[h3]Arizona[/h3]

[b]Route 66
3:13 PM[/b]

"Oh give me land, lots of land under starry skies above. Don't fence me in."

Johnny Legarrio's supercharged Packard Stallion roared down the highway. He had the ragtop down and his sunglasses on. The wind blowing through his black hair was the only thing that made the Arizona heat bearable. A rolling expanse of desert the only thing he could see for miles, so far off a hazy mirage began to obscure his view. The radio played Bobby Chambers with the Edwards Sisters backing him.

"Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle underneath the western sky. On my cayuse, let me wander over yonder 'til I see the mountains rise.

One hundred and four degrees outside. It was days like this that Johnny ever wondered why the fuck he had agreed to leave Chicago. But then he remembered the winters of Chicago and suddenly the heat of Arizona wasn't so bad. At least it was a dry heat. What that meant, he wasn't quite sure. People always said it whenever it got hot here.

"I want to ride to the ridge where the West commences, and gaze at the moon 'til I lose my senses. And I can't look at hobbles, and I can't stand fences. Don't fence me in."

Another hour on the road and he finally found the town he was looking for. A sign announced that he had arrived in Yucca, Arizona, Population 850. Above the sign was a flagpole displaying The Arizona state flag, and the confederate flag. Now he knew he was in the right place.

Only a few phone calls and he had what he needed about Yucca and the Highway Rangers. Most state and local legislatures were in Frenchie's pocket, which meant they knew the score when Johnny started asking about the biker gang. A bunch of crybabies who couldn't handle losing the war. Twice. So they banded together and roamed America. Yucca, one state rep had said, was where the Arizona chapter operated out of now. They'd damn near taken over the whole town over the last few months.

It was an open secret how they terrorized Western Arizona, but the Yucca police force wasn't standing up to them. With no state law enforcement agency, the only thing the governor could do would be to send in the state national guard. And there was no way he wanted to see his state make news by invading itself.

But Arizona was still the frontier even this far into the 20th century. The pioneer spirit was still strong throughout the state. Plenty of Arizonans prided themselves on being the last state admitted into the Union. With that spirit and pride came the concept of frontier justice. If the cops couldn't do the job, then Johnny would. The thought made him smile. A Chicago guinea hood playing sheriff in the middle of the goddamn desert. Only in America.

He slowed and pulled into a service station. A skinny, pimple-faced teenager in a grease-stained olive uniform came out to pump his gas. Johnny popped the hood of the car to let him check the engine out. When he was finished, Johnny passed him a twenty dollar bill.

"Hold on a sec while I go break it."

"Keep it," said Johnny. "Whatever I didn't spend out of it is yours, kid." He squinted at the name sewn on the shirt's lapel. "Jasper, let me ask you something. What do you know about those biker guys who hang around?"

The smile he had been wearing when he thought he was earning a seven dollar tip vanished. He couldn't look Johnny in the eye, and suddenly his feet were very attractive to his gaze.

"They're assholes," he mumbled. "Say that Arizona was part of the old confederacy in the first war, so they think this is friendly territory. They go around town and... they're assholes."

"Where do they like to party?"

"Road house on the other side of town." The kid hitched a thumb behind him, pointed towards town. "Used to be a bar. They took it over last year and call it their clubhouse. Only members and friends allowed."

He saw a sign posted across the street. Wooden and hand painted in ugly letters

"DON'T LET THE SUN GO DOWN ON YOUR BLACK ASS IN TOWN.
WHITES ONLY AFTER DARK"

"How many coloreds you got around here?" Johnny asked.

"Maybe twenty" Jasper said with a shrug. "Couple families. They live in Bucknelson, a small group of houses outside of town. Rangers put that sign up."

Johnny nodded before he reached into his wallet and passed the kid a ten dollar bill.

"For your troubles, Jasper. You got money saved up, kid?"

"A bit," said Jasper with a soft smile. "Even more now that I met you."

"Take what you can and buy a bus ticket to wherever you can." Johnny started the car and looked up at him. "Things are about to get worse in town."

He pulled out of the service station and cruised through Yucca. There weren't many people around in the middle of the work day, but those that did were drawn to Johnny's big, flashy car. The sound of his powerful engine caused many of them to flinch before they saw a car, not a motorcycle, was the source of the sound.

The Highway Rangers clubhouse sat just off the highway on the outskirts of town. A one story wooden frame building, there was an obviously added on second story above it that looked so shaky a strong breeze might topple it. Close to two dozen bikes were parked out in front on the dirt.

Johnny was on the other side of the highway, parked and watching. A plan was forming. First thing he'd have to do is get them out of the clubhouse. This time of day, plenty of them were still probably sleeping it off from last night. They wouldn't be out until hours from now. A smile crept on to his face. He knew exactly how he could do it.

He revved the engine of his Packard and put it into gear. The tires spun for a second before they caught on the asphalt. He raced across the road and the dirt towards the motorcycles on their kickstands.