Cracked, aged asphalt lay slick and black from the touch of the February rain.

A forgotten stretch of highway that sat silent say for the distant roar of a true American cruiser.

Madcap wasn't exactly sure where he was, save that he was about an hour and a half ride east of the Sacramento city limits. Despite his destination of the capitol, his surroundings lacked the dignity one might expect from a place so close. The road was lonesome, scarcely patrolled by law enforcement, and dotted periodically by the decaying remnants of small town America. An abandoned gas station here, a neglected home there.

That's what made it useful though. Madcap's journey was best undertaken on the backroads and forgotten highways where derelict communities barely eked out an existence. The law cared less about these places, but that just let Madcap's sort of people take over. The highway patrol didn't stop by because they weren't welcome and that suited the lone Bruja just fine.

Madcap knew he could beat the sun, push it out and get to Sacramento before dawn. So when the Savage saw a roadhouse in the distance, he shrugged and pulled in. He'd been riding all night, why not cut loose for a bit?

The roadhouse itself was about what he expected, a neglected flop long faded past its glory days and owned by a couple stuck in a near loveless marriage who make just enough to keep telling themselves the business is worth it. Still, there was a lot of old boys and their ladies there, their skin weathered and marked with the blemishes of a life on the road. In just a glance, they had assessed Madcap's own worth, giving him a nod of silent welcome even as they left him be at the bar. He was welcome, but he wasn't family and Madcap could respect that.

Then there was the weekenders.

New leather jackets, muscles that were vanity without function, and skin so soft you'd swear they had never spent one long day under the sun. They were the kind of fellas who thought their five-o-clock shadows was a rebellion against their white collar lives and that their months-old Harleys with all the bells and whistles made them look 'hard.' They thought they could buy their way in, but camaraderie wasn't purchased. It was earned.

Still, it wasn't Madcap's turf, so he left them be.

Then one of the shitdicks got a little too drunk and a lot too loud. Tried to ingratiate himself as 'one of the boys' by buying the bar a round and joining Madcap at the bar to talk about the 'open road.' It took him a while to figure out the Savage wasn't having any of it, but when he did, the dipshit's booze and gym membership gave him the courage to call Madcap out for a fight.

Madcap obliged, following him outside as they drew a small crowd to the lot. The weekender learned the hard way that lifting with his bros was no substitute for an actual scrap.

After the first punch, the shitbag's bravado deflated. After the second, he tried to use a stun gun. After the third, the coward tried to run. However, Madcap wouldn't let him. If the idiot wanted the Savage to a fight, he was going to have to see it through. He wasn't getting away.

When he finally dropped like a bag of shit, his two buddies dragged his ass back to their room after promising to hit the road the following morning at the owners' 'insistence.'

For his efforts, Madcap got a hollow warning... but also a few free beers. He also got the attention of a lady who moonlighted at the roadhouse for her own kind of service. A few hours later, after Madcap's thirsts were sated, she drunkenly stumbled out of his room none the wiser about her stolen Vitae. Then the time came to prepare for daysleep.

Setting up a cot in the bathroom to avoid the windows, Madcap began to drift off awash in old memories and nostalgia.

He'd arrive soon enough, but for now Sacramento could wait.

Hell, I might even stay another night.