“Five minutes.”
“If you damage anything, you’re done.”
Noah set the red toolbox beside the motorcycle.
He did not open it.
That made Mack frown harder.
“You planning to stare it into submission?”
Noah crouched.
“Start it.”
Ray moved to the handlebar.
He turned the ignition.
The dash came alive.
Fuel pump primed.
Ray pressed the starter.
The engine caught instantly.
A deep exhaust note filled the yard.
For one second.
Then the engine shut off as cleanly as though somebody had turned the key.
No sputtering.
No coughing.
No gradual starvation.
Just off.
Noah tilted his head.
“Again.”
Ray pressed.
Same result.
Noah looked at the dash.
Then the tank.
Then the wiring visible near the steering head.
“Again.”
Mack checked his watch dramatically.
“Four minutes, twenty.”
Noah ignored him.
Ray started the motorcycle.
It died.
Noah touched the battery terminals.
Secure.
He checked the visible ground.
Then fuel line.
He smelled near the tank without opening it.
He ran his fingers along the harness beneath the seat.
His movements were quick but not frantic.
Mack said:
“Four minutes.”
Noah looked up suddenly.
“What happened the day it stopped?”
Ray frowned.
“I told everybody.”
“I wasn’t here.”
Ray nodded.
“Riding home.”
“Anything before?”
“No.”
“Service?”
“Three weeks earlier.”
“What?”
“Oil.”
“Rear tire.”
“Nothing electrical.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed.
“Weather?”
Ray remembered.
“Rain.”
“How much?”
“Storm.”
The boy’s whole posture changed.
Not excitement.
Direction.
“Did it start failing during rain or after?”
“During.”
“Did it clear up when the rain got lighter?”
Ray thought.
“Once.”
“For maybe twenty minutes.”
Mack looked toward Ray.
That detail had never come up in quite that way.
Noah opened the toolbox.
Inside were ordinary hand tools, a cheap digital multimeter, electrical tape, heat shrink, wire cutters, small picks, two flashlights, and one grease-stained spiral notebook tucked against the side.
Noah took only the flashlight.
“Three minutes.”
Mack announced.
Noah leaned near the fuel tank.
He did not remove it.
He shined the flashlight through a narrow opening between tank and frame.
Then from the opposite side.
He reached in.
His fingers moved beneath the wiring bundle.
Stopped.
He pulled one section gently.
The harness shifted farther than it should.
Noah looked at Ray.
“Whoever had this tank off last time, did they move the harness?”
Ray shook his head.
“No idea.”
Noah used the flashlight again.
Mack stepped closer despite himself.
“What?”
Noah said nothing.
He slid one finger under a metal bracket.
Then withdrew it.
A faint black smear appeared on his fingertip.
Not grease.