"What kind?"
Frankie sighed.
"Three lines."
The room became silent.
"Why?"
Frankie shook his head.
"I don't know."
"You never asked?"
"I did."
"And?"
"He said they were for remembering."
Jerry frowned.
"Remembering what?"
Frankie stared at the floor.
"He wouldn't tell me."
Pete crossed his arms.
"Maybe we should stop trying to guess."
Jerry nodded.
"Agreed."
He turned toward the Harley.
"We find out what's actually wrong first."
They spent another hour testing the engine.
Then Jerry noticed something strange.
The rear cylinder moved correctly.
The front cylinder did not.
At first, the difference was barely noticeable.
Then Pete found it.
"Stop."
Jerry froze.
"What?"
"Rotate it back."
Jerry did.
Pete watched the movement.
"There."
"What?"
"Again."
They repeated the rotation.
The engine locked.
Pete crouched beside the motorcycle.
"That's not random."
Jerry frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"It stops at the same point every time."
Ray looked closer.
"Could be a bent component."
"Maybe."
Pete reached for a measuring tool.
The numbers made him pause.
Jerry saw his expression.
"What?"
Pete didn't answer immediately.
He checked again.
Then again.
Finally he said:
"The internal alignment is wrong."
Jerry leaned over.
"How wrong?"
"Enough."
Frankie looked nervous.
"Enough for what?"
Pete turned.
"Enough to explain everything."
Jerry's eyes narrowed.
"You think someone assembled this wrong?"
Pete shook his head.
"No."
"Then what?"
"I think someone deliberately altered it."
Frankie went still.
"Why?"
Nobody knew.
They began carefully removing components.
The work was slow.
Painfully slow.
They photographed everything before touching it.
They marked every part.
They measured every surface.
As the engine came apart, they found more irregularities.
A spacer that didn't belong.
A modified bolt.
A tiny groove cut into an internal component.
None of it was enough to destroy the engine.
But together, it created a pattern.
Someone had interfered with Mercy.
And whoever had done it had known exactly what they were doing.
Ray sat back.
"Who would sabotage a fifty-year-old motorcycle?"
Jerry answered:
"Someone who didn't want it to run."
Frankie stared at him.
"Why?"
Jerry shook his head.
"That's the part we don't know."
Frankie walked outside.
Jerry followed.
The afternoon sun was dropping behind the Oakland buildings.
Frankie stood beside the garage.
"Bill had enemies."
Jerry waited.
"Everybody does."
"Who?"
Frankie laughed bitterly.
"You ever work around motorcycles long enough?"
Jerry smiled.
"Yes."
"Then you know."
Frankie leaned against the wall.
"Bill was stubborn."
"That doesn't explain sabotage."
"He got into fights."
"Neither does that."
"He owed people money."
"Frankie."
"Not serious money."
Jerry sighed.
"You're avoiding the question."
Frankie looked toward the street.
"There was one man."
Jerry waited.
"His name was Douglas Vane."
"What happened?"
"Bill worked for him."
"Doing what?"
"Mechanical fabrication."
Frankie paused.
"Douglas owned a machine shop."
"What kind?"
"Defense contracts."
Jerry's expression changed.
"Defense?"
Frankie nodded.
"Small stuff. Components. Specialized machining."
"What happened?"
"Bill discovered something."
"What?"
Frankie looked at him.
"I never found out."
Jerry stared.
"Then why do you think it matters?"
"Because two weeks before Bill died, Douglas came to my house."
Jerry's eyes narrowed.
"What did he want?"
"He wanted Mercy."
Jerry looked back through the garage window.
"And?"
"I told him no."
"Then?"
"He offered me money."
"How much?"
Frankie looked at him.
"Enough to buy ten motorcycles."
Jerry was silent.
"I still said no."
"What did he say?"
Frankie's face hardened.
"He said, 'Some things are better left buried.'"
Jerry felt a chill.
"Did you tell the police?"
Frankie shook his head.
"Bill was already dying."
"So you let it go."
"I thought I did."
He looked through the window again.
"But maybe I didn't."
Inside, Pete suddenly shouted.
"Jerry!"
They rushed inside.
Pete was holding a small metal piece.
"What?"
Pete pointed.
"Look at this."
Jerry took it.
There was a number stamped into it.
Not a Harley part number.
A different sequence.
Frankie stared.
His face went pale.
"That's Douglas Vane's shop code."
Nobody spoke.
Ray whispered:
"How would that get inside this motorcycle?"
Frankie didn't answer.
Jerry placed the part on the table.
"Now we know what we're looking for."
Pete nodded.
"The question is whether we want to find it."
Frankie looked at Mercy.
For thirty-one years, he had believed he was protecting Bill's memory.
Now he wondered whether he had been protecting a secret.
And the secret might have been hiding inside the motorcycle all along.
The following morning, Frankie arrived at the garage before everyone else.
He stood beside Mercy for several minutes without touching her.
The garage was dark except for the light over the workbench.
He remembered another garage.
Another morning.
Thirty-one years earlier.
Bill had been sitting on an overturned bucket while Frankie worked on a motorcycle.
Bill had laughed.
"You always make things harder than they are."
Frankie had looked at him.
"You've been complaining for twenty minutes."
"Because you've been holding that wrench upside down."
Frankie had looked at the wrench.
Bill had started laughing so hard he nearly fell over.
Frankie smiled at the memory.
Then the smile disappeared.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
The motorcycle offered no answer.
Jerry entered behind him.
"You talking to her?"
Frankie turned.
"Maybe."
Jerry put down his coffee.
"Then she knows more than I do."
Frankie looked at him.
"You ever think a machine can remember?"
Jerry considered the question.
"No."
Frankie nodded.
"Neither did I."
Jerry looked at Mercy.
"But I think people can."
Frankie smiled.
"That's close enough."
They began working.
By noon, the engine was almost completely stripped.
Pete found another irregularity.
"Jerry."
Jerry walked over.
"What?"
Pete pointed at a component.
"Look at the wear."
Jerry examined it.
"That's impossible."
"What?"
"This piece has been removed before."
Frankie stepped closer.
"How can you tell?"
"The tool marks."
Jerry pointed.
"Someone opened this assembly years ago."
Pete nodded.
"And then they put it back differently."
Ray looked at the component.
"So whoever sabotaged the bike didn't do it recently."
Jerry shook his head.
"No."