Listened.
And remembered.
On the day Dutch's FXR arrived, Leo stood near the office doorway.
He recognized the motorcycle immediately.
Black tank.
Gold lettering.
The distinctive leather seat.
And the small brass plate bearing Dutch's initials.
He had seen it many times when his father was alive.
He remembered Arthur kneeling beside it.
Remembered Dutch laughing.
Remembered a summer afternoon when the two men spent hours discussing something Leo couldn't fully understand.
And he remembered one sentence.
Never trust the factory marks on that one.
At first, the memory was faint.
Then Rusty began struggling with the engine.
And the words grew louder.
By the end of the first week, Leo wanted to speak.
But he was frightened.
He'd already watched the mechanics replace several parts.
They were experienced men.
Men who repaired motorcycles every day.
He was eight.
What if he'd misunderstood his father?
What if he remembered the sentence incorrectly?
What if everybody laughed?
So he stayed quiet.
He swept the floor.
Did his homework.
And watched the black Harley remain silent.
Then, on the fourteenth day, he heard Rusty say something that made the decision for him.
“We've checked every factory timing mark twice. I don't know what else to believe.”
Leo stopped sweeping.
He looked toward the engine.
Then whispered, “You're believing the wrong marks.”
Nobody heard.
He swallowed.
Then spoke louder.
“YOU'RE TIMING IT WRONG!”
That was the moment everything changed.
Rusty stared at the engine for a long time after Leo finished explaining what he remembered.
The boy had described a motorcycle that no longer matched its original specifications. He knew about the old engine damage near Reno, the custom work Arthur had performed, and the fact that Dutch used an unusual arrangement combining specially adapted components. Most importantly, he knew his father had warned him that the ordinary service reference marks could be misleading.
None of that proved the boy's diagnosis was correct. Memories from a six-year-old could be incomplete, and engines were complicated enough that an inaccurate assumption might cause expensive damage. But Leo had identified several details that weren't visible from the outside, and Rusty could no longer justify dismissing him.
“Tell me about the twelve degrees,” Rusty said.
Leo looked toward the engine.
“Dad said Dutch couldn't use the regular marks after the changes. He told me the difference was twelve degrees.”
Rusty glanced toward Nate.
The older mechanic rubbed his beard.
“That would explain part of what we're seeing if the underlying configuration matches what he's describing.”