"What was your dad's name, kid?" Jim asked softly.
"Arthur," Leo replied, his gaze dropping to the floor for the first time. "Arthur Hayes."
Jim let out a slow, heavy exhale and removed his sunglasses.
"Arty Hayes," he muttered to himself.
He turned to the other Angels.
"Arty Hayes was the only wrench Dutch ever trusted outside the club. Guy was a wizard. Died of lung cancer two years ago."
Jim turned back to Rusty.
"Rusty, did you check for a Shovelhead cam gear?"
Rusty swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Jim, you can't be serious. You can't just mix Shovelhead and Evo bottom-end parts like that. The tolerances are entirely different. It's a mechanical nightmare."
"Did you check it?" Jim roared, the sound echoing off the metal roof.
"No," Rusty admitted quietly. "We went by the book."
Jim looked back down at the eight-year-old boy. The kid was dirty, underfed, and wearing shoes with holes in the toes. Yet in his bright eyes, Jim saw the same spark of mechanical genius that his father had possessed.
"You think you can fix it, kid?" Jim asked.
Rusty stepped forward, frantic.
"Jim, be reasonable. He's eight years old. He doesn't have the physical strength to torque down a cylinder head, let alone re-time a custom V-twin. If something goes wrong with the valves, that engine could be destroyed."
"I asked the boy," Jim said coldly, not taking his eyes off Leo.
Leo looked up.
"I can't lift the heavy wrenches, sir. Mr. Rusty is right about that. But if I tell them exactly what to do, if I guide their hands, I can make it run."
Jim slowly nodded. Then he turned to Rusty, pointing a thick finger at the shop owner's chest.
"You hear that, Rusty? The boy is your new shop foreman. You and your mechanics are his hands. You do exactly what he tells you. Every bolt, every wire, every timing degree."
Rusty looked horrified.
"Jim, if this kid destroys Dutch's motor..."
"If he destroys it, it's on him and it's on me," Jim interrupted. "But if I come back here tomorrow at noon and this bike isn't roaring, I am shutting this garage down permanently."
Jim reached into his leather vest, pulled out a crisp $100 bill, and put it into Leo's tiny, greasy hand.