Found the hidden toggle.
Flipped it.
Click.
Rusty looked at Jim.
“Ready?”
Jim’s voice was rough.
“No.”
Rusty almost smiled.
“Good enough.”
He pressed starter.
The engine turned.
One revolution.
Two.
A cough.
Then a violent metallic kick snapped through the bike.
Rusty released immediately.
Everyone’s faces fell.
Leo stepped closer.
Dave said:
“Timing?”
“No.”
Leo stared at the motorcycle.
“Again.”
Rusty looked at Maria.
She looked at Leo.
The boy raised one hand.
“Just one second.”
Rusty tapped starter.
The engine turned.
Leo tilted his head.
“Stop.”
He crouched near seat.
He touched nothing.
“Dad used to put his hand here.”
Dave frowned.
“Where?”
“Under the seat.”
“For what?”
“I don't remember.”
Rusty removed seat.
Leo pointed toward a small silver relay tucked near the frame.
“That.”
Dave touched it.
Warm.
Too warm for two one-second cranks.
Rusty’s face changed.
“Current draw.”
He traced wires.
The relay belonged to an ancient auxiliary alarm Dutch had installed sometime in the early 1990s.
It was not part of the hidden security switch Arthur had built.
It was another layer.
Dutch had apparently added security systems the way some people added locks to doors.
One relay had failed internally.
It was draining the battery and partially grounding ignition at exactly the wrong moments.
Dave disconnected it.
Rusty tested continuity.
The drain disappeared.
“Try.”
Leo flipped Arthur’s switch.
Rusty pressed starter.
The engine spun faster.
It fired once.
Every person in the shop jumped.
Then died.
Jim stepped forward.
“Again.”
Rusty tried.
The FXR fired twice.
Died.
Dave grinned.
“That’s fuel.”
Rusty nodded.
“That I know how to fix.”
The tension broke.
For the first time in almost two weeks, the motorcycle had tried to live.
They found the remaining fuel problem in less than forty minutes.
A tiny piece of deteriorated liner inside an old fuel hose had migrated downstream and intermittently blocked flow near the carburetor inlet. It was ordinary.
Almost insulting.
The bike had been hiding extraordinary problems behind an ordinary one.
Rusty replaced the line.
Cleaned the inlet again.
Checked float.
Fresh fuel.
Battery fully charged.
8:47 p.m.
Maria looked at clock.
“Leo has school tomorrow.”