Roddy and Dante were like two moons orbiting each other, so much in tune with their brother-hood that they lived and breathed their lives in complete harmony, separated only by the evidence of the two years between their births. Roddy was older, and just a little a bit taller, but in all wise else, the Broussard boys might have been time-lapse images of the same person—handsome curly-haired dark-eyed little shit-disturbers with hearts of gold. People encountering the pair of them for the first time came away with the distinct impression that they resembled nothing so much as a pair of almost-adolescent raccoons in leather jackets and slouch-hats with pry-bars in hand, on the prowl for whatever mayhem and mischief they could find to while away the twenty-four hours of any given day without getting caught.