He was Dutch Sullivan’s estate attorney.
Jim recognized immediately.
“What are you doing here?”
The attorney looked at FXR.
“Apparently saving myself from professional embarrassment.”
Jim frowned.
“That doesn't answer.”
Shaw carried leather folder.
“I’ve been trying to locate Arthur Hayes’s family for almost two months.”
Leo was doing homework at counter.
His pencil stopped.
Maria had just arrived from shift because Rusty asked her to sign a liability form allowing Leo in work area.
She looked up.
“Why?”
The attorney looked at Leo.
“Because of Dutch’s will.”
Jim slowly stood.
“What?”
Shaw opened folder.
“Dutch revised estate plan eleven months ago.”
Jim’s face hardened.
“You told me bike stayed with club until memorial.”
“Yes.”
“Temporarily.”
The attorney nodded.
“I did not disclose beneficiary because I had not confirmed whether Arthur’s son was living or whether guardianship issues applied.”
Maria stepped closer.
“My son?”
Shaw looked at her.
“Are you Maria Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“Arthur Hayes’s widow?”
“Yes.”
“And this is Leo?”
She moved slightly in front of boy.
“Yes.”
Shaw handed identification? He shows business card and documents. Maria doesn't take at face value.
“I want copy before anything.”
“Of course.”
She impressed him.
He opened will.
The paragraph was straightforward.
I leave my 1986 Harley-Davidson FXR, VIN ending..., together with all associated spare parts, documentation, tools specifically marked for it, and ten thousand dollars from my personal savings for storage, registration, insurance, and preservation, to Arthur Hayes, if he survives me. If Arthur does not survive me, I leave the same to Arthur’s child, Leo Hayes, to be held by his legal guardian until Leo reaches eighteen. I request, but do not require, that the motorcycle lead my memorial ride before transfer, provided it can be made safely operable. Nobody is to risk their neck because I am dead.
Jim sat.
Leo stared.
Maria read again.
“No.”
The attorney blinked.
“No?”
“I mean—why?”
Shaw turned page.
“There is letter.”
Jim whispered:
“Of course there is.”
Shaw looked at Leo.
“Would you like your mother to read first?”
Leo nodded.
Maria opened.
Dutch’s handwriting was worse than Arthur’s.
Large, uneven.
Kid,
If this reached you, Arty beat me to the finish line. That wasn’t deal.
Maria stopped.
Jim’s eyes closed.
Your father is the only mechanic I ever trusted after he told me no. Everyone else who wanted my money said yes too often. Arty would call something stupid even if I was already doing seventy miles an hour while doing it. Especially then.
The FXR is not valuable because it was mine. It is valuable because people we loved touched it. Your dad saved it more times than I can count and saved me once, which I count every day whether he liked it or not.
If you do not want the motorcycle, sell it. Seriously. Do not keep an object because dead men handed you guilt. If you want it, learn before riding. The road doesn't care who your father was.
If Jim tries to claim it belongs to club, tell him to read will slowly. He hates lawyers, so enjoy that.
Jim muttered something.
Everyone laughed.
Maria continued.
I hope it leads one ride after I’m gone. After that it belongs to you.
Take care of your mother. Take care of yourself. Take care of bike if there is room left.
Dutch
Leo looked toward motorcycle.
Jim looked too.
For almost forty years, that machine had been synonymous with Dutch.
Now, legally, emotionally, unexpectedly, it belonged to an eight-year-old boy who could not reach the ground from its seat.
Jim stood.
He walked toward Leo.
Maria watched carefully.
Jim extended hand.
“Congratulations.”
Leo did not take immediately.
“Are you mad?”
Jim stared.
Then laughed.