The Last Shot

The last time Boston's homicide rate rose as it has this year, young men who had once ruled their streets through intimidation were left paralyzed, ashamed, and, in some cases, wishing they were dead. They are the hidden casualties of the worst stretch of violence in Boston's history. "When you grow up the way I did," one says, "you just figure a bullet is going to find you one day."

By Douglas Belkin

Globe Staff / August 1, 2004

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The bullet that Ray had been expecting most of his life caught up to him in the crowded parking lot of a Mattapan takeout restaurant while he was waiting for a bucket of chicken wings. The slug was probably a .38, weighed no more than a half dollar, and was traveling about 700 miles per hour when it ripped into ... (Full Article: 4075 Words)