Grip looked toward the Knucklehead. His left hand opened and closed, the crooked fingers moving a little behind the others. It occurred to me that he had come into the shop expecting either another disappointment or another lie. I could not tell whether he understood the danger better because of what I'd found or because I had finally named the difference between a test and a guarantee.
"Five shops," he said after a while. "Five shops charged me to make it safe, and three times I nearly died. Every time I got back on, I'd listen to that motor waiting for it to disappear." He stopped beside the bike and touched the seat. "After the crash, I couldn't sleep if I heard a motorcycle slow down outside my house. That's what it did to me, and I kept going because I thought I had to beat it."
He looked at me as if surprised to find himself admitting the last part. I had no answer for it. The most frightening thing I'd heard all day wasn't the threat to my business. It was learning that a man with his reputation had been afraid every time he rode something he loved.
"This was Hector's kind of job," Jack said quietly.
I turned toward him. "You knew my uncle?"
"Not well. We crossed paths. He once refused to release a custom build to one of our people because the owner insisted on leaving a dangerous front-end modification alone. There was an argument, a loud one. Hector ended it by handing the man his deposit back and moving the bike outside, unfinished."
I remembered that day. I had been fourteen. Hector had told me afterward that a mechanic's signature on an invoice was a promise that work had been done honestly. The man could take a machine elsewhere if he wanted it done badly, but he couldn't make Hector be the one to do it.
"I was the kid sweeping the floor," I said.
Jack looked at me. "I remember you now."
Grip asked to see the test sheets and the remaining inspection recommendation. He read them slowly, lips moving almost imperceptibly over the technical phrases. When he reached the line about the failure no longer appearing, he read it again. Then he nodded.
"Do the last inspection," he said. "Whatever it takes. I don't care if it means one more day off the road."
I felt the tension leave my shoulders so suddenly it was almost painful. No amount of money could have made up for sending him out on a machine I wasn't willing to trust. Hearing him understand that meant more than I expected.
Then Grip reached for his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"
I had worked out the bill during the last hour. I could have charged much more for the emergency inspection, the parts, and the help from Frank, though I would still have had to pay Frank fairly. Instead, I followed Hector's rate sheet as closely as I could and counted the diagnostic time as part of the total.
"Four hundred dollars today," I said. "Plus the independent inspection when it's complete. I can show you the breakdown."