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The first time people saw the patch on Rico’s back... they crossed the street. The red and white wings of the carried a reputation heavier than steel chains... and louder than thunder on the highway. But Rico stopped caring what strangers thought... a long time ago. At fifty-two years old... he rode a faded black Harley through the empty desert roads outside . His knees were stiff. His beard had turned gray. And his past... never stopped following him. Most nights... he sat alone inside