?"

Naturally, things were a little awkward. It was the first time they'd seen one another in years, by no choice of hers. Reid hadn't wanted to see her - the further down the rabbit hole he fell, the less he wanted her to see what he'd become. Up until then, at least. Now, he had something to be proud of. That, at least, would cushion the blow.

"...I met him as a customer. First time I ever saw him he was walking through the front doors of the shop, and at first, I thought nothing of him."

Reid was taking catching up to a whole new level. It felt good, baring his soul and everything that had happened over the past decade and a half. Even compared to Dr. Soto, Mom was a great listener, and her ears were on the house. She sat quietly, listening without judgment as her son divulged all but the most intimate of details about his relationship with Aiden.

"Some problems began to arise. I started noticing some things that were beginning to worry me, like he might be involved with the wrong crowds. He liked to live fast and loose, you know?"

She nodded.

"When I was in the hospital, he came to see me. I found out some things, he was the target of a drive-by shooting in Inglewood that killed two people, and he was skipping town and wanted me to come with him. I said no. I told him he could go, but I wouldn't be joining him. Twenty-four hours later, he was killed in a car accident."

"Oh, I'm so sorry..."

"Looking back on it, I wish I had just packed up and gone with him. He might still be alive today if I had."

"You can't blame yourself, honey," She said, reaching out and placing a hand on his knee, "You can't hold yourself responsible for his actions. I know it must have hurt terribly to lose him like that, but you can't change what's happened. Look at you now! You're a big-time business owner now; you've got much bigger and better things to worry about."

"Doesn't help with being lonely."

"The money will." Xavier chimed in. Mom shot him a reproving glare.

"Someone will come along. I know it may not seem like it now, but there's someone out there for you. Sometimes it just takes time."

Reid was beginning to remember just why he had to leave home in the first place. She was reverting to classic mom logic, the blind faith and intuition of which was used to drive him crazy during his teenage years. One day, it had all become too much to bear.

"I gave up on that hope." Reid replied dourly, "I quit believing in fairy tales a long time ago. There's not someone out there for everyone, Mom. This is the real world. It just doesn't work like that."

"There is for you!"

"Yeah, but how do you know that?"

"Because you're a very sweet, successful, and accomplished man." She countered with a pout in her voice. The formerly estranged son was quickly growing irritated with her inability to accept defeat, as he had.

"That's so arbitrary, things like that are completely inconsequential to whether or not I'll ever find someone as good as Aiden again! Your argument contradicts itself, you know." Reid started in, pointing at her and ignoring Xavier's silent pleas to roll the volume back a little, "If there is someone out there for me, what would it matter what kind of person I am? They'd be the one for me! I could be addicted to meth, but no matter! They'd be the one for me!"

Across the room, Xavier stared at the floor, shaking his head. Reid appeared to sink deeper into the couch and pursed his lips. He spoke quietly.

"Knowing my luck, the 'one for me' probably died twenty years ago."

Cathy was hurt that her son had no faith left in love, but after the life he'd had, she couldn't say she blamed him. She knew he wasn't mad at her. He'd made that clear; but there was no better time than the present to be the mother she should have been.

"Maybe. But if you could find love while you were addicted to drinking and prescription drugs, you can certainly find love now that you own the best auto shop in California."

She had a point. Reid had to admit that, at least. Even though he wasn't that old, he was old enough to be set in his ways, but he acknowledged her point for the sake of avoiding any further debate. It was getting late, she and Xavier were leaving soon, and he didn't know when he would see her again, or if he would. As his brother had told him, she wasn't in the best of health anymore, and for being under sixty, it showed. It showed in her sunken eyes, her cigarette smoke-stained teeth, and her wispy hair. So Reid hugged her when she left. He kissed her on the cheek and told her he loved her, hoping that it would make up for all the times he could have said it, but didn't. Xavier shook his hand, and they departed into the night, leaving the house quiet. Reid shut the door and stood behind it for a moment before heading off to his bedroom.

Maybe he would try online dating.

***

The races were less than a week away. The next Sunday afternoon found Reid and Vance poring over the event over lunch at a seaside restaurant out in Santa Monica. They'd passed the dormant Costa Club on their way there, and laughed as they reminisced about the times they'd had there, both good and bad.

"You know, now that I'm running the place, I'm going to need someone to be my right hand man. You think you're up for the job?" Reid proposed. Vance was floored. His eyes got wide and he looked down at the table between them, "You'll get a raise, and there might even be a bonus in it for you if we can afford it." The cattle dog added.

"Wha...well, yeah! For sure, dude!"

"Awesome!" Reid grinned, "You know, you seem to be a pretty good judge of character when it comes to weeding out the jokers that don't know what they're doing around a car. Can I trust you to recruit some new employees? We're not going to last long on the crew we've got."

"Sure."

"Sweet. That's one issue checked off. What else? Oh. Any ideas for next weekend?"

"I think it'd be a good idea to serve food. Blaine's Dad has one of those barbeque pits that you tow behind a truck; it's like fifty feet long. We could go to Costco and get some bulk meat, briskets, hot dogs, et cetera."

"Okay, I like it." Reid concurred, jotting notes down on a legal pad, "What about music?"

"Music?"

"Yeah, like entertainment for the people who aren't racing? Something to keep the party going. What about...hey, do you still have your band?"

"You want to do live music? Like an actual concert?"

"Sure. They rent portable stages, don't they? We could set one up in the parking area in front of the bays around the west side of the building."

"I guess we could do that, but I would have to find a substitute for my drummer. She's actually planning on racing."

"Really? What's she driving?"

"She drives that blown '69 Chevelle we had in the shop a few days ago." Vance said nonchalantly, biting into a shrimp. Reid balked. He hadn't been with a woman in years, but a woman who was a musician _and_into hot rods? He may have just been notified of his next wife's existence.

"I never did see her."

"Oh, yeah, I think you were out of the office when she picked it up."

"Is she good looking?"

"Yeah, dude. She's got a boyfriend though. Sorry to burst your bubble. But she has been having some problems with the dude lately, so hey, you never know. I'll introduce you. Maybe you can sweep her off her feet and she'll leave him."

"No, I don't want to be that guy. I'm not a home wrecker."

"You're a gentleman and a scholar, Reid." Vance said and used a shrimp to wipe the rest of the cocktail sauce out of the little container in his other hand. The cattle dog just shrugged and returned to his meal. He was just about to bring up the conversation again when he noticed that something had caught Vance's eye.

"Check that out." He said, pointing, and Reid turned around to see someone getting out of a bright red, late 90's model BMW M3. 'FOR SALE' was written on the back window with a grease pen, and a phone number below that, "I wonder what he wants for it?"

"What do you want with that thing?"

"Do we still have that LS1 motor sitting in the back of the shop?" Vance asked. Reid narrowed his eyes at him across the table.

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"Dude, with the chassis and suspension those things have, stick a Chevy V8 in there, you've got yourself an autocross car that will decimate all. Lightweight car like that? We're running nines, if not eights."

Reid shrugged, "It's up to you. You can have that engine if you want it, but I'm not going in on the car with you."

"That's cool. I'm just going to see what he wants for it."

"All right, well, let's get back on track here. Speaking of which, how's the track looking, pothole wise?"

"Pretty good. I think John managed to patch them all before I killed him."

Reid froze in his seat, stunned, staring at the pit bull, who just gazed off into space.

"Well, that was awfully morbid." He commented, to which Vance had no reply, "How are you holding up?" He added, and the other dog finally snapped out of it.

"I'm all right. I just...you know, I've been thinking about it. I lie awake at night and think about it. I uh, when I hit him, you know, he kinda spun around," He explained using a motion with his hand, "and his eyes caught mine. But he wasn't really looking at me, y'know?"

Reid nodded.

"I'm not a veteran, or a police officer or anything. I'm not trained for this; I never thought I would be put in a position to do what I did. I don't feel bad, you know, I saved Paul's life back there. I feel pretty good about that, but...I dunno."

"Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm usually available. If you want to talk to someone, like a professional, you know, I can refer you to my therapist. She's good. Real good."

"Thanks, dude."

"No problem. So hey," He rapped on the tabletop with his knuckles, "Track day."

"Yeah." Vance concurred quietly, getting back to the point, "Track day."

***

Vance had gone outside to confront the driver of the BMW for sale, an interaction that predictably devolved into a full-on friendly conversation about cars, much to the chagrin of the man's girlfriend. Reid could only smile and shake his head as he got up from the table to pay the bill.

At the register, he pulled out a few twenties and handed them to the cashier, who punched in the codes for beer, tea, shrimp, and hush puppies. He drummed his fingers on the counter while the receipt machine spat out the ticket. On the wooden counter sat a cardboard placard with slots for quarters, and a picture of a little girl, a fox in a pink sundress with a bow around what used to be a full head of hair.

"Help Amber." He whispered, reading the card. The cashier deposited a five, some ones, and sixty-nine cents in change into the heeler's hand. Pocketing the cash, he frowned as he pushed the quarters into two vacant slots on the cardboard. It was such a paltry amount. He wished he could do more. Just then, the gears began to mesh in his head.

Maybe he could.

***

Reid couldn't help but laugh Monday morning when he pulled into work to see a bright red, late 90's model BMW M3 parked out front. At least that 350 small block sitting in the back of the shop would quit collecting dust.

He walked into Paul's office - now his - and caught the tail end of a conversation coming from the adjacent break room. Vance was chatting with Hector about the car needing a new interior, as well as needing to have a coil replaced. A bad coil wouldn't matter so much when he was planning to rip the entire engine out, but in all fairness, he did plan to sell the stock drivetrain.

Reid stopped in the office and looked down at the floor where a dark spot told the tale of the encounter between Vance and John that day. The carpet was cleaned and disinfected following the incident, but the hemoglobin stain was there to stay for as long as the carpet was. It chilled him, but he stepped over it and took a seat at the computer. Only a few days of clerical work in, he was ready to hire a bookkeeper. He knew he wasn't going to be happy if his new responsibilities were going to keep him from doing what he loved, and that was certainly not doing payroll and crunching numbers to see what the races were going to cost him.

The classic sound of a Harley-Davidson V-twin ripped his concentration away from the computer screen, and he shot a glance out the window to see not one, not two, but an uncountable number of motorcycles pulling into the parking lot, ridden by men of varying species in matching leather vests. There had to be at least thirty of them, and idle conversation could be heard between the bikers as they dismounted, pulling off their helmets. One of them, a cougar of about sixty-five, opened the door, the bell ringing as he entered flanked by four of his friends. Reid stepped cautiously out of the office, keeping his distance.

"Can I help you guys?"

"I'm looking for Paul." The man said calmly, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them from a pocket on his vest. He never took his steely eyes off the heeler.

"Well, I'm afraid he's not here. I'm Reid Travis; I'm the owner here now. Paul's gone into retirement for health reasons."

"Did he now?" The cougar asked lowly, his eyes scanning the dog, "Sounds like something he'd do, the coward."

Reid shifted his gaze for a second, "Okay. Um, is there something I can do for you? We don't really work on motorcycles, but I can refer you to a place that does."

The big cat smiled condescendingly and shook his head, staring down his short muzzle at Reid, who could do no more than stand there confused.

"Just tell Paul that Dallas stopped by to visit." He said in his low, rumbling voice. Dallas took his sunglasses and blew some lint off the lenses before sliding them back onto his face, "Take care."

"Yeah, you too." The dog replied quietly and watched as the biker turned his back, a large, round patch in the center of the leather vest bearing the ghastly image of a generic feline head, red devil horns protruding from its forehead just above the eyes. Above it, a rocker bore the name 'BITTEN' embroidered over a white background in red lettering. Sewn below the image was a 'CALIFORNIA' bottom rocker - a patch the Bitten MC had often fought with rival gangs over whose right it was to wear.

Reid could only stand and watch while the Bitten Motorcycle Club members remounted their bikes and took off into the afternoon sun with a din that could be heard for a mile. He wondered what just happened. Then he wondered how these people knew Paul in the first place, and why there were so many of them. Shrugging, he returned to his desk. Unsettling as it was, he had much bigger fish to fry.

***

"You bought a car? A whole car?"

"Blaine-"

Vance was in the doghouse over his new set of wheels, and it didn't look like he was going to get out any time soon. Thankfully, the front seats were of the reclining variety, perfect for sleeping when the couch just wouldn't do.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"Blaine, it was fifteen-hundred dollars for an E36 series BMW M3! I can't pass that up, that's the deal of a lifetime! I've got an old Chevy small block motor at the shop. We fix this one up, new paint, new interior, I can more than double its value." Vance, the defendant in Girlfriend's Court explained. She sighed and folded her arms, refusing to look at him and tuning out his excuses.

"And what's it going to cost to insure it, Vance?"

"Blaine, we're good. You don't need to be worried about money. When Reid took over, he promoted me to manager, gave me a raise, _and_cut me a check for two grand as a bonus!"

"Vance, my period's late." She blurted out curtly, effectively ending the current conversation. Vance's brain bailed on him, and he stood there for several seconds, just staring off into space, the last words of the previous conversation still lingering in his mouth. Thankfully, she no longer seemed as angry as she was genuinely concerned, but the news hit the pit bull like a freight train, so hard that it was several moments before he was able to speak.

"So are-are you...are you, y'know...?"

"I don't know. I haven't taken a test yet, but I should have started my period three days ago. I'm going to go to my OB/GYN tomorrow and find out for sure, I've got an appointment at ten."

"All right." Vance nodded. His forehead broke out in a chilly sweat. He grabbed a chair and pulled it out from the small kitchen table where they ate together and plopped down. Blaine joined him and reached out, curling her fingers into his hand.

"Vance. I know something's bothering you. I can tell, and I know it's about what happened with that guy at work. And I want you to know that I'm here for you, okay? You've got a new position at work, there's this racing thing, and now we might be having a baby. I need to feel secure in our relationship, and I want you to feel the same way. And if we are having a baby, then...I want to get married."

He gripped her hand a little tighter, and wet his chapped lips, "Okay." He nodded gently, smiling at her. She smiled back.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." They stood up from their chairs, and he encircled her in a hug, wrapping those strong arms around her petite form, squeezing her gently. Blaine nestled her face into his neck, and sighed happily in spite of her disappointment in his recent expenditure.

"No more spending money on big stuff. No more cars. At least not until we find out for sure. Promise me?"

"I promise."

Vance lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling as if he was waiting for it to give him advice. He didn't know what he was going to do if Blaine turned out to be pregnant. Well, he knew what he was going to do; he just didn't know how he was going to do it. Less than a year ago, he was a playboy, a lady killer with a knack for bedding any girl he wanted with his bravado, drop-dead gorgeous smile, and macho charisma. Now he was gearing up to become a Dad. He just didn't know how he was going to do it.

***

That Saturday, the coffee was brewed extra strong at the shop. It was an early morning for everyone, and Reid had had the foresight to purchase donuts on his way in - a tactic he'd learned from Paul for keeping employees motivated prior to eight AM. Outside, a truck pulling the portable stage was backing the behemoth of a trailer into the parking lot near the bay doors. A Ford Super Duty driven by Blaine's dad towed the fifty-foot barbeque pit he had so generously loaned them for the event, on the condition that he got to keep whatever meat was left over.

Reid stuffed the last of a donut into his muzzle and washed it down with a few gulps of strong, black coffee. His ears pricked as a motorcycle engine was heard from the highway nearby. Shaking his head, he dismissed far-fetched thoughts and pushed his way through the swinging doors into the bay, where the Nova sat on the lift, ready for inspection. Outside, the beeping of the trailer's reverse motion stopped, and someone yelled an order to the driver.

Reid sat in the driver's seat for a moment, sipping at his coffee and organizing his thoughts. Aiden beamed down at him and sent him good luck wishes from the afterlife from a picture pinned to the visor above his head. Someone calling his name pulled him back into the realm of the living, and he turned to see Vance walking up.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What's up?"

"Oh, not much. You nervous?" The pit bull queried with a shaky voice, leaning on the door of the muscle car.

"Mm, not really. We've done this before. It's just been a long time, and I've never been in charge of it." Reid laughed. Vance chuckled nervously.

"Blaine's dad is out there setting up the pit. I want to ask him if he's okay with me asking Blaine to marry me."

"What, now?"

"Yeah. I just, I feel like there's no better time. I may ask her in the next few days, and this may be the only time between now and then that I'll see him in person. I don't think that's something you want to do over the phone."

"No, definitely not. Is he the kind of guy who would even expect you to do that?"

"He's an old pit bull who wears a cowboy hat everywhere, goes to church every Sunday, drives a Super Duty, owns a fifty-foot barbeque pit, and his name is 'Hoyt'."

"Yeah, then definitely." The heeler laughed again and stepped out of the car. Seconds later, the clutch engaged, and Reid's shoulders sank.

"She's pregnant, isn't she?"

"Might be." Vance replied quickly, chewing on his lip and fidgeting nervously, "She's going in to see her doctor at ten, so until then I'm sweating bullets."

"Well, you're still going to be able to perform tonight, right?"

"Yeah, man. Don't worry about that; put my guitar in my hands and all's right with the world, y'know?" He drummed on the top of the car with his hands.

"All right. Well, do what you gotta do. I have to go sign for this stage and then Paul and I are going to make a Costco run; I'll be around until then if you need me, just text me."

"Will do."

Reid took off and shook his head when he was out of sight. He just couldn't imagine what kind of dad the pit bull would make, but if he at least stuck around, Vance would make a better one than he ever was. Those thoughts too, were dismissed when he noticed Paul's truck pulling into the parking lot up front. He handed the clipboard back to the truck driver, and walked over to the front lot where he met Paul. They had plenty to talk about, as did Vance, who was on his way out to the track where Blaine's dad was unloading wood out of the back of his truck.

"Vance is going to ask that man to be his future father-in-law." Reid remarked gesturing with his head out to where a man in a cowboy hat was working the way people who wore cowboy hats usually did.

"God help him." Paul chuckled, and moved to get back into his truck.

"Paul."

"Yeah?"

"Some bikers dropped by the other day. There was a man named Dallas asking after you." Reid put his hands on his hips and looked down at the pavement, "Cougar guy. Had a whole entourage with him, too. I swear there had to have been twenty-five or thirty of them."

Paul went silent.

"Oh, shit." He breathed at last, staring out at the highway. Reid watched him with worry in his eyes, shaking his head.

"What, what's the matter?"

"It's not something you need to be worried about."

"What do you mean 'it's not something to be worried about'? Thirty outlaw bikers pulled up outside our door and you're telling me I don't need to be worried about that?"

"Their problem isn't with you." Paul said, "I'll explain later. Come on, let's get going, you need to be back before the event starts." The bear climbed into his pickup with a little bit of difficulty, and Reid walked around to get into his Chevy. They would return an hour later with the beds full of meat, drinks, and other edibles to keep their guests full and happy. In the meantime, Vance had some questions of his own that needed answering.

"Hoyt."

"Hey, Vance. Gimmie a hand with this." The weathered old dog said, dumping wood into the bottom of the barbeque pit. He was tall, thin, and wiry, and he reminded Vance of the old cowboys one so often hears about in the lyrics of country songs written in the fifties - wise, and of few words. His slim-fit Wrangler jeans, cowboy boots, and plaid shirts suggested he was a rancher, but the reality of it was he just a retired oilfield technician from Texas City.

"Hoyt, I have something I want to ask you." Vance said, grabbing a bundle and carrying it a few feet down from the old man, lifting the door on the pit.

"Shoot."

"I want to ask your permission to ask Blaine to marry me."

"Sure."

Vance froze. Hoyt kept working.

"Wh...That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

Hoyt hated having to talk more than necessary.

"What, were you expecting otherwise?"

"No, I just figured that maybe your answer would be more...comprehensive."

"How much more comprehensive can you get than 'sure'?" Hoyt winked and tossed him a log of firewood, "But if you need me to break it down for you, I like you. I think you're a good guy, with a good career, and Blaine speaks highly of you. Good enough for me, I figure." He spit tobacco juice into the grass and resumed working only after he'd shaken hands with Vance, who couldn't help but beam back at the old dog. They continued working in silence, but it wasn't awkward. It was just how the old man liked it.

By the time that Reid and Paul returned with the foodstuffs, some people had already shown up. Mostly regular customers who had been doing business at DPE for years, but one car in particular caught the cattle dog's eye. It was the blown, surf green 1969 Chevelle that he had worked on only a couple of weeks prior, parked closest to the drag strip.

Naturally.

While Hector, Chris, Frank, and Reid unloaded the dry goods from the Chevy, Paul pulled his Ford around to drop off the meats at the pit. Vance came running up to Reid the moment he saw him, looking like a kid on Christmas morning.

"He said yes." He reported with a gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face. Reid smiled, and they hugged, clapping each other on the back as bros often do.

"Congratulations. Now she just has to say yes, and you'll be set."

"Oh, well, I'm not worried about that. Hey! You know my drummer; I told you she was going to be racing today?"

"I saw that car out there. Is she here?"

"Yeah. I told her it'd be all right if she took a couple of test runs down the track, I hope that's all right."

"Yeah, I guess that'd be all right."

"You ought to take the Nova out there and race her. It'd be a good way to break the ice." Vance suggested with an equally suggestive wink. Reid nodded enthusiastically - it wasn't a bad idea.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I will!"

By the time they got out there, the drummer was already on the line, her car breathing powerfully as it stared down the length of the drag strip. She stood with her back to them, slipping her head into a full-face helmet. Safety first. Reid watched Vance speak to her through the driver's side window of the Chevelle, pointing to the Nova as the cattle dog rolled up beside her in the right lane. She nodded, and turned to look at the heeler. He smiled at her. She revved her engine. Vance ran in between the cars and leaned into Reid's driver side window.

"I don't think you're going to win, but if you can, you could impress her, and believe me, that's hard to do!" He shouted over the roar of the engines. Behind him, the drummer stepped on the accelerator again, the throttle bodies opened, and the big-block 454 gulped down air through the blower, the supercharger force-feeding the engine with raw, unharnessed power. Reid gulped. She spun her tires, warming them up and flexing her muscle. Reid mirrored, pulling up neck and neck with her at the starting line, keeping his eyes on the strip.

Vance stood between them. He pointed at the drummer with his eyebrows raised, then nodded. Turning to Reid, he repeated the action once the cattle dog confirmed that he was indeed ready. Vance was at the controls. The amber lights on the tree began to blink. Engines revved. Reid wet his lips, molesting the shift knob with his thumb while he waited for the green. When the green light lit, his eyes were no longer on the track.

The Chevelle roared with a beastly chord, and the rear tires spun on the pavement, propelling the machine forward with so much torque that the front wheels lifted a few feet off the ground for the first hundred yards. Reid didn't stand a chance in the Nova. The slicks on the rear dug in, and the old '71 Chevy sallied forth with all the fervor it had in it, but it was not enough to compete with the 1400 horsepower Chevelle in the left lane. He powershifted though to fourth gear, keeping his foot on the accelerator the entire time, but the Chevelle and its driver beat him by almost four seconds, clearing the quarter mile in seven seconds flat.

"I don't know why I thought I could win that." Reid said to himself with a laugh, shaking his head as he watched the Chevelle make the turnaround up ahead. Everyone applauded as they pulled up to the staging area, the rumble of their engines dying. Reid chuckled as he stepped out, just a little embarrassed, and turned to watch as the drummer pulled her helmet off, revealing her face. Vance was right. She was beautiful. Beautiful, and somehow, uncannily familiar.

"That was pretty good!" She said, walking around the front of the Nova.

"Not good enough apparently." He answered, shutting the door, "I'd say you stand a good chance of winning this little competition. Though there's a fellow with a '69 Camaro bored out to a 509 that might give you a run for your money."

"Well I hope so! I love a good challenge." She smiled.

"Oh." Reid said, remembering his manners as he wiped the sweat off of his palm, "I'm Reid Travis. Owner and operator of Doghouse Performance Engineering." He introduced himself, proudly. She reached out and shook his hand.

"Lucy Sanchez."