"Ready?"
Miguel took it.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Scary Man."
Tom laughed.
"Kid, you're sixteen."
"So?"
"I think you're old enough to call me Tom."
Miguel shook his head seriously.
"No, sir."
Tom raised an eyebrow.
"You'll always be Mr. Scary Man."
Snake nearly fell out of his chair laughing.
Tom pointed at him.
"Keep it up."
Miguel smiled.
"The scary man who showed up when I needed him."
The room went quiet again.
Tom looked at the young man standing where the small boy had once stood.
He remembered tiny hands stained with marker.
A crooked Superman cape.
A police cap too large for a child's head.
A request nobody could refuse.
Tom placed one hand on Miguel's shoulder.
"Come on, warrior."
Outside, a small training motorcycle waited in the lot.
Nothing powerful.
Nothing flashy.
Just a manageable bike built for learning.
Tom explained the controls.
Miguel listened.
Brake.
Clutch.
Throttle.
Balance.
Eyes forward.
Smooth inputs.
No showing off.
Elena watched every movement like a mother prepared to stop the lesson at the first bad decision.
Miguel put on the helmet.
Tom checked the strap himself.
"Comfortable?"
Miguel nodded.
Tom stepped back.
"All right."
Miguel started the engine.
The small motorcycle came alive.
For one moment, Tom could see both versions of him.
The teenager.
And the five-year-old boy.
Miguel slowly moved forward.
Ten feet.
Twenty.
Turned.
Came back.
Stopped.
He lifted the visor.
His smile was enormous.
Tom laughed.
"Again."
Miguel went around the lot.
Then again.
Elena's shoulders gradually relaxed.
Snake stood beside her.
"He's good."
Elena looked at him.
"You tell him that and I'll blame you when he buys one."
Snake nodded.
"He's terrible."
She smiled.
After nearly an hour, Miguel shut off the engine.
He removed the helmet.
Tom handed him a bottle of water.
"Not bad."
Miguel drank.
"Not bad?"
"Don't get cocky."
Miguel grinned.
They sat on the clubhouse steps.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then Miguel asked:
"Did my dad ever arrest any of you?"
Tom laughed.
Snake, standing behind them, immediately walked away.
Miguel looked suspicious.
"Mr. Tom?"
Tom rubbed his beard.
"Your father may have written me a ticket."
"One?"
Tom hesitated.