The Boy with the Broom

Leo came out of the cabinet shadows with a broom taller than him and both hands wrapped around the handle like it might run off.

Big Dave stopped with a wrench halfway to the head of the dead bike. One of the younger guys let out a short laugh and then cut it off when Jim Mercer turned his head.

Leo planted the broom against his shoulder and looked at the engine on the lift. His sneakers were scuffed at the toes. His pants had a gray stripe down one leg from sweeping the same spot all morning.

“You’re using the wrong timing marks,” he said.

Nobody spoke for a second.

Rusty rubbed his chin and stared at him like the kid had just walked in wearing a crown. “What did you say?”

Leo shifted his grip on the broom. “The marks on that cover. They’re not right for this motor.”

Big Dave snorted. “Kid, that’s a Harley. We know where the marks are.”

Leo shook his head once. “Not on this one.”

Jim took one step closer. He was big enough that the concrete seemed to shrink under him. He crouched until he was level with Leo, one knee on the floor, sunglasses still on. “What’s your name?”

“Leo Hayes.”

Jim let the name sit there. “Hayes. Arthur Hayes your father?”

Leo nodded. His mouth stayed shut, but his fingers tightened on the broom handle.

Big Dave folded his arms across his chest. “Now we’re taking timing advice from a kid with a broom.”

Rusty shot him a look. “Dave.”

Jim didn’t look away from Leo. “You knew Arthur?”

Leo gave a small shrug. “He fixed stuff.”

“That he did,” Jim said.

He reached up and slid the sunglasses off his face. The room got quieter without him meaning to ask for it.

“Arthur worked on Dutch’s bike a long time ago,” Jim said.

Leo looked at the motorcycle, not Jim. “Yeah. After the race wreck.”

Rusty blinked. “You know about that?”

Leo nodded again. “Dad said the frame was bent and Dutch didn’t want new parts. He made it fit anyway.”

Big Dave opened his mouth, then shut it.

Jim’s voice went lower. “What else did Arthur make?”

Leo took a breath and pointed with two fingers at the engine case. “He said this one’s not normal. It’s got old parts inside a newer block. He called it a mix.”

“Told you,” Leo said, like that settled it.

Tess Navarro, who had been leaning on a tool cart with her arms folded, pushed off it and looked at the bike more closely. “What kind of mix?”

Leo tipped his head. “He said Shovelhead stuff and Evo stuff. The timing’s weird. Not wrong. Just moved.”

Big Dave barked a laugh with no humor in it. “Moved where?”

Leo looked at him like the answer was obvious. “Twelve degrees.”

That got everyone.

Rusty’s mouth opened a little. “Twelve?”

Leo nodded. “That’s what Dad said. He said Dutch wanted it to pull hard off the line, so Arthur moved it.”

Jim turned his head toward Rusty. “Did he write that down?”

Rusty spread his hands. “We’ve been through every manual we’ve got.”

Leo pointed at the bike again. “Not in the manual.”

Big Dave pushed off the lift and came around the front of the motorcycle. “Okay, little man. If you’re so sure, show me.”

Leo looked at the seat, then at the tank. “There’s a hidden switch under there.”

Tess raised her eyebrows. “Where under there?”

“By the frame bracket.” Leo frowned, trying to put the words in order. “It looks like a brake-line tab. But Dad said not to trust it.”

Jim stood up slow and reached into his vest pocket. He pulled out a folded note, glanced at it once, then tucked it away again. He looked at Rusty.

“You got until tomorrow morning,” Jim said. “You follow what the boy says. If he’s wrong, I’ll know by lunch. If he’s right, you keep working. If this bike doesn’t run by Friday noon, I’m done being polite.”

Rusty wiped both palms on a rag and nodded once. “We’ll do what we can.”

Jim looked back at Leo. Not hard. Just direct.

“You come back in the morning,” he said. “You hear me?”

Leo tightened his grip on the broom. “Yeah.”

Jim put his sunglasses back on and straightened. The others moved with him toward the door, still staring at the kid and the bike in turns.

When the overhead door rolled up, cold air and a line of engines spilled in from outside.

Leo turned toward the sound. Five motorcycles were pulling into the lot.