"Can we see it?"
She nodded.
"I'll bring it tomorrow."
But Leo wasn't finished.
He pointed toward the motorcycle.
"The little switch."
Rusty frowned.
"What switch?"
Leo pointed beneath the fuel tank.
"Daddy said you have to find the little switch before the old girl sings."
The mechanics exchanged confused looks.
Rusty walked toward the motorcycle.
"Where is it?"
Leo pointed beneath the left side.
"Under there. Where fingers hide."
Rusty reached underneath.
His hand moved along the frame.
Nothing.
Then—
Click.
Rusty froze.
"There is a switch."
The room fell silent.
The Secret Switch
Rusty connected a testing meter to the electrical system.
He flipped the hidden switch.
The readings immediately changed.
With the switch in one position, electricity was being drained directly into the frame instead of reaching the ignition coil.
Rusty stared at the meter.
"That explains the batteries."
One of the mechanics stepped closer.
"You're saying Dutch installed a secret grounding circuit?"
Rusty nodded.
"Looks that way."
Jim stared at Leo.
"Your daddy just solved something six grown men couldn't find."
Leo smiled.
"Daddy was good at fixing."
Jim looked at the motorcycle.
"Yes. He was."
But they still couldn't start the engine.
The hidden switch explained the dead batteries.
It didn't explain the timing problem.
They needed Arty's notebook.
The following morning, Maria returned carrying a wooden box.
Leo walked beside her, clutching the notebook against his chest.
Inside the box were photographs, measuring tools, diagrams, letters, and small objects Arty had saved for his son.
Rusty carefully opened the notebook.
Page after page was filled with Arty's handwriting.
Near the middle, he found a heading:
Dutch's Black FXR: DO NOT USE FACTORY MARKS.
Everyone gathered around the workbench.
Arty had documented something none of the mechanics had realized.
Dutch's engine contained components from two different generations of motorcycles.
The factory timing marks no longer matched the modified internal parts.
Rusty stared at the page.
Suddenly everything made sense.
They had followed the manual perfectly.
And that was exactly why they had failed.
"Advance it twelve degrees," one mechanic read.
Rusty slowly nodded.
"The child was right again."
Leo didn't understand the numbers.
But he understood the little bird symbol his father had drawn beside one of the modified gears.
"That's Daddy's bird."
The mechanics opened the engine.
Slowly, carefully, they rotated the gear assembly.
Then Leo pointed.
"There!"
A tiny engraved symbol appeared.
A little wing.
The exact mark from Arty's notebook.