“Dad was right.”
Rusty felt his throat tighten.
“Yes, son.”
Leo looked down at his homework.
Then whispered, “He usually was.”
For several seconds, Rusty couldn't speak.
Then he placed one hand on the boy's shoulder.
“You finish your math. We've got more checking to do.”
Leo nodded.
Rusty stood.
Then stopped at the doorway.
“Leo?”
The boy looked up.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for speaking up.”
For a moment, the child seemed surprised.
Then he smiled again.
“You're welcome.”
Rusty returned to the garage.
Big Dave looked toward him.
“Well?”
Rusty nodded.
“Let's see what else we missed.”
The men resumed their work.
This time, nobody referred to the service manual as though it were the final answer.
They knew the motorcycle had been modified.
They knew the hidden security arrangement existed.
And they understood that the factory documentation could not describe every change Arthur made.
By late afternoon, the electrical system's confusing behavior made substantially more sense.
But the mechanical problem remained.
Nate examined the accessible components and shook his head.
“We need the old drawings.”
Rusty rubbed his forehead.
“Where?”
“Somebody must have documented this configuration.”
Gravel looked toward the bike.
“Arty would have.”
The mechanic nodded.
“Exactly.”
Gravel frowned.
“Then where the hell did he put them?”
For a moment, nobody answered.
Then Leo spoke from the office doorway.
“My dad kept notebooks.”
All six men turned.
The boy was holding his completed math worksheet.
Rusty smiled.
“You finished?”
Leo nodded.
“Every question.”
“Good.”
Then the mechanic's expression became serious.
“What notebooks?”
Leo hesitated.
“Gray ones. With little squares on the paper.”
Rusty looked toward Paul.
The machinist nodded slowly.
“Graph paper.”
Leo smiled.
“Yeah.”
He took a breath.
“Dad drew things on it. Motorcycle pieces. Numbers. Sometimes he had Dutch check them.”
Rusty leaned forward.
“Do you know where they are?”
The boy looked uncertain.
“Some are at home.”
He glanced toward the back of the garage.
“But I think some are still downstairs.”
Rusty froze.
“Downstairs?”
Leo nodded.
“In Dad's old workshop.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Apex Iron Works occupied a large industrial building that had once contained two separate businesses.
The street-level garage was bright and busy.
But beneath it sat an older machine shop that had been closed for years.
Arthur had worked there before the businesses changed ownership.
Rusty remembered the equipment.
The old lathes.
The steel cabinets.
The storage cages.
And the narrow staircase leading beneath the main workshop.