Rusty held up a hand.
“Don’t look at me like that. He’s a child. He can watch. He can talk. He is not tearing into an engine.”
Leo looked frustrated.
“I said I can’t use the heavy tools.”
“And you won’t.”
Jim considered that.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
Rusty looked surprised.
Jim pointed toward Leo.
“He talks.”
Then to Rusty.
“You wrench.”
Rusty exhaled.
“Fine.”
Jim put his sunglasses back on.
“I’ll be here Friday.”
He looked at Leo.
“Your father knew this bike.”
Leo nodded.
Jim rested one hand briefly on the boy’s shoulder.
“Let’s see how much he taught you.”
Then the riders left.
For several seconds after the garage door closed, nobody spoke.
Big Dave finally looked at Leo.
“Twelve degrees?”
Leo nodded.
Big Dave picked up the broom.
He handed it to Milo.
“You sweep.”
Milo frowned.
“What?”
Big Dave pointed at Leo.
“He’s consulting.”
Rusty groaned.
The next morning began at six-thirty.
Leo normally arrived after school.
That day, his mother brought him before work.
She stood near the office looking worried.
“You’re telling me he’s not using power tools.”
Rusty raised both hands.
“He is not using power tools.”
“No lifts.”
“No lifts.”
“No welding.”
“No welding.”
“No grinding.”
“No.”
“No riding.”
Rusty looked offended.
“Absolutely not.”
Leo’s mother looked at her son.
“You listen to Rusty.”
Leo nodded.
“And if he says stop?”
“I stop.”
“And you do not touch anything hot.”
“I know.”
She looked at Rusty again.
“You’re responsible.”
“I know.”
She kissed Leo’s forehead.
The boy wiped the kiss away the second she turned.
Rusty pretended not to notice.
By seven, the FXR was on the lift.
Four adult mechanics stood around it.
Leo stood on a plastic milk crate because otherwise he could not see over the workbench.
Big Dave pointed at the engine.
“All right, professor.”
Rusty glared.
“Don’t call him that.”
Big Dave shrugged.
“Consultant?”
Leo ignored both.
He studied the timing side.
“Dad said the cover has to come off.”
Rusty nodded.
“That’s already happening.”
They removed components carefully.
Each bolt was labeled.
Each part photographed before removal.
Rusty had learned a long time ago that old custom motorcycles punished arrogance.
The deeper they went, the stranger the engine became.
A bracket had been hand-machined.
A spacer was clearly non-factory.
Two fasteners were from different production generations.
Big Dave stared.