“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Older than you.”
“Not helpful.”
Rusty laughed.
“Your dad started messing with engines when he was twelve.”
Leo considered this.
“So four years.”
“Nice try.”
On Monday afternoon, Leo returned to Apex Iron Works.
The broom was waiting for him.
Beside it sat a small toolbox.
Leo looked at Rusty.
“What’s that?”
“Open it.”
Inside were basic hand tools.
Small enough for him to handle safely.
Screwdrivers.
Pliers.
A socket set.
A multimeter.
No power tools.
No dangerous cutting equipment.
Leo picked up the meter.
“For me?”
Rusty nodded.
“Learning tools.”
Leo looked suspicious.
“Do I still sweep?”
Rusty pointed toward the floor.
“Absolutely.”
Leo sighed.
He picked up the broom.
Over the next several months, life returned to normal.
Mostly.
The memorial ride became a story repeated throughout local motorcycle circles.
People started stopping by Apex Iron Works asking to see the kid who solved Dutch’s bike.
Rusty hated that.
Leo hated it more.
Whenever strangers tried to treat him like a little genius, he became quiet and uncomfortable.
Rusty eventually put a sign near the counter.
NO, THE KID DOES NOT DIAGNOSE YOUR MOTORCYCLE.
Below it, Big Dave added:
UNLESS WE GIVE UP FIRST.
Rusty removed the second line.
Big Dave put it back.
By winter, Leo could use a multimeter properly.
By spring, he understood the difference between voltage, current, and resistance well enough to explain it to Milo, who pretended to be offended.
Rusty taught him how to read wiring diagrams.
Big Dave taught him how to listen for mechanical noise.
Milo taught him carburetor basics.
Nobody allowed him to operate dangerous machinery.
Nobody rushed him.
Rusty had seen too many talented young mechanics learn confidence before discipline.
He would not let that happen to Arthur’s son.
Then one rainy afternoon, Leo asked about locker forty-two.
“What about it?”
Rusty said.
“Can we clean it?”
Rusty stopped.
The locker had remained untouched after they removed the wooden case.
“Why?”
Leo shrugged.
“It was Dad’s.”
Rusty studied him.
“Ask your mother.”
She agreed.
The following Saturday, they went downstairs together.
Leo’s mother came too.
They opened the locker.
Inside were pieces of Arthur’s working life.
Old invoices.
Valve shims.
Bolts.
A cracked speedometer.
Photographs.
Notes.
A half-used roll of electrical tape.
Three spark plugs nobody could identify.
A mug that said WORLD’S OKAYEST MECHANIC.
Leo laughed.
“My mom bought that.”
She smiled.
“He hated it.”
“No, he didn’t,” Rusty said.
She looked at him.
“He used it here every day.”