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handed his books across the counter to the librarian. He pulled out his library card and handed it to her as well.
    “Nope. We should invite her to hang out.”
    “That’s what I was thinking.”
    “There you go, Mr. Cucuzza.” Ms. Yonke, the librarian, handed Dom his books.
    “Cucuzza,” a voice behind them said, laughing.
    Dom turned. Sully stepped out of the way as his friend, mouth tight, nostrils flared, stalked over to the speed-reader.
    “You got a problem with my name?” Dom asked.
    The speed-reader was a big guy with smooth red cheeks.
    “I just…,” he said, his voice a little tight. Chances were, the guy couldn’t resist showing off his enhanced hearing, given the chance. Only he hadn’t thought about how Dom might react.
    “You just what? You just can’t help being a douche bag?”
    The speed-reader’s red cheeks went crimson. He looked Dom up and down, sizing him up. The guy had maybe thirty pounds and four inches on Dom, but it was easy to see from Dom’s bull neck, the way his shoulders filled out his brown leather jacket, that Dom wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with.
    The guy swallowed. “I was just saying your name.”
    Dom glared at him a heartbeat longer, then turned to Sully. “Let’s go.”
    They headed back to study hall.
    Sully would never forget that day in sixth grade when Haley Hinton told Dom his uncle was on CNN, then showed him on her phone. It was ironic, that Anthony Cucuzza was more infamous for walking into the Met and destroying hundreds of priceless works of art with an AK-47 than some people were for shooting living, breathing people.
    The week before, Dom’s aunt Terry had left Tony for a guy she’d met where she worked, the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Uncle Tony got back at her by destroying the things she loved most in the world.
    “What a tool,” Sully said as they walked.
    “I hope my uncle’s miserable in prison. I hope the food is rancid and his cell mate is an art-loving skinhead.”
    It was a weird bond they shared, being known for something. At least Sully was known for something he’d done. Dom had to live with a last name that was a verb through no fault of his own.

CHAPTER 5
    “How come you always wear gloves?” Sully asked. They’d been driving up the Palisades Parkway in silence for the past ten minutes.
    Hunter turned her head, gave him a badass glare.
    “I’m not saying I don’t like them. They look good on you. I’m just curious why you wear them, even in the car with the heat on.”
    Hunter licked her upper lip, closed her eyes for a second, like she was trying to muster patience. “I don’t know, my hands are cold all the time. My blood must be thin.”
    “I have a cousin who has poor circulation in her fingers and toes—”
    “Take this exit.” Hunter pointed at the sign for Exit 19: Bear Mountain State Park.
    “Bear Mountain?” Sully asked, trying to picture where they’d hunt there.
    Hunter smiled. “Sure looks that way, doesn’t it?”
    He’d been to Bear Mountain a couple of times as a kid. There was a little zoo, a big lodge, and a mountain. Not many good places to hunt. Sully put on his blinker, got in the right lane.
    On the ride he’d learned Hunter’s parents were dead, that she “mostly” lived in an apartment with “a bunch” of roommates. He wanted to ask what her life was like, but she didn’t seem eager to talk about life in the Bronx. Mostly she wanted to talk about spheres. That was fine with Sully.
    “You ever burn any?” Sully asked.
    “Me? Nah. One day when I can afford it, there are a few I want. How about you?”
    Sully pulled into the drive that led to the Bear Mountain parking lot. “Same story. Can’t afford it. So how’d you find your way to a flea market all the way out in Yonkers, anyway?”
    “Found you on the Internet, thought I’d see if you paid fair prices. There aren’t many independent dealers left in the city, and Holliday’s and the other superstores rip you off, so