Teresa answered:
“We find out.”
Leo looked at John.
“You said you knew a mechanic.”
“I do.”
“That still real?”
“If you want it.”
Teresa raised a hand.
“Eventually.”
John sighed.
“Again with rules.”
“Yes.”
Leo smiled faintly.
Rules did not feel as frightening when somebody explained them before enforcing them.
The next several weeks were not simple.
Leo did not instantly become John’s adopted son.
He did not jump onto a motorcycle and vanish into some outlaw fairy tale.
There were social workers.
Court hearings.
School records.
Medical examinations.
Questions about his mother.
Questions about relatives.
Questions Leo hated answering.
The county located a maternal aunt in Oregon, but she was dealing with serious health problems and could not take him immediately.
Leo was angry.
He considered running twice.
Teresa somehow knew both times.
“Where would you go?”
“The garage.”
“Silas is gone.”
“The garage is still there.”
“So is mold.”
Leo glared.
“You always this annoying?”
“Professionally.”
John visited.
Sometimes alone.
Sometimes with food.
Never on a schedule Leo completely trusted at first.
John brought the damaged torque wrench.
He had cleaned it.
Not repaired it.
Could not.
The gauge was destroyed.
But he had polished the handle and mounted it on a narrow wooden board.
E.M. remained visible.
Leo stared.
“You ruined it.”
John frowned.
“What?”
“You polished Dad’s grease off.”
John’s face fell.
Leo let him suffer for three seconds.
Then smiled.
“Kidding.”
John stared.
“You little bastard.”
Leo laughed.
Really laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
Two months later, Teresa arranged something important.
A licensed family placement became available outside Bakersfield with a couple named Raymond and Susan Ortega.
Raymond was a high-school automotive technology instructor.
The match was not accidental.
Teresa had argued relentlessly for it.
Leo toured the house.
Clean.
Small.
Garage full of tools.
He distrusted it immediately.
Raymond did not try to impress him.
He opened the garage.
Pointed at an old Chevy pickup.
“Transmission slips in second.”
Leo looked at him.
“You want me to fix it?”
“No.”
“I want you to tell me whether I’m lying.”
Leo listened during a short drive.
“You’re lying.”
Raymond smiled.
“Good.”
“It’s not transmission.”
“What is it?”
“Engine mount.”
Raymond looked at Teresa.
“I like him.”
Leo moved in the following week.
He attended school.
Hated algebra.
Loved shop.
Started sleeping through the night.
Then John kept another promise.
He introduced Leo to Vincent Navarro.
Vince owned Navarro Custom & Diesel in Oakland.
Not a club business.
A legitimate shop with six employees, insurance, apprenticeship agreements, and a reputation for restoring older American motorcycles.
Vince looked at Leo’s age and shook his head.
“Fourteen.”
“Fifteen next month.”
“That changes everything.”
John said:
“Kid fixed my Panhead with washer hose.”
Vince looked at Leo.
“That true?”
“Temporary.”
“How temporary?”
“Held to Fresno.”
Vince looked at John.
“You ride it hard?”
“Yes.”