"My dad," Leo said again. "He made me promise not to tell strangers about the hiding place when the bike was on the street. But the bike belongs to Mr. Dutch's friends, and it's not going anywhere if it can't run."
Jim knelt beside the child. The sudden movement startled Bobby, who had never seen him lower himself to anyone's eye level without a reason. "Your father was a good man," Jim said. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for him at the end."
Leo looked at the floor. "Mom says people had their own troubles. Dad wouldn't want me making a list of everybody who didn't visit." After a moment he raised his eyes. "But he would want somebody to fix the bike right."
Rusty still wanted to object. The garage could not put a child in charge of a dangerous mechanical repair, and he knew it would be reckless to treat a remembered story as proof. Yet he was hearing details that no one outside Dutch's small circle should have known, including a rebuilt engine and a concealed switch that might explain why every new battery appeared to fail. He took a slow breath. "If what Leo says is right, we can examine it. But my mechanics are responsible for the actual work."
"Good," Jim replied. "Then examine it."
"I could show them where Dad wrote about it," Leo said. "He kept diagrams. Some of them might still be here."
Jim rose. "Can you help these men understand what your father knew?"
Leo thought about the way Arty had made him repeat the names of parts until he could picture where they belonged. He thought of the nights his father sat under the weak kitchen light and drew strange shapes on the backs of envelopes, talking about machines as though they were puzzles that could be solved with enough patience. "I can tell them what I remember," he answered. "And I can show them what I find. The grown-ups should do the dangerous parts."
Jim gave Rusty a long look. "Then you've got a new voice worth listening to. I want every claim checked and every repair done properly. The kid knows something the rest of you don't, and if you're wise you'll find out what it is." He reached into his vest and brought out a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
"For dinner," he said, offering it to Leo. "You and your mother."
Leo stared at the money without taking it. His mother had taught him not to accept gifts from strangers, and Jim Mercer was still a stranger despite the way he had spoken about Arty. "You should ask her first," he said.
Jim almost laughed. "Fair enough. Tell her Jim Mercer gave it to you because your father was a friend of mine. If she says no, bring it back tomorrow." He folded the bill and placed it in Rusty's hand rather than forcing it on the boy.
"I'll be here Friday at noon. Until then, I want you to give this bike every fair chance it has."