A Fine Time to Leave

The End

He accumulated a surplus of tools over time. The businesses didn’t catch on because he gradually decreased the amount he stole each time, making the purchases appear benign. At one point, Joe said, “Then, before I knew it, I had more tools and supplies than I could use. My friend told me about this group of guys who ran a chop shop out of a storage unit.”

“Is that unit in town?” I asked.

“No. These guys are further in the mountains, west of here.”

“West of here where?”

“I really can’t say…”

“Like, you don’t know exactly where they are, or you’re afraid to tell me?”

Joe thought for a moment. “Honestly, I just don’t want to tell you more than you already know. I know you pretty much have all the information.” He motioned toward my folder with a shrug and a nod.

“Fair enough. You’re already on the hook for quite a bit, and I’ve got to tally it all up. But I’m not going to turn over every rock to hit you with every possible charge unless your victims start pressing me.”

“Okay, okay.”

Joe leaned back in his chair, a heavy silence settling between us. The weight of his choices hung in the air, his eyes reflecting a mix of resignation and newfound determination. He wasn’t just wrapping up his interview; he was recounting his story—confronting it, seeing where he was while knowing where he wanted to be.

There’s no better way to put it: Joe was convicted. Not in the legal sense, but he was wrestling—perhaps for the first time in his life—with what it meant to have conviction.

Repentance, Nikolaos Gyzis, 1895

There’s a strange thing that happens when your kids are born: having children is historically the surest and simplest way to end your own childhood. Joe was there. When he left our interview that day, he was resolute. I genuinely believe he wanted to do the right thing, and the steps he took afterward confirmed my observations.

We had a few phone conversations after the interview. Joe told me more about where he would sell the extra tools. He mentioned some legitimately rough-sounding characters. He didn’t really know their names but said they went by “42” and “Shine.” He said they would take any tools he brought them and give him about 30 cents on the dollar. If he was lucky, they’d throw in a little dope that he could peddle too. These guys were allegedly tied to a biker gang down south.

Joe hadn’t sold to them for a while and was trying to convince his friend that it was time to turn the rest of the tools in. Now, his buddy Derek didn’t really have a criminal past. In fact, it was Joe who introduced Derek to this way of doing things. Before the spiral they had run a fairly successful business together. Somewhere along the line, Joe probably tossed Derek a couple of extra pills after being sore from a job. Slowly, Derek started to turn into the kind of monster that Joe used to be.

So, Derek was not an easy sell when Joe had his change of heart. Joe called him, texted him, with messages like: "Hey, the police are onto us; we gotta do something," or, "Hey, we gotta turn these tools in; we’re gonna get in more trouble," or, "They’re gonna charge both of us for all these tools if we don’t turn them in or get rid of them." But, Derek always rebuffed and suggested they continue selling to Shine and 42.

Joe knew that the more he sold to them, the more they would expect him to keep coming back. Joe was afraid that he was being followed, either by the law or the law-breakers. Joe knew that if a legit biker gang, found out he tipped off the cops to their chop shop, his legal issues would be the least of his worries.

So, Joe’s solution was to turn himself in. His plan was to drive over to Derek’s house, where some of the tools were stored in a trailer. He wanted to pick up the tools and either return them to Home Depot or take them to the police department the very next morning. I’m not sure; that part wasn’t really clear. He just texted Derek, “I’m taking them back in.”

Joe texted Derek on November 18th, saying, "I’m coming over to pick up the tools. I have a pickup." Derek simply replied, "Okay." When Joe arrived at Derek’s house, Derek walked out of the front door, the screen door closing behind him. Joe waved and said, "I’ll back right up." Derek motioned for him to come on back toward the trailer.

As Joe was looking in his rearview mirror, Derek walked up to the driver’s side of the truck, drew a Taurus 9mm, and shot him once through his left shoulder into his chest. He shot him again through his left bicep. Joe, tough as he was, jumped up, trying to scramble over the center console and escape through the passenger door. But Derek was resolute in what he was doing and shot Joe four more times in the back. Joe died hunched over the center console of the car.

And Derek—well, Derek left his surveillance camera running during the entire incident, knowing he had thousands of dollars worth of tools in his front yard. Derek had invested in a simple surveillance camera and pointed it right where their altercation occurred. Derek’s mother stepped out and screamed in horror. Derek looked at her, then seemed to remember the camera, only then realizing what he had done months ago by installing it.

After vacillating for a few minutes, Derek called 911. His step-dad was home next door, and Derek saw the lights turn on. He knew the police were coming. When the police arrived, it didn’t take long for them to notice and seize the camera on the porch. They reviewed the video and quickly determined that Derek’s claims of self-defense were unfounded. Derek killed Joe, and Joe didn’t even have a pocket knife on him.

Derek lawyered up quickly. I still don’t know if it was a hit, premeditated, or an act of desperation. Either way, he’s in prison now and is slated to be there for 15 years. And Joe—well, I hope Joe is in a better place. Of all the moments he could have left this earth, I think the chapter of his life where he accepted personal responsibility and tried to provide for his daughter was the best time he could have gone. He was once again at the trailhead of crime, addiction, and violence. I don’t know if he’d have turned back, but once men pass the 30-year mark, they usually don’t survive a second or third go-round on that trail.

I’m confident Joe was fighting to leave that indifferent world of men—the world of hustle and grift. As much as it stings to see his wife and daughter lose their husband and father, all in all, I think it was a fine time to leave. Sometimes, grace looks like a slaughter.