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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of cc&d (v225) (the October 2011 Issue, You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:						This is also in this 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback “Up In Smoke” Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book:

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All Motor

Richard E Marion

    Larry Lynche in the penthouse asked me if I had ever been to a Greyhound Race. I said I’m not a sports guy, but OK...
    Larry was an attorney: smart, successful, nice place, great car. Here was an opportunity to spend some time and get to know him, maybe even learn something.
    He pointed out that Greyhound Racing in our state was illegal - legislated away due to allegations of animal drugging and cruelty. Larry assured me that wasn’t so at his “private club”.
    We hopped in the big Porsche Panamera and picked up Larry’s brother, whose name was Paul Parsons. Paul was a genetic researcher. Larry declined to explain why his brother had a different last name.
    The Greyhound Place, unsanctioned, was very low-profile, but five-star all the way. Larry told me if he ever got sick, he wanted to be treated by the Vets there, instead of being taken to a human hospital.
    I was informed the slowest Greyhound there could blow the doors off any legal track dog. In car talk these dogs were Pro Stock, that is, all motor. They were bigger than I expected, and they put out a strange vibe - feral, edgy, paranormal - but then I really didn’t know what to expect.
    Larry’s dog was named King. Like Stephen, the writer. I liked King right away. The races were OK, not really exciting, but it’s subjective. When I learned that King was coming back with us tonight along with Paul Parsons, I knew I’d be learning more about Greyhounds.
    That night we watched the History Channel; drank strong dark coffee, bottled water, and ate. King had been fed and watered.
    In addition to being quite large for a Greyhound, King was muscular to the extreme. He was a “blue”, in dog breeder talk, although he seemed black to me. It must have been the combination of that color and the room lighting which made King look so pumped... all motor.
    Larry, being a lawyer, could and did talk plenty most of the evening. His “brother” Parsons was briefer. I mainly listened.
    The topics were politics, science, fast cars, and fast dogs. Larry told us the big Panamera was soon to be traded for a Ferrari 612 being customized and tuned at the shop. Larry was a real car guy. He could afford it.
    Paul Parsons, PhD., expanded during the science and dog portions. I noted that King had surpassed my expectations, but I qualified the statement by saying I knew very little about dogs in general, and even less about Greyhounds.
    King knew when it was his turn in the spotlight. He was very mild-mannered and steady, as I had expected after studying Greyhounds on the Internet. He even smiled like dogs do when they are happy.
    Parsons warmed up with a concise history of wolves, dogs, hunting dogs, and racing dogs. I was impressed. The information and the dog’s participation were interesting and fun.
    I did notice that King’s eyes had very pale irises, gray flecked with yellow, which seemed unusual based on my limited Greyhound research. I’m a generalist, but I tend to notice things such as wolf eyes.
    Next Parsons proceeded to Mendelian Genetics, “cutting” DNA, targeting, and he described how recessive genes worked. He explained that mutations could provide both good results and unintended consequences.
    It was getting really late. We just barely managed to wrap it up before sunrise. Then I went home downstairs.
    The following day I remembered how Larry seemed a bit shaky during the dog and science class, as if he wanted it to be over quickly.
    That next weekend I noticed Larry Lynche and I hadn’t crossed paths at the condo parking area all week long. For a while I worked as a rent-a-cop, also known as “security”. Part of that job included studying people’s habits.
    I gave Larry a ring on my cell, no answer. Then I called his legal firm. I was curious and concerned. It turned out that Larry had not reported in all week. They were getting worried about their Public Relations... Oh, and Larry too.
    I had Paul Parson’s number on my cell and used it. Nothing. I performed a cursory Internet search, and then decided to save time and just go up to the penthouse and visit Larry.
    I had learned a few “locksmithing techniques” in security work and got inside easily. I was prepared for the alarm but it was turned off. Door cracked; the air smelled a bit like copper and iron, familiar and disturbing.
    I opened it cautiously, wondering if King was home, and would he remember me? Yes. King, inscrutable wolf eyes, tail wagging, still wearing that doggy grin. I hoped he wasn’t contemplating removing a section of my already trim derrière.
    The hallway was dim and there was something strange about King’s teeth. That dog was plenty mysterious; he must have been some sort of extreme hybrid. Then I remembered what Paul Parsons had said about mutations and consequences.
    King allowed me inside. I turned on the hall lights, noticed the little door on the alarm was unshut, and that were some scratches on the otherwise pristine sky-blue painted walls.
    I discovered Larry in a pool of what looked like blood, based on the fact that his head was nearly entirely removed from his body. King’s teeth were different... they were red. King’s performance seemed to be premeditated then carefully executed for timely review and judgment.
    King kept up the smiles, eyes and teeth, looking forward to approval. His tail cycled optimistically. That was when I called 911.
    “Yes, I hadn’t seen him all week; his law firm said he was missing... I let myself in. No, I didn’t touch anything... I was there last weekend, I’m sure I left prints there... I know you’ll check... it’s OK... Of course he’s dead. His head’s off.”
    I pocketed the cell phone and headed toward the door.
    “King, c’mon boy. Come home now.”

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