“I will.”
“Slow.”
Leo rolled eyes.
“Everyone says slow.”
“That means everyone finally agrees about something.”
The FXR returned to Apex Iron Works.
Not because club took it.
Because Maria’s apartment had no secure garage.
Dutch’s will included money for storage and preservation.
Attorney arranged trust account controlled by Maria.
Rusty offered shop storage but refused to take money.
Maria refused free.
They argued.
Eventually they compromised.
The trust paid insurance and registration.
Rusty charged one dollar per month for storage.
Maria stared.
“Why one?”
Rusty shrugged.
“Arthur liked stupid symbolic dollars.”
She smiled.
“Fine.”
A small brass tag appeared above a corner bay:
LEO’S FXR — ASK BEFORE TOUCHING
Big Dave added beneath in marker:
SERIOUSLY. KID IS ANNOYING.
Leo loved it.
The story could have ended there.
A broken motorcycle.
An eight-year-old child.
A hidden locker.
A memorial ride.
A machine passed from one generation to another.
But endings that stop at applause usually ignore difficult part.
Monday came.
Leo went back to school.
No motorcycles.
No bikers.
No television crews.
No cheering.
Just spelling test.
At lunch, another boy said:
“My uncle says you fixed famous Harley.”
Leo shrugged.
“I helped.”
“You can ride it?”
“No.”
“So it’s useless.”
Leo stared.
“No.”
“What do you do with motorcycle you can’t ride?”
“Wait.”
The boy laughed.
Leo did not mind.
He had learned waiting was not same as useless.
At shop, Rusty changed arrangement.
Leo had been sweeping three afternoons a week because Maria could not always afford after-school care and Arthur had once asked Rusty to keep an eye on him.
Rusty paid him little in cash? Child labor issues. Better it was informal supervised help, not employment. After incident, they made it structured: Leo could visit only specific afternoons, no hazardous work, homework first, cleaning safe areas, learning from diagrams, under parent consent. Rusty consulted Maria and maybe school. Good.
Maria laid rules.
No lifts.
No running engines unsupervised.
No power tools.
No solvents.
No test rides.
No missing school.
No biker rides without written permission—which was essentially never.
Leo complained.
Maria answered:
“Your father literally wrote pride can hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you keep proving him right?”
He had no answer.
Big Dave became his most demanding teacher.
That surprised everyone.
Dave had laughed first.
He remembered.
He seemed determined to make sure he earned right to laugh later when Leo actually made mistakes.
Which he did.
Constantly.
One afternoon Leo insisted a Sportster’s charging problem was regulator.
Dave asked:
“How know?”
“Voltage.”
“What voltage?”
Leo gave.
“Where measured?”
“Battery.”