I had gotten what I wanted.
That should have made me feel better.
Instead, I felt worse.
The big man had stepped aside.
The motorcycle was right in front of me.
And every person watching expected me to prove myself wrong.
I had no idea whether they would give me a second chance if I failed.
I didn't ask.
I walked toward the bike.
Slowly.
Not because I wanted to make a show of it.
I was trying to keep my hands steady.
The motorcycle was black.
I had been staring at it from across the room.
Now I was close enough to examine it properly.
Nothing about its appearance announced that it was dangerous.
That was the thing people sometimes forgot.
A serious problem didn't have to make noise.
It didn't have to leave a puddle underneath a machine.
It didn't have to announce itself before someone got hurt.
Sometimes the outside looked perfectly fine.
I had learned enough to understand that appearances were not proof.
But I also understood something else.
A suspicion wasn't proof either.
I was going to have to find something real.
Something the owner could see for himself.
The biker came closer as I approached.
He was still watching me carefully.
I could feel his eyes following every movement.
He had already told me the motorcycle had been checked that morning.
That fact was still hanging between us.
It mattered to him.
I could tell.
If I found nothing, the inspection would be vindicated.
He would be right.
His men would be right.
And I would be the kid who interrupted a garage full of bikers because he thought he had noticed something.
I didn't want that.
But embarrassment wasn't the reason I had stayed.
I kept reminding myself of that.
The reason was the motorcycle.
The man was going to ride it.
I needed to be certain it was safe before he did.
I stopped beside the machine.
Then I lowered myself into a crouch.
The biker stood close enough to watch what I was doing.
I could hear the other men shifting behind him.
Nobody was laughing now.
They were waiting.
That was almost harder to bear.
I looked at the side of the motorcycle.
Then I reached for the panel.
I wasn't trying to inspect everything.
I wasn't going to take the whole machine apart.
I had come to look at something specific.
Something hidden.
I removed the side panel carefully.
The space behind it opened up.
There were connections and wires tucked beneath the bodywork.
Different colors.
Different routes.
Several disappearing into places I couldn't see clearly from where I was crouching.
At first, nothing stood out.
Just an ordinary collection of parts inside a motorcycle.
The kind of sight that could make an inexperienced person feel that everything was far more complicated than it really was.
I didn't want to pretend I knew something I didn't.
I didn't want to pull at random pieces and hope I discovered a problem.
I needed to look closely.
The biker lowered himself beside me.
Even crouching, he seemed enormous.
He asked what I was looking for.
I didn't answer immediately.
My eyes were following the wires.
I could have pointed to something that only looked suspicious.
I could have given him a long explanation and hoped he believed me.
But I had already talked enough.
I needed to show him.
He asked again.
Not angrily this time.
More impatiently.
He wanted to know what I had found.
I told him I needed a moment.
He looked down at the exposed section.
I could see him studying it.
Maybe he expected an obvious break.
Maybe he thought I would point to an intact wire and claim it was damaged.
I didn't know what he expected.
I only knew I couldn't let his impatience make me careless.
I reached beneath the frame.
My fingers found a small group of wires.
I drew them out gently so I could see more of them.
One color appeared.
Then another.
They were close together.
Nothing about the group seemed unusual at first glance.
But a quick glance was what I was trying to avoid.
I looked where the wires ran.
I looked at the way they were held.
I looked at what was visible and what was partly hidden.
Then I moved my hand a little farther along.
The biker leaned closer.
I felt him watching the wires instead of watching me.
That was the first time since entering the garage that I sensed his attention had shifted.
I was no longer the entire problem.
The motorcycle had become part of the conversation.
I was relieved.
Only a little.
I still hadn't found what I needed.
The men behind us remained quiet.
The garage felt different from when I first came inside.
Before, they had been working.
Now their attention was concentrated on one small opening in the side of a black motorcycle.
And on my hands.
That made every movement feel important.
I tried not to think about them.
I concentrated on the wiring.
A motorcycle could be checked without every hidden problem being noticed.
That was possible.
I wasn't saying the men who inspected it had been dishonest.
I wasn't even saying they had been careless.
I was saying that something could still be there.
Something that required a closer look.
It wasn't an easy thing for the owner to accept.
I understood that now.
An inspection was supposed to give him confidence.
I had walked in and taken that confidence away without showing him why.
If I was wrong, I owed him an apology.
A proper one.
I was prepared to give it.
But I wanted to finish checking first.
I drew the small group of wires a little farther toward the opening.
The biker's face was close to mine.
He watched my fingers.
I wondered whether he had ever expected to be crouching next to a stranger's child, looking at his own motorcycle because that child had warned him away from it.
Probably not.
I certainly hadn't expected to be there.
But there we were.
Two people who didn't know each other.
Both looking at the same thing.
For different reasons.
He wanted his motorcycle to be fine.
I wanted him not to get hurt.
Those two things should have gone together.
I hoped they did.
I brought the wiring toward the light.
And then something caught my attention.
It wasn't large.
It wasn't a loose part hanging down.
It was something along one of the wires.
A small detail that didn't fit.
My hand slowed.
I leaned closer.
I wanted to be sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.
The biker noticed that I had stopped moving.
He asked whether I had found anything.
I still didn't answer.
Not yet.
The difference between a suspicion and a fact was right in front of me.
I needed another second to examine it.
I adjusted the wires.
Then I looked at the same section again.
There it was.
I stopped touching the rest of the harness.
Everything I had been worried about had narrowed to one small place.
The owner followed my gaze.
He couldn't see the detail clearly yet.
I could.
And I knew I needed to show him exactly what had made me stop.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: I Found a Nearly Severed Wire Hidden Under the Motorcycle, and the Biker’s Explanation Fell Apart When He Saw the Cut
I Walked Into a Garage Full of Bikers and Told the Biggest Man There Something He Did Not Want to Hear
Part 2 of 5
