You sent me two review requests, one for this item and one for "Bones" . Sometimes in such situations, if I find that my comments will just repeat themselves, I'll cover both stories in one review. In this case, as each story brings its own unique set of issues to the table, I'll treat them separately. However, first I want to open with some thoughts that absolutely target both stories.

Lest you think me a straight-laced prude, rest assured that I am a big fan of the Anglo-Saxon branch of our language's family tree. I'm attracted to people who sweat over those who perspire. I think folks should eat their food, rather than consume it, and when they do so, they should chew, not masticate. Though it's true that a prevaricator is not worthy of ones trust, calling them rotten liars gets to the point a bit more directly. And while the Latinate words fornicate and defecate may serve better in genteel company, particularly when used to describe the activities themselves, their use as adverbs and other parts of speech simply doesn't work as well as their rough, coarse Anglo Saxon cousins. There comes a time when one needs to punctuate their words with a forcible exclamation, and "Golly gosh darn," simply won't cut it. I get it.

But make no mistake, the use of such language is a statement, one that defines a particular aspect of a character's nature and mind-set. It doesn't take many instances to get the job done. In the real world someone may salt F-bombs through each and every sentence, but narrative prose isn't trying to replicate the real world. It has to do more, and do it with less. Otherwise your characters will spend your entire story talking in the same kind of boring, near-inarticulate half-sentences that makes up actual real-world dialogue. And the truth is, after the second or third F-bomb, you are no longer revealing aspects of your character's nature. You are revealing limitations in your own style.

Case in point: when the new engine is delivered, you have this—Well, we all thought we'd made the right decision- that engine f*****g hummed.

You sure? What you're doing, excess language aside, is proving the maxim that adverbs are usually inadequate or unnecessary. Had you said ...really hummed the weakness of the construction might have been more apparent. Okay, really is a little weak, you wanted to punch the point. So why not really, really, really hummed. Because it sounds dumb, that's why. You need to understand that your original word choice is no more effective, as well as redundant. Never underestimate the power of the simple declarative sentence. That engine hummed, says it all, but if you really want a flourish, try a Chandleresque That engine hummed like a <INSERT DECORATIVE SIMILE>. But, of course, that's work, whereas anyone cantoss an F-bomb without breaking a sweat. Just figure: if anyone can do it, it ain't special, and you'll never be great if you settle for clichés and worn out structures.

For the record, you use five or six in this story and eight or nine in Bones. No one's going to think it's your character's lack of imagination on display. You're better than that, good enough to avoid such easy traps.

So, on to the story.

When I first started reading this, I feared I might find myself in the awkward position of taking your money and having very little to say, other than something like "Submit this at once." As it turns out, it's not ready to be submitted, but my initial assessment holds: you're a fine writer with solid prose chops. You show enough evidence of developed craft, that the points I'm going to mention are puzzling only because you didn't see them yourself.

You do a good job of moving things along through exposition, and then, when you move in close, letting the camera and microphone do their work, you capture the essence of the scene well. So you do showing, and telling. Both are crucial, which is why the old adage "Show, don't tell," has resulted in reams of close-up detail on scenes of utter boredom. The real rule is "Show what needs to be shown, tell what needs to be told," and here is where you stumble.

After some initial paragraphs that do a good of setting your characters in their environment and giving us a good idea of what they're up to, you continue with the condensed exposition, covering more and more time, until at some point we want to stop taking your word for it and long to see your characters actually working through their story themselves.

Truth is, most of your crucial plot elements are merely referred to, condensed into two or three sentences when a full-blown up-close treatment would certainly be called for. You might want to rethink the whole project, ask yourself if you're really working with a short story here, or something larger. Right now it feels like you're trying to cram ten or fifteen pounds of content into a two pound sack. You actually have a whole host of potential short stories here, or, perhaps, chapters. In any event, you're going to have to find a way to make the crucial elements more immediate, rather than simply telling us that they took place.

A little Story—101 stuff here: deconstruct any effective story, you'll find some form of a two-tiered structure holding it up. Most immediate is the main character and whatever story they bring with them—their goals, hopes, fears and problems. The main character is the reader's point of entry into the story, the charther with whom they will identify, provide access to their emotional and psychological experience of the proceedings. Think of this as the inner story. Then, there is the world at large, the outer story, those elements within which the main character functions, the influences and energies largely beyond their control, to which they must adapt, or combat. In this outer story, we find our protagonist, the character around whom everything revolves, who drives the action and forces the developments. Quite often the main character is also the protagonist (Casablanca is a perfect example), but not always. Fitzgerald did just fine splitting the roles when he wrote The Great Gatsby, and you too have a similar situation here. Your main character tells us the story, he is involved in the events under discussion, but it's not about him. It's about the brothers, their rivalry and the racing world in general. Somewhere in that world you have a protagonist. So far, so good.

The problem is two-fold: your main character has no arc of his own, and you haven't crafted a protagonist worthy of the title. You seem to be splitting the role between the two brothers, but since you kill them both off, it's not certain who would actually wear the mantle.

And then, there's that engine. If there's to be a story for your main character, it's going to come from his involvement with the engine, something that is hinted at now, referred to but never really developed. In this version, it's just a block of metal. Is it evil? Who knows? Your main character toys with the idea but it never leaves the realm of psychological musings. We'll always use psychology to explain away the supernatural... at first. At some point, however, we can no longer kid ourselves: there really is a thing in the corner, a bogey-man in the closet, a corpse sitting up and talking, vampires in the big house on the hill. You've kept your main character a safe distance from such a confrontation with the other side.

You have some decisions to make. Whose story do you want to tell? If it's your main character's, you're going to have to come up with a full-blown story for him. If it's the brothers and their rivalry, you might want to shift your POV to one of them and tell it from the inside.

Keep in mind that those ever-so-crucial third acts come about when the tension between inner and outer stories reaches a breaking point, calling for decisions and actions. I suspect that your main character has more than a few unexplored issues, hitching his wagon as he as to two mercurial hotshots over whom he has no control. You might want to explore those issues.

You've stirred a lot of elements into your pot, and the potential for a serious piece of story-telling is front and center. So far, you haven't told the story that deserves to be told, but I think you have both the craft and the imagination to do so.