The repeated kickbacks had damaged them.
Rusty’s face emptied.
Dave muttered:
“Standard Evo rods won't work with this geometry.”
Another mechanic said:
“Shovel rods too short.”
“Custom.”
Rusty looked toward clock.
Wednesday afternoon.
Jim was due Friday noon.
Memorial Saturday dawn.
“Can machine new?”
Dave shook head.
“Not accurately this fast without dimensions and material spec.”
“We have old rods.”
“Bent originals are bad reference.”
“Maybe straighten?”
“No.”
Rusty stared at motorcycle.
“We’re finished.”
Nobody argued.
A wrench slipped from one mechanic’s hand and hit floor.
The metallic crack echoed.
Leo looked at bent pushrod.
He picked it up.
Rusty said:
“Careful.”
The boy held it at eye level.
Then something changed in his face.
A memory.
Not mechanical.
A place.
He looked at Rusty.
“Does this building still have basement lockers?”
Rusty frowned.
“What?”
“The old ones.”
“Yeah.”
“How many?”
Rusty looked confused.
“Forty-something.”
Leo placed rod on bench.
“Locker forty-two belonged to my dad.”
The garage went silent again.
Rusty stared.
“No.”
Leo nodded.
“He said he kept Dutch parts there because Dutch would lose them.”
Rusty looked toward basement door.
“Those lockers haven't been touched in years.”
Jim asked:
“Why?”
“Lease storage.”
“Old employee stuff.”
“Arthur’s?”
Rusty shook head.
“I thought his wife took everything after he died.”
Leo said:
“She didn't know.”
Rusty looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“My dad told me if Dutch ever broke the black bike again, locker forty-two would save him.”
Jim stared.
“What else did your father tell you?”
Leo looked at motorcycle.
“That Dutch would pretend he didn’t need saving.”
Jim smiled sadly.
“Yes.”
They went downstairs.
The basement smelled of damp concrete, rubber, and old metal.
A single fluorescent tube flickered overhead.
Rows of dented lockers lined the wall.
Numbers painted white.
Thirty-seven.
Thirty-eight.
Thirty-nine.
Forty.
Forty-one.
Forty-two.
Rusty stopped.
A rusted combination lock hung from door.
He pulled.
Locked.
Dave asked:
“Anybody have bolt cutters?”
Leo said:
“Don’t.”