They walked together through the waking streets toward Apex Iron Works, passing delivery trucks, early commuters, and a bakery that was just putting bread into its front window. The air was cooler than it had been the afternoon before, and Leo could smell the ocean beneath the exhaust fumes whenever the wind shifted. He held the folder against his chest as carefully as if it contained something fragile and alive. By the time they reached the workshop, all four mechanics were standing around the black motorcycle, waiting for him.
Big Dave had placed a clean sheet of cardboard beneath the motorcycle and arranged the tools along a bench in the order he expected to use them. The care was almost comical coming from a man who usually dropped wrenches wherever they landed, but his expression made clear that he did not intend to be mocked for it. Tommy had opened three different reference books and laid them beside a computer, while Pete had taken down his faded wiring charts from the wall. Rusty stood at the center of the group wearing the same blue work shirt he had used for years, except that this morning the top button was fastened.
Nora looked at the preparations and felt her stomach tighten. The garage was familiar to her, but she had never seen so many tools arranged around one machine like instruments waiting beside an operating table. She understood the men's seriousness, yet she also knew that serious people could become impatient when a child failed to match their expectations. "Before anybody starts," she said, "I need to know Leo's going to be safe."
Dave straightened. He was a big man with tattooed arms and a shaved head, but the question seemed to make him unexpectedly formal. "He stays on that side of the marked line while we're lifting or moving anything," he said, pointing to blue tape on the floor. "When the engine's open, we make room for him to see, but nobody asks him to hold a dangerous tool. He tells us what his dad wrote. We inspect."
"And if he's tired, he stops," Pete added. "No one spends a full day in a shop on my account, especially not a child."
Nora looked to Rusty, who nodded in agreement. She laid the clear folder on the bench, opened it to Arthur's sketches, and pointed out the references to Dutch's motorcycle. "This is Arthur's writing," she said. "I can't tell you what it means, but I can tell you he was careful when he wrote it. There may be more in the storage locker he used to rent."
Rusty ran a finger down the page without touching the ink. "Locker forty-two," he read.
"I remember those lockers. Bell kept records, though he never bothered to arrange them. I've still got the box he left when I bought the building." He looked at Leo. "Let's start with what we can check here, then we'll see what belongs to your father's estate downstairs."