Garrett crossed his arms.
“And that shuts the engine down?”
“It could.”
“Could?”
“I won't know until I test it.”
Garrett nodded.
“Go ahead.”
Owen reached for a multimeter.
He tested the circuit.
The reading fluctuated.
Frank's eyes widened.
“That's not supposed to happen.”
“No.”
Owen looked at Garrett.
“You said this motorcycle was running fine before today?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ride it through heavy rain recently?”
Garrett paused.
“Three days ago.”
“Did you wash it afterward?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Pressure washer.”
Owen nodded.
“There.”
Garrett looked confused.
“What?”
“Water probably got into the connector.”
Garrett looked at the motorcycle.
“You're telling me five thousand dollars worth of repairs failed because I washed my bike?”
Owen shook his head.
“Not exactly.”
He smiled.
“Your bike isn't broken because you washed it.”
“It isn't?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because whoever built this wiring harness didn't seal this connector properly.”
Garrett stared at him.
For the first time, he stopped seeing Owen as a child.
He was beginning to see him as a mechanic.
Owen cleaned the connector.
Then he replaced the damaged terminal.
He checked the harness.
He checked the ground.
He checked the sensor.
He checked the voltage again.
Everything looked normal.
Garrett's friends gathered around.
One of them whispered:
“Kid might actually know what he's doing.”
Another replied:
“Don't say that too loud.”
Owen reassembled the connection.
He stood.
“Try it.”
Garrett climbed onto the motorcycle.
He inserted the key.
Everyone went quiet.
He pressed the starter.
The engine roared.
The sound filled the entire garage.
People jumped.
Garrett's eyes widened.
He twisted the throttle.
The engine responded smoothly.
No sputtering.
No hesitation.
No shutdown.
The Widowmaker was alive.
The garage exploded with cheers.
Frank laughed.
“You actually did it!”
Owen stepped back.
Garrett shut off the engine.
Then he looked at the boy.
He walked toward him.
He pulled the five thousand dollars from the table.
He counted the bills.
Then he handed them to Owen.
The young man stared at the money.
“That's a lot.”
“A bet is a bet.”
Owen hesitated.
“I don't know if I can take this.”
Garrett frowned.
“You fixed it.”
“Yes.”
“You won.”
“Yes.”
“Then take it.”
Owen accepted the money.
The bikers applauded.
But Garrett was still studying him.
“Your father taught you?”
Owen looked down.
“Yes.”
“What was his name?”
“Daniel.”
“Good mechanic?”
Owen smiled.
“The best I ever knew.”
Garrett nodded.
Then he looked at the motorcycle.
“You know what bothers me?”
“What?”
“I've spent more money on this thing than my first house.”
Owen laughed.
“And the problem was one connector.”
Garrett smiled.
“Don't tell anybody.”
Owen grinned.
For a moment, everything felt easy.
Then Frank spoke.
“Owen.”
“Yes?”
“Come here.”
Frank pulled him aside.
“You understand what just happened?”
Owen looked confused.
“I fixed a motorcycle.”
“No.”
Frank glanced at Garrett.
“You changed how people see you.”
Owen shrugged.
“I don't care how people see me.”
Frank smiled.
“That's why you'll probably become very good.”
But neither of them noticed Garrett's expression.
He was no longer simply amused.
He was thinking.
Because there was something about the boy that reminded him of someone.
Someone he had not thought about in years.
And that memory would soon explain why the five-thousand-dollar bet was only the beginning.
The Second Problem
The crowd slowly began to leave Iron Rail.
The sunset disappeared.
The lights inside the garage came on.
The motorcycles outside became silhouettes beneath the streetlamps.
Garrett remained beside the Widowmaker.
He did not ride away.
Owen was putting tools back into their places when Garrett approached.
“You got plans tonight?”
Owen looked up.
“No.”
“You hungry?”
Owen hesitated.
“A little.”
Garrett nodded toward the door.
“Come on.”
They walked to a diner across the street.
It was the kind of place where coffee was cheap and nobody cared what you wore.
Garrett ordered steak.
Owen ordered a burger.
For several minutes, they ate without talking.
Finally, Garrett said:
“How long have you been working at Iron Rail?”
“Six months.”
“You planning to stay?”
“I don't know.”
“Why?”
Owen shrugged.
“I want to open my own shop someday.”
Garrett smiled.
“That's ambitious.”
“My father had one.”
“Had?”
“He died.”
Garrett's smile disappeared.
“When?”
“Last year.”
Garrett nodded slowly.
“I'm sorry.”
Owen looked down.
“Thank you.”
“What happened to the shop?”
“We sold it.”
“Why?”
“Bills.”
Garrett understood.
He knew what it was like to lose something important.
His own father had died when Garrett was twenty-four.
He had inherited nothing except debt and an old motorcycle.
That motorcycle had been his escape.
He rode it everywhere.
He learned to fix it because he could not afford a mechanic.
Then he learned to fix other people's bikes.
Eventually, he built a business.
Then a second.
Then Iron Rail.
He had spent his entire life believing that if a person worked hard enough, they could keep control of their future.
But life had taught him otherwise.
“Your father teach you everything?”
“Not everything.”
“What didn't he teach you?”
Owen smiled.
“How to let people help me.”
Garrett laughed.
“Sounds like a good man.”
“He was.”
Silence returned.
Then Garrett asked:
“Would you like to work full-time at Iron Rail?”
Owen looked surprised.
“Doing what?”
“Learning.”
“I already work there.”
“I'm offering you a real apprenticeship.”
Owen stared at him.
“I thought you were the owner.”
Garrett laughed.
“I'm not.”
“Then why are you offering me a job?”
“Because Frank needs someone willing to learn.”
Owen smiled.
“I'll think about it.”