Dust drifted from the rafters.
Tools rattled faintly against the old workbench.
Leo crouched beside the engine with a flashlight.
No active fuel leak.
The patch held.
Oil seepage remained minimal.
He watched another ten seconds.
“Shut it off.”
Sully killed the engine.
The sudden silence left both of them nearly deaf.
Sully climbed off.
He looked at the repaired areas.
Then at Leo.
“How the hell did you learn that at seventeen?”
Leo wiped his hands on his jeans.
“I started younger.”
“You got family?”
“No.”
“That answer mean none or none nearby?”
Leo stared at the floor.
Sully did not push.
Instead, he checked his pockets.
His expression changed.
“Wallet went with the saddlebag.”
“I don’t need money.”
“Everybody needs money.”
“I’m fine.”
Sully looked around the abandoned station.
“Sure.”
Leo bristled.
“I said I’m fine.”
The biker considered him for a moment.
Then reached beneath his leather vest.
He removed a tarnished silver Zippo.
A skull had been engraved into the front.
The edges were worn smooth.
Sully tossed it.
Leo caught it with both hands.
“What’s this?”
“Payment.”
“I can’t take this.”
“Already did.”
“It looks old.”
“Twenty-one years.”
Leo turned it over.
Initials were engraved on the back.
J.S.
“That means it matters.”
“It does.”
“Then take it back.”
Sully shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“You came out of hiding for a stranger.”
“I fixed a motorcycle.”