FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Family

By Ken Anderson

Author's note: This story contains drug use, strong language, extreme violence, illegal usage of vehicles, and graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is absolutely advised.

Chapter 2 - Rubber to Burn

The blood-red sun had just begun to set over the hazy skyline of Harbor City. From the suburbs to the ghettos, and from the luxurious Uptown district to the gritty, needle-strewn streets of the Heights, the city's weary blue-collar population had begun to trickle home. Like a neverending parade of zombified army ants, they drove and walked, took buses and called cabs; anything that they could do to make it safely behind closed doors before the dying sun shone its last rays over the shadows of the city.

At the same time, however, another side of the city was suddenly coming to life. They came from every corner of the metropolis; from the industrial wasteland of Harbor Heights, to the well-manicured suburbs of East Harbor Hills. They came from the West Hills, the Southside, the Docks, and the Lower East. And they came with a roar that was deafening to anyone who could hear them.

Classic muscle cars revved powerfully as they burned out while weaving through the end-of-day traffic on the Harbor City inner-loop freeway. Boosted tuner cars, ranging from old-style Civics and Nissans, to newer Scions and Toyotas, fought each other for position as they blasted through the empty streets, ignoring the red traffic signals and filling the air with the sounds of their whining turbochargers. Trucks and SUV's, tuned for racing instead of show-off potential, pushed powerfully through the numerous grassy, twisted back roads, long-forgotten by cops and locals alike, as they all headed in tandem to a certain location on the Southside.

The place was called Tony's Power House. On a normal day, it served as a tune-up shop for those in the local racing scene, where one could purchase anything from carbon fiber body kits and fresh nitrous tanks to full-on engine swaps, for the right price, of course. On this particular night, however, Tony's parking lot had been taken over for an entirely different sort of event.

Starting at the nearby freeway off-ramp and leading to the entrance of the shop, human men and women in day-glo shirts lined the curbs and used neon-green glowsticks to direct the numerous arriving vehicles into the parking lot. One-by-one, powerful engines rumbling with a vigor that charged the air, the cars filed in, sliding effortlessly into space after space. Before long, numerous drivers had already begun to exit their vehicles, eager to have a look around and scout the local competition for the night.

One white tiger, however, had been patiently waiting in the parking lot for the past few hours. The hood of his jet-black 1992 Nissan 240SX was held up by its thin metal rod, while the young feline, bent at an odd angle, appeared hard at work adjusting the connections between his two turbochargers and the intakes which fed into the engine. After a few more deft turns on the oil-stained wrench gripped tightly in his right hand, the tiger finally stood up and stretched, letting out a painful growl which was quickly replaced by a deep sigh of relief. Using a towel he'd stuffed into the back pocket of his torn and faded jeans, he wiped away the grime on his paws and dabbed at the sweat which was pouring down his forehead. With a satisfied smile slowly crossing his muzzle, he ran one hand through his fiery red-dyed head fur as he stood back to admire the results of his handiwork.

"Nick! Hey, Nick! Is that you, man?!"

The voice from behind startled him, nearly making him flinch. Shifting his posture, he turned around in time to find Lee, one of his closest friends since middle school, approaching at a steady pace. An expresion of shock quickly formed on the young grey cougar's face as he stepped right up to the car and threw his paws up in disbelief. Nick, however, appeared unfazed as he once again ran a paw through his short, reddish-blonde hair.

"Lee! Hey, what's up? You're actually right on time; I was just finishing up a little work on the new engine before I race toni--"

"--Wait, what?!" Lee interrupted incredulously.

"Nick, you know we're friends, right? And I've got confidence in you, and you know that, but seriously, what're you even thinking, showing up here tonight?! You've only had that thing under your hood for less than a week! I mean, you haven't even taken it out on the streets for a serious run yet!"

Nick couldn't help but laugh. He shook his head slightly as he stepped up to his friend and placed a paw on his shoulder to reassure him.

"Look, we ran her on the dyno five times at your dad's place after tweaking the pressure on the turbos last night, right?"

"Yeah... and?"

"And, we managed to somehow scrounge up a couple of strut bars to brace the engine block, a carbon fiber driveshaft so the added power wouldn't rip the rusted-ass chassis apart when it runs, and not to mention, we shaved down the entire engine bay to retrofit the turbos so they would work, didn't we?"

"Yeah, we put a lot of work into it, and we took a lot of precautions; I get all that, but honestly? We haven't even street-tested it yet, and on top of that, I still have no idea how the hell you pulled it off! I mean, a couple of weeks ago, you were talking about needing a new engine, and all of a sudden, you get ahold of one in two days? Not to mention this kind of engine?! I know you, Nick; you've never held down a steady job in you life. And somehow, almost overnight, you just happen to come up with the money for a setup like this?! What the hell are you into, man? Seriously, I wanna know."

"Don't worry about it, man_. Seriously_," Nick reassured him, staring at the recently polished engine block with a confident glow in his eyes, "Just trust me. I've got a really good feeling about tonight..."

From his youngest years, Nick Owens had always felt a deep-seated attachment to the automotive scene. Ever since he'd first gathered up the courage as a child to sneak a peek under the hood of his father's old Challenger, he'd become entranced by the power and the potential of combustion engines. During his teenage years as a student at Harbor Hills high school, using whatever vehicles he could find, usually cars or trucks which belonged to the parents of his numerous friends, he'd steadily developed a passion for the dangerous thrills of street racing.

Now, at the age of twenty-three, he'd matured enough to acquire a profound sense of appreciation and respect for the subtle and obvious differences in the custom-built engines which powered the numerous cars and trucks that were popular in the racing scene. From knowing the advantages and disadvantages of turbochargers versus superchargers, to understanding the implications of often-asked questions, such as that of domestic versus import car superiority, throughout his career as a well-known racer on the streets of Harbor City, he'd explored every option and considered every possibility. By the time he'd been able to take his first shop class at Harbor Hills High, he'd already left a lasting impression on many of the city's top underground mechanics.

Still, his friend hadn't been entirely wrong in his assumption. Like most of the young, college-age members of the city's aspiring underworld community, Nick Owens was leading a double life. Almost two weeks before the night of the race, he'd noticed that his car's swapped and tuned SR20DET engine had begun to show the signs of a lifetime of use and abuse. A true racer at heart, Nick's first thought had been to stop driving the car immediately, before placing a call to one of his 'uncles,' a part-time bass player in a popular local metal band, and a fully-loaded rich heir, who also owned a stake in a local junkyard.

The grungy-looking older otter had immediately promised to find a suitable replacement engine for Nick's car as fast as he could do so. Surprisingly enough, the search had taken only two nights. And even more suprising to Nick himself, the engine had not only been suitable for his purposes, but was far beyond his expectations. When he'd first seen the shiny, refurbished engine block with his own eyes, his jaw had nearly hit the floor. After five minutes of staring, which had felt like five hours, he'd finally found the strength to move his legs, taking off at a full sprint towards the parking lot outside of his small studio apartment, fiddling excitedly with his car keys as he rushed to open the driver's side door and rev up his old engine one last time.

Three days of non-stop work later, with a team of street mechanics constantly filing into and out of the the junkyard's large garage, the engine swap had been completed. On the morning of the third day, as he'd tossed Nick's keys back with a wide grin on his face, Ozzy, the one behind the mechanical miracle, had shaken his head with a laugh when Nick had inquired as to the price.

"Don't even worry about it, Nicky," he'd said, lighting the end of a cigarette that he'd slipped between his teeth, "I talked to Charlie and James this morning. They said to tell you that this is a gift from them. Now get out there and put it to good use!"

That had been two days ago. As Nick once again leaned under the hood of his car to check the new welds and struts which held the engine in place, he could hear the murmurs of the crowd as a large group of people slowly formed a semicircle around him and his 240. Standing straight once more, he backed away to let the others in the crowd get a good view of his new setup.

"RB26." Four simple letters and numbers, stamped into the metal of the engine block, exhuded a sense of power and status. The engine itself, which, according to Ozzy, had been torn from a recently-wrecked early-nineties Skyline GTR, seemed to glow under the light of the harsh lamps which had begun to flash brightly to life across the extremely crowded parking lot. Chuckling slightly to himself, Nick watched as a few of his friends leaned under the hood to take an even closer look.

"Goddamn, man!" One of them exlcaimed, shaking his head, "You've gotta have a death wish to put something like that in this car!"

"Death wish?" Nick repeated, "Yeah, maybe, but only in the mornings." With a smile, he shooed the crowd away from his car before lowering the hood, tying it in place with two small pins attached to a pair of thin steel cables.

"Are you really sure this is a good idea?" Lee asked once more, a thin layer of sweat forming across his forehead.

"Am I a hundred percent, you mean? No, not really... But still, if I don't put this engine to the test here tonight, I might lose more than just my pride, and you know that."

"Yeah, yeah... This race is sanctioned by the Binettis, isn't it?"

"That's right."

"Well, shit... When you make a promise to those guys, you can't exactly back out. Hell, I don't get how you're connected to those two families, man. One of these days, you're gonna have to explain it to me."

"Alright then. One of these days... Now chill out, man! I've got this! Just tell the bag man to come and find me when it's time to race. I'm up first, so I'm pulling out to the line in a minute."

With that, Nick took a moment to stretch himself out, groaning sightly as the bones in his spine and lower back responded with a loud 'crack.' Heaving a sigh, he scratched the fur on the back of his neck absentmindedly, as he began to run through the night's chosen race course in his head.

The race would start here, on the south side of Harbor City. Avoiding the main roads, they would all be tearing through the twisting, unkempt back streets as the course wound its way through the Heights, before taking it to the inner-loop freeway, a risky move to be sure, but a necessary one. Two miles down, they would exit the freeway and turn towards Harbor Hills, whose streets had ostensibly been cleared by order of the family, as they finally made their way towards the finish line, a garish, three-story mansion situated in the heart of the East Hills suburbs. The home of Charlie and James Clayton, a happily married couple, who also served as one of the more well-known families of the city, and hated rivals of the Binetti Canine crime family.

Nick's concentration was suddenly interrupted by the loud whine of what could only be an approaching motorcycle engine. Turning his head to face the entrance to the parking lot, a thin smile crept across his face as he recognized the leather-clad, helmet-wearing coyote who slowed down to a crawl, before guiding his shiny Ducati towards Nick's car. The bike's engine gave one last growl as it was suddenly turned off, before a boot-covered foot knocked out the kickstand, and the helmeted figure perched on the back stretched his legs, before jumping down to the ground.

A pair of heavily-tattooed paws reached up to tug away the helmet, which was promptly rested on the bike's thin leather seat. Nick caught sight of a flash of grey, almost ash-colored fur as the new arrival shook off his leather coat, before nodding his head in Nick's general direction.

"What's up, Nick?" the young coyote called over, beaming brightly as the tattoos on his forearms appeared to shine in the harsh light of the parking lot's sodium-bulb lamps.

"Jake!" Nick responded with an even wider grin, stretching out his arms to embrace his friend as he stepped into the hug. "You didn't tell me you were coming out tonight! I thought you'd be waiting by the finish line with your dads!"

"Nah, man, where's the fun in that? Besides..." Jake reached a hand into the deep pockets of his faded black jeans, before coming back out with a thick fold of bills. "Somebody's gotta stake you tonight, right? Figured I'd do it myself. My dads didn't mind when I told them I'd be heading over here. You know they're cool with it."

Nick's eyes widened slightly as his friend slapped the heavy, rubber-band secured wad of bills into his paws. Behind him, he could hear the whispers and murmurs of the crowd as they all stood around and watched the scene before them unfold.

"...That's Jake Clayton..."

"Is that HIM?"

"How do you think they know each other?"

Truth be told, Nick Owens and Jakob Clayton had had a long and colorful history together... Not that many people would know about it... He'd originally met Jake back when they were both students at Harbor Hills High school. They'd met at a house party being held close to the campus, and Nick had already heard plenty of stories about Jake and his adopted fathers before they had ever met face-to-face. He'd originally thought Jake might lead a somewhat pampered life, swimming in luxury while his dads handled the everyday chaos of the streets. It hadn't taken Jake long to set him straight on that, however, when he'd showed up to the party with a truck hauling two stolen kegs of beer and uncountable bottles of liquor. The sneaky coyote had always been a bit of an opportunist, himself, and he was also well-known for selling large amounts of pot and ecstasy, especially on the weekends, to the curious students of Harbor Hills High.

They'd become friends almost immediately, bonding over their mutual love of strong weed, good booze, and fast cars. Jake had been more than happy to introduce Nick to his fathers, a tense moment, as Nick recalled it, since he'd been quaking in his boots as he'd reached out his hand to let the two of them shake it. In the end, though, his worries had been completely unfounded; Charlie and James Clayton had been more than enthusiastic about meeting one of their son's new friends, and after sharing a few joints and beers with them, he'd mentally slapped himself for his earlier nervousness.

They were a nice interspecies family, as friendly as anyone else he'd ever met. Aside from their reputations for fame and violence on the street, they could've easily been any other happy couple, just living out their days in the hazy confines of Harbor City. When his father, a career gambler who'd always been in debt to the Binettis, had passed away a few years ago, the cancer which had ravaged his body finally threatening to pull him from the world, it had been the Claytons who, at his death bed, had promised that they would look after his wayward son, and see to it that he would want for nothing. When the time had finally come, they had offered him their home, and had been there to comfort him and guide him safely through his grief. For this, he would come to call Charlie and James Clayton his second family. And Jake, their adopted son, would become his closest and dearest friend.

"Dude, what is this, like, five grand?!" Nick exclaimed, thumbing through the bills as he tried his best not to let his jaw hit the floor.

"Six." Jake replied, crossing both arms over his skinny chest with a smile. "Five to stake you in the race, and one for your own personal use. I figured we'd go have some fun once you finish up around here."

Nick couldn't resist a smile as the thought passed through his head. "Where would we go?" he asked.

"My place."

A stern voice from behind him nearly spooked him senseless. Turning around to greet the newcomer, Nick's smile grew even wider as his eyes came to rest on the well-dressed form of Marco Binetti, his sleek gray fur and ash-gray suit coat fluttering in the evening breeze as he nodded his head towards the two of them.

"I picked up a new gambling joint for my dad the other day. It used to be one of Danny Talon's spots. The old bastard owed months of tribute, so I went and took it over. I thought my dad would want to take a shot at running it, but he just turned around and handed the deed to me! Talk about a surprise gift, yeah? I thought we'd spend the night trying to win some money off the regulars." The young wolf sneered slightly as he shook his head.

Nick reached out a paw to clasp Marco's tightly, a slight grimace of pain crossing the wolf's face as he took it and gave it a single shake.

"Messy collections again?" Jake called over, nodding towards Marco's limp shoulder as he stepped up to shake hands as well.

"Cazzo, man...Yeah... Same old shit, new day..."

"I got the perfect thing for that," Jake responded, turning back to rifle through his heavy motorcycle jacket, before coming up holding a nice-sized joint. "This is Silver Haze. Nice and relaxing, and it should help with the pain in your shoulder. You get it stitched?"

Marco nodded his head solemnly, as he reached out to take the joint when it was offered to him. "Yeah. I almost missed Professor Williams' lecture in Social Psychology because of that. Barely got there in time to catch the last half hour of it."

"No worries, I'll let you borrow my notes," Jake replied with a smile, as he pulled out a scratched-up zippo lighter from his jeans and struck it against the side of his leg. Marco leaned forward, the joint tucked snugly between his teeth, and inhaled deeply as it came into contact with the flame. Nick looked back and forth between his two best friends as they continued to chatter amongst themselves, relaying the stories of their days spent hustling around on the city's harsh, unforgiving streets.

To anybody watching them, this was something you could only hope to see in a seriously fucked-up mafia film. Marco Binetti, the scion of the city's prestigious Binetti crime family, sharing a joint and shooting the shit with Jakob Clayton, the son of two of his father's most hated enemies. During the daylight hours, the two of them were always careful to avoid being seen together in public; the questions that Arturo Binetti would have for them could only end in disaster if they were ever caught hanging out.

Jake's fathers, however, had seen nothing wrong with it. To them, it didn't matter which family they belonged to, or what kind of grudges they may have held. Their son had made some good friends, and they had always welcomed Marco into their home with open arms. Even Marco held a certain amount of respect for them that his father could never touch. To him, those times spent in the Clayton househould were probably the most 'normal' moments he got to have with his closest friends.

Passing the joint over to Nick, Marco cleared his throat slightly, before reaching his uninjured arm beneath the folds of his heavy coat. Pulling out a rolled-up wad of bills, he offered them to Nick with a slight smile.

"Need a stake for the night?"

"Oh, come on man, you too?!" Nick spluttered incredulously, reaching out to retrieve the bills, before pulling out the wad that Jake had given him.

"Just how much are you guys expecting me to bet?!"

Jake and Marco looked at each other for a moment, their smiles becoming wider as they turned back to Nick.

"Ten grand." They replied simultaneously, before bursting out into a fit of honest laughter. Nick felt a small amount of sweat pooling at his collar as he shook his head slightly, taking a few hits from the burning joint before handing it to Jake.

"You guys are fucking nuts... But I love you both anyway. Now where the hell is the bag man?"

As if to answer his question, the crowd around them suddenly parted, and a short, stocky human holding a small backpack appeared. As he made his way towards them, his eyes came to rest on Jake and Marco, and he suddenly froze, unsure of what he was seeing. Nick could almost smell the fear coming off him in waves as his eyes quickly turned towards the ground, unable to meet the two stern gazes thrown his way by the pair.

"Uhh... Hey, Nick," The man muttered softly, holding out the bag with a trembling hand. "Got something for the pot?"

"Yeah..." Nick nodded his head slowly, counting out the bills rapidly in his hands as he stepped up to meet him. "Here. Ten grand from me, courtesy of my two friends. Goes to the winner, as usual..."

The man quickly nodded his head and accepted the money, unzipping the backpack to deposit the cash on top of several other rolls of bills. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Lee approaching them, only to freeze in place as well when he noticed Jake and Marco passing the joint.

"Lee! Hey, man, how's it going?" Jake called over, offering up the burning joint and waving the young cougar over with one hand. "Come on over! Have some with us!"

Lee shook his head to clear away any lingering doubts before resuming his slow, steady pace. "Hey, Jake. Marco..." He nodded to them both, as he took the smoldering joint from Jake's outstretched hand. "I've been alright. Just school and work, I guess... I won't bother you with the same question. Pretty sure I should know better by now. I still can't believe you guys always hang out like this, though..."

Jake and Marco shared another short laugh, shaking their heads slightly.

"Yeah, you and everyone else," Marco muttered in reply, reaching out to retrieve the joint once Lee had taken his pair of hits.

Turning around to look at the crowd, Nick was sure that his friend was right. All eyes were resting on the four of them as they stood next to his car, and those who weren't actively looking in their direction were trying their best to make themselves appear busy with whatever tasks they had in front of them. He'd seen it all before; this wasn't even the hundredth time they had drawn this reaction from the racing crowd. As it was, only Lee had some semblance of an idea why he'd chosen to hang out with this particular group, but he hadn't yet given him any further details on how their friendship had come to be.

One of these days...

The sound of loud clapping suddenly drew their attention towards the entrance to the parking lot. Turning around, they all caught sight of the bag man, as he stood at the front of the crowd and held up his backpack with one hand.

"Alright! Everybody who's racing has already kicked in! First group up to the line! The race starts in five minutes!"

Nick could already feel the adrenaline beginning to course through his bloodstream as he quickly nodded his head, and marched over to the driver's side door of his car. As he jerked the heavy door open with one hand, he lowered himself into the solid Sparco bucket seat that he'd bought to replace the one which had come with the car.

"Hey, man!" Jake's voice called out in his direction before he could close the door.

"Mind if I ride along?"

Nick shrugged his shoulders in reply, inserting his key into the ignition. "Yeah, sure! Is Marco gonna be alright over here?"

Turning back to face his friend, Jake nodded his head towards the Ducati resting on the smooth asphalt next to them.

"Yo, Marco! Think you can handle my bike?"

Marco turned his head to check out the motorcycle, before looking back at them with a sneer.

"Of course! Gimme the keys!"

Jake offered them in an underhanded toss, and held out his arms as Marco tossed over his heavy leather jacket.

"I'll see you guys at the finish! Kick their asses, Nick!"

"I got this! You know that!"

Without another word, Marco slipped on Jake's helmet, before kick-starting the bike with practiced ease. With a loud roar, the Ducati left the packed parking lot, turning east as it began to head directly for Harbor Hills.

Jake released a heavy sigh as he lowered himself into the seat next to Nick, and began to buckle up the five-point harness which served to replace the stock seat belts.

"You heard the man!" he called over, grinning widely. "Now fire this thing up! You've gotta win back our stake!"

---

Been a decade, but here's the second chapter of The Family. I've decided to leave The Wasted Youth where it is, but it'll come into play eventually. I'll be updating this, along with my other stories as well; there's not much else for me to do these days, yeah?