Barrett would later reflect that had he been sober, he might’ve been able to contain the constantly simmering rage within him, but under the angry catalyst of whiskey, the dark monster within was immediately triggered and unleashed. Two of the Hammers had landed in the hospital; one, in the morgue—the result of an excessive number of blows to the head once Barrett had disarmed him.

While he’d had a love-hate relationship with Boston’s finest, he’d never killed. What surprised him was that he felt no emotion about it, no empathy for the fallen boy. An epiphany soon followed—if killing causes me no remorse, maybe I can use it to escape this life. While not an overachieving academic, he was smart enough to know there was no real future for him in Southie. If he stayed, he’d end up like most of his friends—unemployed, poor, angry, and violent. Later in life, he’d be glad to have removed just two of those prospects.

After three days of wondering and wandering in panic, waiting for the police to arrive at his father’s apartment, on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, he’d walked north through Southie to the US Marine Corps Recruiting office near the piers on Summer Street, enlisted, and never looked back.

Whether the God that watched over all wayward Catholics had been protecting him or not, he didn’t know, but the police never identified him or James as suspects in the beatings and murder.

He’d spent fifteen years in the Marine Corps with two-thirds of his career as a critical skills operator with the Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command, commonly referred to as MARSOC, in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. But it was a chance encounter with a street-clothed lethal operator in Kabul who recognized the moral fluidity of Barrett’s nature that truly changed the course of his life. Barrett had transitioned into the private sector, but the anger never dimmed, and it still fueled him forward on every mission.

In the few introspective moments that he allowed himself, Barrett viewed the boy’s death at his hands as the entry fee to a life he’d never have been able to experience had he not killed. He’d learned a valuable lesson—only through strength and violence were one’s goals achievable. The Marine Corps had honor, courage, and commitment; Barrett had strength and violence. He preferred his code to theirs.