For several long moments neither of us moved. The old fuel tank sat between us on the workbench while my flashlight continued shining through the filler opening. Whatever was hidden inside had been wrapped carefully before being tucked into a narrow cavity along one side of the tank and it was obvious Uncle Will had never intended for it to fall out accidentally so Jace crouched beside the motorcycle.
"Can you reach it?" I asked.
"I think so." He said.
I walked across the workshop and returned with one of my longest flexible grabber tools. Uncle Will had bought it years ago after spending nearly an entire afternoon trying to retrieve a washer that had somehow disappeared inside an engine block. He'd grumbled about stubborn machinery for hours afterward before declaring that every decent
