For the first time, everyone believed the motorcycle might actually come back to life.
But they were about to discover another problem.
A much bigger one.
The Broken Heart of the Engine
The mechanics removed several internal components.
Their excitement disappeared.
Four rods were bent.
They had been damaged by repeated attempts to start the engine while the timing was wrong.
Rusty placed one of them on the workbench.
It rolled unevenly.
"We can't reuse these."
Jim's face fell.
"Can you make new ones?"
"They're custom."
"How long?"
Rusty hesitated.
"Several weeks."
Jim looked at the calendar.
"The memorial is in two days."
Silence filled the shop.
The notebook had given them the answer.
The hidden switch had been found.
The timing problem had been solved.
But the damaged engine still couldn't run.
Leo had fallen asleep against his mother's shoulder.
His tiny fingers were wrapped around his plastic truck.
The adults spoke quietly so they wouldn't wake him.
Then Rusty turned another page.
Nothing.
Another.
Still nothing.
Leo stirred.
"Treasure box," he murmured.
Maria looked down.
"What treasure box?"
"The one downstairs."
Maria's expression changed.
She remembered something.
After Arty died, he had rented a storage locker beneath the old paint room.
They had stopped paying for it.
She had assumed everything inside had been discarded.
Rusty immediately headed for the basement.
"Which locker?"
Maria frowned.
"I don't remember."
Leo opened his eyes.
"Forty-two."
Everyone looked at him.
"How do you know?"
"Daddy said it was the answer."
Maria suddenly remembered Arty's old joke.
He loved the number forty-two.
It was his favorite answer to almost everything.
Rusty grabbed bolt cutters.
"Let's find forty-two."
The Treasure Arty Left Behind
Locker 42 stood behind several broken cabinets in a damp corner of the basement.
The padlock was badly rusted.
Rusty cut it.
Inside were old motorcycle magazines, tools, boxes, and a heavy wooden crate wrapped in plastic.
The mechanics carefully carried it upstairs.
Leo stayed with his mother.
Rusty opened the crate.
Inside were neatly wrapped motorcycle components protected by layers of oiled cloth.
Each package carried Arty's handwriting.
Then Rusty reached the bottom.
He stopped.
Four custom rods lay beneath the cloth.
A label was attached.
Dutch's Black Bike — Spare Set.
Jim stared at them.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Arty had known this motorcycle might someday need these parts.
He had prepared for a future he would never live to see.
Rusty looked toward Leo.
"Your father left us everything we needed."
Leo smiled.
"I told you he was good."