“You’re not waiting two hours.”
Russell almost smiled despite the tension.
Jim looked at him.
“Kid.”
“It has my dad’s name.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Jim rubbed both hands over his beard.
He turned away.
Walked three steps.
Stopped.
The entire club watched him.
Nobody spoke.
Then Jim returned.
“I need to show you something first.”
He looked at Russell.
“Office.”
Leo followed.
Russell followed too.
Jim stopped Frank from joining with one look.
Inside Russell’s office sat an old desk, filing cabinets, a mini refrigerator, and a wall covered in photographs.
Jim closed the door.
Leo remained standing.
He still held the tag.
Jim looked at him.
“You remember Dutch?”
“A little.”
“How little?”
“He came to Dad’s shop sometimes.”
“You talked to him?”
Leo nodded.
“He gave me a wrench once.”
Jim looked surprised.
“What kind?”
“Three-eighths ratchet.”
Jim almost laughed.
“Of course he did.”
Leo frowned.
“Why?”
“Dutch thought every child needed tools.”
“He said toys break.”
Jim smiled.
“That sounds like him too.”
Russell leaned against the desk.
“Jim.”
Jim’s smile disappeared.
He walked to a chair.
Sat.
Then looked at Leo.
“There’s a reason Dutch trusted your father.”
Leo waited.
“It wasn’t because Arthur was the best mechanic he knew.”
Russell raised an eyebrow.
Jim continued.
“Though he might’ve been.”
Leo looked at the tag.
“Then why?”
Jim stared at the floor.
“In June of 1992, twelve of us were riding through Nevada.”
He spoke slowly.
“Temperature was over a hundred.”
“Dutch was on that FXR.”
“Back then the bike was only six years old.”
“We were pushing too hard.”
“We were stupid.”
Jim looked at Russell.
“Some things haven’t changed.”
Russell said nothing.
Jim continued.
“The engine started making noise.”
“Dutch ignored it.”
“Then it locked.”
Leo listened carefully.
“The rear wheel almost caught.”
“Dutch stayed upright, but the motorcycle was dead.”
“We were sixty miles from anything.”
“No cell phones.”
“No easy tow.”
“We found a pay phone at an abandoned service stop.”
“Dutch made one call.”
Leo already knew the answer.
“My dad.”
Jim nodded.
“Arthur drove six hours.”
Leo frowned.
“He was only…”
“Fifteen.”
That answer stunned Russell.
Leo’s eyes widened.
“My dad was fifteen?”
Jim nodded.
“Sixteen in two months.”
“He came with his stepfather.”
“Man named Thomas Hayes.”
Leo knew that name.
His grandfather.
Dead before Leo was born.