“Forty.”
They moved farther.
Forty-one.
Then, at the end of the row, behind an old workbench, stood a steel storage cage.
Its frame was covered in dust.
A rusty padlock hung from the door.
Above it, a small brass plate carried the number 42.
Leo stopped breathing.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then he whispered, “That's it.”
Mara crouched beside him.
He looked toward her.
“Mom?”
She nodded.
“I see it.”
He reached beneath his shirt.
The little brass key slipped into his hand.
For a moment, his fingers trembled.
Mara steadied his wrist.
“Do you want me to try it?”
Leo shook his head.
“No.”
She smiled gently.
“Okay.”
He stepped toward the padlock.
Rusty remained close but allowed the boy to approach with his mother supervising.
Leo inserted the key.
At first, it wouldn't turn.
His heart sank.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
For a terrible moment, he wondered whether he'd misunderstood everything.
Then Rusty leaned closer.
“Easy, son. It's an old lock.”
The mechanic helped position the key without forcing it.
Leo tried again.
Click.
The padlock opened.
Nobody spoke.
For several seconds, Leo stared at the little piece of brass in his hand.
Then Mara whispered, “You found it.”
He nodded.
Rusty opened the cage door.
Dust drifted through the flashlight beam.
Inside stood three wooden boxes, a rolled canvas tool case, several sealed containers, and a long steel case resting near the back.
A faded photograph was pinned to the interior wall.
Arthur Hayes stood beside Dutch Sullivan.
Both men were younger.
Arthur wore a dark work shirt.
Dutch had his arms folded over his leather vest.
Between them stood the black FXR, its fuel tank reflecting the sunlight.
They were smiling.
Leo stared at the picture.
For a moment, he forgot about the engine.
The deadline.
The mechanics.
Everything.
He stepped closer.
Then whispered, “Dad.”
Mara covered her mouth.
Her eyes filled.
For a long time, neither moved.
Then Leo touched the photograph gently.
Arthur looked so healthy.
So happy.
Not like the man Leo remembered from the hospital.
Not tired.
Not pale.
Just Dad.
Standing beside a motorcycle with grease on his hands.
Mara took a slow breath.
“Ice cream,” Leo added, smiling through his tears. “Dad dropped his ice cream right on Dutch's boots.”
Mara covered her mouth, and for the first time that afternoon, she laughed. She remembered the day perfectly. Dutch had pretended to be furious, stomping around the parking lot and threatening to charge Arthur for a professional boot cleaning, while Arthur laughed so hard he could barely stand.