That was answer enough.
Walter considered his options. Leaving a minor outside in the storm was out of the question, but he also knew Noah needed more than a corner in a garage.
He called a local youth outreach number, explained the situation without giving the boy's details away, and arranged for a worker to come in the morning.
Then he brought a blanket from the office.
"You can rest on that couch until we figure things out."
Noah looked at the worn leather sofa.
"Really?"
"Unless you're planning to steal it."
A surprised smile crossed the boy's face.
"No, sir."
"Good. It's too heavy anyway."
Walter returned to the workbench.
For a few minutes, Noah sat quietly, finishing his sandwich.
Then the motorcycle caught his attention again.
It stood beneath the lights like a stubborn animal refusing to move.
Victor connected his testing meter to the battery.
"Voltage looks good."
Hank reached for the ignition.
"Try again."
The starter engaged.
The engine turned once.
Then the electrical system weakened abruptly.
Noah leaned forward.
"Don't do that again."
Everyone looked at him.
Hank raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?"
Noah immediately regretted speaking.
"Sorry."
Walter studied him.
"Why shouldn't we?"
Noah glanced toward the motorcycle.
"Because something's getting hot."
Victor looked down at his meter.
"Nothing's overheating."
"Not the engine."
"Then what?"
Noah hesitated.
"The current's finding the wrong path."
Hank let out an incredulous laugh.
"Kid, this isn't a school science project."
Noah lowered his eyes.
Walter held up a hand.
"Let him finish."
Noah looked surprised.
Walter gestured toward the bike.
"Tell us what you're hearing."
The boy approached slowly.
He stood beside the old Shovelhead without touching it.
"Can you try the lights?"
Victor switched them on.
The headlamp glowed steadily.
"Now the starter."
The mechanic pressed the button.
The headlight dimmed dramatically.
A click came from beneath the seat.
Noah pointed toward the rear section of the frame.
"That noise."
Victor crouched.
"What about it?"
"Sounds like a bad connection."
Hank folded his arms.
"We checked the connections."
"All of them?"
"Every one."
Noah said nothing.
Walter noticed where he was looking.
"Something else?"
Noah slowly raised his hand.
"Is that your ground strap?"
Victor followed his gaze.
A braided metal cable ran between the electrical system and the motorcycle's frame.
It looked old, but not obviously damaged.
Victor nodded.
"Yes."
Noah frowned.
"Why is it connected there?"
Hank's patience disappeared.
"Because that's where it goes."
Noah shook his head.
"Not on that frame."
The room went quiet.
Walter turned toward him.
"What do you mean?"
"My dad worked on a bike with a frame modification like that."
Hank gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Of course he did."
Noah continued anyway.
"The paint looks normal from here. But near the rear mount, the frame has an extra welded tab. If somebody grounded the system through that piece after it was painted, the connection might not be good."
Victor moved closer.
He shone a flashlight at the mounting point.
"Paint can interfere with continuity, sure. But we've checked resistance."
"With the engine off?"
Victor looked at him.
Noah swallowed.
"Sometimes a connection works until it carries a heavy load. My dad showed me."
Walter stepped beside the boy.
"How would you test it?"
Noah looked at the tools.
"Carefully. With the battery disconnected first, I'd inspect the contact surfaces. Then I'd do a proper voltage-drop test under load with a safe setup. But I wouldn't keep forcing the starter."
Victor stared at him.
For the first time that evening, his expression contained something other than fatigue.
"That's actually reasonable."
Hank looked offended.
"He's fifteen."
Walter replied, "Electricity doesn't care how old he is."
Victor reached for the appropriate equipment.
As he prepared the test, Noah stepped backward, making sure he wasn't in anyone's way.
The result surprised them.
The ground connection showed a substantial voltage drop when the starting circuit was loaded.
Victor repeated the measurement.
The reading remained abnormal.
He stared at the meter.
"That can't be right."
Walter leaned over.
"Show me."
Victor demonstrated again.
Walter slowly straightened.
Hank moved closer.
"What?"
Victor pointed at the cable.
"We've been chasing voltage on the supply side."
"And?"
"The return path's terrible."
Nobody spoke.
Walter looked at Noah.
The boy stood near the workbench with his hands tucked into his sleeves.
"You knew?"
"No, sir."
"You suspected."
Noah nodded.
Walter turned to the mechanics.
"Let's inspect it properly."
They disconnected the battery, removed the suspect connection, and found an unpleasant surprise.
The cable's mounting surface concealed a layer of corrosion beneath several coats of paint.
Worse, the braided strap had become brittle near its crimp.
Hank bent it gently.
Several strands separated.
Victor whistled.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Walter turned the damaged cable in his hand.
"We should have caught this."
Hank said nothing.
Noah watched from a distance.
He expected the men to become angry.
Instead, Walter looked at him.
"Where exactly did you learn to notice something like that?"
Noah hesitated.
"My father made me find problems before he'd tell me what they were."
Walter smiled faintly.
"Sounds like a good teacher."
"He was."
Victor fitted a suitable replacement connection and verified the electrical path.
They reassembled the motorcycle.
Walter turned the key.
The lights shone steadily.
Hank pressed the starter.
The Shovelhead turned with renewed strength.
For one glorious second, everyone believed the problem was solved.
Then the engine backfired.
A sharp crack echoed through the garage.
Walter released the starter immediately.
Smoke drifted from the exhaust.
The motorcycle fell silent.
Hank closed his eyes.
Victor stared at the ceiling.
"Unbelievable."
Noah remained motionless.
Walter turned toward him.
"You got another idea?"
The boy looked at the ignition housing.
"Maybe."
Hank groaned.
But Noah wasn't looking at him.
He was staring at a tiny engraved mark near the engine case.
He had seen that mark before.
And suddenly, his hands began shaking.
Because beneath the grime and scratches was a symbol his father had once drawn on the final page of his workshop notebook.
A small circle.
Three diagonal lines.
And the letter B.
Noah had seen the symbol hundreds of times.
It appeared on old invoices, on drawings tucked into his father's toolbox, and on the faded wooden sign that once hung above their backyard workshop.
Three diagonal lines crossed a circle. Beneath them was a single capital letter.
B.
Daniel Bennett used the symbol to identify custom parts he had manufactured or modified.
He called it his maker's mark.
Noah had always thought it was something personal, a small signature his father placed on machines he was particularly proud of.
But there it was, engraved into the ignition mounting plate of a motorcycle that had been sitting in a Sacramento garage for weeks.
Walter noticed the boy's expression.
"Noah?"
The teenager didn't answer.
His eyes remained fixed on the mark.
Walter crouched beside him.