"Brand-new battery drains in minutes."
"Why?"
"We don't know."
The answer hung in the hot air.
Rusty lowered his eyes.
"Jim, I've never had a motorcycle beat me like this."
Jim walked toward the FXR.
He rested one hand on its worn leather seat.
For a moment, his expression changed.
He was no longer the feared enforcer standing in front of a garage.
He was a grieving friend touching something that belonged to a dead man.
"Dutch built this chapter," Jim said quietly.
Nobody interrupted.
"He pulled me out of a gutter in 1994. Taught me how to stand on my own feet."
His fingers tightened around the seat.
"This bike leads the memorial ride Saturday."
He looked at Rusty.
"Or it doesn't."
Rusty understood the warning.
Jim had paid five thousand dollars in advance.
"If this garage can't make a forty-year-old motorcycle run," Jim said, "maybe people have been giving Apex Iron Works too much credit."
Rusty flinched.
"Give me until Friday."
Jim stared at him.
"No."
He glanced at his watch.
"Tomorrow at noon."
Rusty's face went pale.
"Jim—"
"I want Dutch's motorcycle running tomorrow."
He turned toward the parking lot.
Then a tiny voice came from somewhere inside the garage.
"You're looking at the wrong timing marks."
Everyone froze.
Jim slowly turned around.
From a dark corner near the back wall, a little boy stepped into the light.
He couldn't have been more than eight years old.
He was painfully thin, wearing an oversized gray T-shirt and patched jeans. His sneakers were worn through at the toes.
He held a broom almost as tall as he was.
Grease covered his fingers.
But his blue eyes were steady.
"I can fix it," the boy said.
The Boy in the Shadows
Rusty's face turned crimson.
"Leo."
The boy didn't move.
"I said I can fix it."
"Leo, get back to sweeping."
The boy shook his head.
Jim looked from Rusty to the child.
"Who is he?"
Rusty sighed.
"His name is Leo Hayes."
He lowered his voice.
"His father used to rent the back bay."
"Used to?"
"His father died two years ago."
Rusty looked uncomfortable.
"Leo's mother works several jobs. I let him sweep the shop sometimes. I give him food and a little money."
Jim studied the boy.
"You understand motorcycles?"
Leo nodded.
"Some."
A young biker near the entrance laughed.
"Some?"
He shook his head.
"Kid, these are grown men talking."
Jim raised one hand.
The biker immediately stopped.
Jim crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to Leo's.
"What did you say about the timing marks?"
Leo pointed toward the FXR.
"You're using the factory timing marks."
Rusty frowned.
"Of course we are."
Leo shook his head.
"That's the problem."
The mechanics exchanged confused looks.