“Did it start after it cooled?”
“No.”
Eli frowned slightly.
“Did you have spark?”
Red folded his arms.
“We checked everything back then.”
“Everything?”
“Everything that mattered.”
Eli looked at the Harley again.
“Did you keep a list?”
Cal, who had followed them into the rear bay, glanced at Hank.
Hank’s expression became distant.
There had been a list once.
A notebook filled with measurements, replacement parts, dates, and little reminders written by a man who believed every broken machine could eventually be understood if somebody had enough patience.
Hank knew exactly where the notebook was.
He hadn’t opened it in years.
“Who taught you to ask those questions?” he asked.
Eli rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“My mom.”
“She’s a mechanic?”
“She works maintenance for a delivery company.
Mostly trucks and equipment.”
Hank looked at him with renewed interest.
“She teach you to work on engines?”
“Some.
We used to fix things together when she wasn’t working.”
“What things?”
“Lawn mowers.
A little dirt bike somebody gave us.
A generator.
Sometimes she’d bring home broken parts and explain what they did.”
Eli looked embarrassed.
“I couldn’t always fix them.
But I liked figuring out why they stopped.”
Hank nodded.
“That’s where every decent mechanic starts.”
Red looked doubtful.
“You don’t seriously think he can fix this thing.”
Hank ignored him.
“What do you see, Eli?”
The boy studied the machine.
“How long has it been since somebody tried to start it?”
“Years.”
“Then we shouldn’t just put gas in it and turn the key.”
Hank’s mouth moved slightly.
It was almost a smile.
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t know what’s inside the tank.
Or the oil lines.
The seals could be bad, and the fuel system could be full of old deposits.”
Cal gave Red a sideways look.
Eli continued, carefully choosing his words.
“And the brakes won’t be safe.
The tires are too old, even if they still hold air.”
Hank nodded.
“Anything else?”
Eli crouched beside the engine.
“Before starting it, I’d want to make sure it turns freely and still has compression.
Then check the ignition.”
He pointed without touching.
“And that wire looks wrong.”
Hank followed his finger.
A section of old electrical tape wrapped around the wiring harness near the frame.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know yet.
But somebody fixed something there before.”
Red shrugged.
“Old motorcycles have old repairs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Eli looked up.
“It might.”
Hank crouched beside him.
The tape was dusty and hard, its edges beginning to lift.
He remembered making that repair himself, though he could not remember precisely why.
It had been a long time.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then he stood.
“All right.”
Eli looked up hopefully.
“All right what?”
“You can help me inspect it.”
The boy’s eyes brightened.
Red turned.
“Hank.”
“Inspect it,” Hank repeated.
“Not start it.
Not ride it.
Nobody’s handing him a machine and hoping for miracles.”
Eli nodded rapidly.
“I understand.”
Hank pointed toward the office.
“But first, we’re finding your mother and making sure you’ve got somewhere safe to sleep.”
The brightness vanished from Eli’s face.
“Please.”
Hank lowered his voice.
“I won’t lie to you, kid.
You’re thirteen.
I can’t just hide you in the back room because you offered to fix a motorcycle.”
Eli’s eyes filled.
“I didn’t ask you to hide me.”
“You asked for somewhere to stay.”
“Just until Mom gets better.”
“I understand that.”
“No, you don’t.”
The words came out sharper than Eli intended.
Red straightened.
“Watch your mouth.”
But Hank raised one hand.
Eli’s chin trembled.
“Everybody keeps telling me they understand, and then they start talking about somewhere else I have to go.
I don’t want somewhere else.
I want somewhere Mom can find me.”
Hank remained still.
The boy wiped at his face with the back of his wrist.
“I can work.
I really can.”
“You don’t have to repair a motorcycle to deserve a safe place to sleep,” Hank said.
Eli stared at him.
For some reason, those words upset him more than anything else.
He turned away before the men could see him crying.
Hank made the first telephone call from the office while Eli sat within sight, eating his apple.
He contacted the county hospital, explained that a child was trying to reach his hospitalized mother, and asked how they could arrange a conversation without revealing private medical information improperly.
After several minutes, the hospital confirmed that Eli’s mother, Nora Carter, was a patient and could receive a call.
A nurse took Hank’s number and promised to pass along the message.
The second call was more difficult.
Hank contacted the county’s child welfare office, explaining that a thirteen-year-old had come into his garage without a responsible adult and needed immediate help.
He gave his name, his business address, and the details Eli had shared.
Eli watched every movement through the office window.
When Hank emerged, the boy stood so quickly that the stool rolled backward.
“Did you call them?”
Hank didn’t pretend otherwise.
“Yes.”
Eli grabbed his backpack.
“I have to go.”
He moved toward the door.
Hank did not grab him.
“Eli.”
The boy kept walking.
“Eli, I need you to listen.”
“I shouldn’t have come.”
His voice broke.
“I knew I shouldn’t have.”
Cal stepped away from the doorway, leaving the exit completely clear.
Red looked at Hank, uncertain whether to intervene.
Hank stayed where he was.
“Your mother is going to get a call.
She’ll know you’re here.”
Eli stopped.
For a moment, his back remained turned.
“What?”
“The hospital is contacting her.”
The boy looked over his shoulder.
“She knows?”
“Not yet.
But she will.”
Eli stared at him.
Hank took one slow step forward.
“I promised we’d figure it out together.
I meant that.”
“They’ll take me away.”
“They’re going to help us find you a safe place until your mom can come home.”