Every day Barry drove an armored car through the city, collecting and transferring bags of money from bank to business and business to bank.

Handling tens and sometimes hundreds of thousands of dollars each day sure was something a fella could get out of bed for.

So yeah, Barry loved his job. But it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. He’d been threatened many times by know-nothing punk kids who thought he was an easy target.

And some of the guys he worked with had been roughed up by thugs thinking an armored car meant fast cash.

Barry wasn’t going to let that happen to him. That’s why he carried a gun, a well-oiled Beretta 92. He loved that gun — and he loved carrying it.