Leo answered once.
The second time he said, “I don’t know.”
Frank nodded.
“Good answer.”
Leo looked surprised.
Frank said, “A mechanic who never says that is dangerous.”
They reset the ignition.
Checked everything twice.
Leo insisted on a third check.
Frank smiled.
“Your dad teach you that too?”
Leo nodded.
“He said the second check is for mistakes.”
“What’s the third?”
“Ego.”
Frank laughed loudly.
“That was definitely Arthur.”
At 5:31, the motorcycle was ready.
Russell looked at Jim.
Jim looked at Leo.
“You want to press the starter?”
Leo stared at the bike.
Then shook his head.
“Dutch’s bike.”
Jim understood.
He stepped forward.
Turned the ignition.
The dash illuminated.
Fuel valve open.
Neutral.
Jim placed his thumb over the starter button.
Nobody breathed.
He pressed.
The engine turned.
Once.
Twice.
Then exploded to life.
The sound slammed against the garage walls.
A deep, heavy Harley idle.
Uneven enough to feel alive.
Strong enough that everyone knew instantly the problem was gone.
Several men shouted.
Frank threw both hands into the air.
Russell laughed like a man who had just been released from prison.
Someone slapped a workbench.
Another biker shouted toward the ceiling.
“For Dutch!”
Jim did not celebrate.
He stood beside the motorcycle staring at Leo.
The boy had both hands pressed over his ears.
But he was smiling.
A huge smile.
The kind nobody in that garage had seen from him since Arthur died.
Jim slowly shut the engine off.
The sudden silence felt enormous.
Leo lowered his hands.
Frank walked toward him.
“I owe you an apology.”
Leo’s smile faded.
Frank crouched.
“I shouldn’t have laughed.”
Leo shrugged.
Frank shook his head.
“No.”
“Don’t let grown men get away with bad apologies because they’re embarrassed.”
Russell laughed.
Frank ignored him.
“I was wrong.”
“You knew something I didn’t.”
“And I assumed your age mattered more than what you were saying.”
He held out his hand.
Leo shook it.
Frank’s hand swallowed his.
“Good catch, mechanic.”
Leo looked toward Russell.
Russell smiled.
“You can keep sweeping.”
Leo rolled his eyes.
The garage laughed.
At 5:52, Claire Hayes walked through the front door.
Leo knew something was wrong the moment he saw her.
His mother usually entered Blackstone looking tired.
She worked as an administrative assistant at a medical office downtown.
Most days she arrived wearing simple dark slacks, comfortable shoes, and an expression suggesting she had answered too many emails from adults who should know better.
Today she looked frightened.
She saw Leo first.
Then Jim.
Then the FXR.
Then the metal tag sitting on the rag.
Her hand moved to her mouth.
“Oh.”
Leo walked toward her.
“Mom?”
Claire’s eyes filled.
She crouched and hugged him.
He tolerated it for approximately four seconds before pulling back.
“You knew.”